Never Let You Go(100)

“I did some tidying, but I accidentally broke the photo frame in your bedroom—the one with Katie’s photo.” I watch his face, waiting to see how he reacts, and keep a tight grip on my mug. If I have to run, I’ll throw the hot coffee in his face.

“That’s okay,” he says calmly. “I can replace it. Was the photo damaged?” He’s probably wondering if I’ve noticed anything amiss. I have to keep my own voice calm, but I’ve never been so deadly afraid in my entire life. Not even with Andrew.

“I didn’t remove it. I was worried about scratches.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Accidents happen.”

But it wasn’t an accident that we met. Just like it’s not an accident that we’re at the lake house with him right now. He’d been so convincing, weaving his spell. I need you, he’d said.

“Why don’t you have a bath with me?” he says. We’d done that before, when I stayed over at his place. He’d lit candles, dribbled champagne over my body, teased me with his mouth, made me twist and moan and beg for his touch. I fell in love with a man who hated me.

I glance at the front door. “I don’t know.… Sophie—”

“Is a big girl. I don’t think she’ll be traumatized. She knows about the birds and the bees.” He smiles. “You can help me warm up.”

“I’m just not in the mood for a bath.”

“Okay.” He gives me a quizzical look. My tone was too short, my voice tight.

“I’ll come and sit with you. Let me just freshen my coffee.”

The sound of running water floats down the hall. I think of the bathtub upstairs. Did Elizabeth sit with him? Does he still bathe in there sometimes and think of her? I wonder if he’s ever actually rented this house out or if that’s just another lie. I fill my coffee cup.

When I enter the bathroom he’s already got the tub half full, bubbles covering his body up to his hard stomach. His feet are braced against the spout, and he uses one to tighten the tap.

“Sure you won’t join me?”

I shake my head and perch on the side of the tub. He lifts a wet hand, trails a finger down my arm, following a bead of water. I want to scratch at it. Maybe I should just leave now, when he’s in the bath. I might get a few miles down the road before he catches on, but he’s fast—I’ve seen him on the treadmill. If he chases me down, I won’t be able to intercept Sophie.

“I was thinking I might want to cook something different tonight,” I say. “When Sophie comes back, mind if I run to the grocery store and pick up a few things?”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, that’s okay.” I can’t meet his eyes, so I stare down at my coffee, rubbing at an imaginary spot on the handle with my thumb.

I hear a noise, the front door opening, then Angus barking excitedly. I don’t look at Marcus. I just I rush out of the bathroom—and stop when I see Jared with Sophie in the kitchen. He’s kneeling down and petting Angus. Jared looks up at me, gives a friendly smile. I can’t stop staring at him. I feel as though I’ve slammed into a wall, my thoughts scattered. Jared can’t be here. Now he’s in danger too. I have to get them out of here. Noise in the bathroom. Marcus is draining the tub. I only have moments. His keys, Sophie must still have his keys.

I meet Sophie’s eyes, trying to figure out how I can signal that we have to leave without alarming her and setting off panic. “Sophie, we need to get to town. We—”

“Mom, I crashed the Cherokee.”

“You what?” She’s pale, I realize now, her hair messy, and her arms wrapped around her body as though she’s freezing cold. I hadn’t noticed. I’d been too scared. I walk closer. “Are you injured?” I search her face, notice a red mark by her temple. I graze my fingers across the spot.

“I’m okay,” she says. “But the Cherokee is wrecked.” Her voice is quavering and I can tell she’s trying not to break down in front of Jared. “There was a tree and I tried to stop, but the Cherokee slid everywhere, and I went off the road.” Marcus comes up beside me with a robe wrapped around him and she looks at him, her face pleading. “I’m really sorry.”

His face is calm as he looks at her, almost reassuring. If this was yesterday, I would’ve been grateful for how he was always so thoughtful about everything, how he’d take a beat or two before responding—he was so centered. So in control. He’d never lose his temper like Andrew. Now I see something else. I see anger. I’d never noticed before, how his eyes could go so flat and cold. I hadn’t seen it for what it really was, deep-seated hatred and rage.

“I’m just glad you’re all right, Sophie,” he says. “I’ll get you some ice.” He heads over to the fridge, says casually over his shoulder, “Have you called the police?”

I feel a tiny leap of hope. The police. If they come to take an accident report, I might be able to signal that we need help. I look at Sophie. Say yes. Please say you’ve called them.

“No.” Her face flushes. “It was my fault. I glanced at my phone.…”

She’s watching me. She’s expecting me to be angry, to lecture her about driving while distracted, but it’s as though the roof has collapsed onto my head and I’m still trying to dig out from the rubble. Marcus is listening. I have to say something.