Cackle(54)

“A cauldron?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.

“Mm,” she says.

I don’t have a response, which results in an awkward pause. The quiet recalls Oskar’s voice. Some people go out there and they don’t come back.

I look up at Sophie, and she’s looking back at me. Her amber eyes have gone dark.

“What is it, pet?” she asks, her chin ascending.

“Um, no-nothing,” I stammer. The coffee cup begins to crumple in my hands. I’m clutching it too tightly.

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” she says. “You can tell me.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” Why would Oskar say that to me? Why would he say it if he didn’t have good reason?

Have I been too accepting? Have I glued on my blinders for the sake of this friendship?

I always thought I was an exceptional judge of character. That I could see people for who they really are deep down. But isn’t that the kind of arrogant thinking that gets people called to the witness stand? Ted Bundy had a wife, didn’t he?

Oh, God. Would I have married Ted Bundy?

“Annie,” Sophie says, coolly examining her nails, “we’re friends, yes? Friends don’t keep secrets from one another, now, do they?”

“No,” I say. I don’t have a choice now. “It’s just . . . It’s Oskar.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“He said something to me. I just . . . It was weird. I thought it might . . . I don’t know. I thought it might hurt your feelings. You know, the stigma.”

She laughs. “Oh, pet. You don’t need to worry about Oskar hurting my feelings, though I am curious. What did he have to say about me?”

“It wasn’t anything bad,” I say.

She laughs again. Louder this time.

I swallow. “He said that I shouldn’t come out here. He said . . . he said . . .”

She leans forward. Closer to me.

Closer. Closer.

“He said . . . he said some people come out here and don’t come back.”

She latches onto me, her hand on my knee. She sinks her fingertips into my skin. Her eyes are wild. A sneer possesses her lips. “Did he really?”

I nod.

She lets go, settling back into her chair. “He still blames me. I suppose it’s easier than accepting any responsibility himself. He can’t bring himself to confront the reality of what happened. It’s too painful for him.”

“What happened?” I ask, nerves churning.

“His wife. Helen. Erik’s mother. She was unhappy. She was very young when she married Oskar, when she had Erik. She felt trapped, completely overwhelmed. So she came to me. We spent some time together. She was so lost. I thought she was seeking friendship, direction.” Sophie’s eyes catch on something. Some memory. She’s quiet for a moment. “Then she left.”

“Left?”

“One morning Oskar woke up and she was gone. He came storming over here, of course, accusing me. I hadn’t a clue where she went. He didn’t believe me. He asked to come inside. I didn’t much like the idea of letting an angry man into my home, for him to turn the place over, searching for someone I knew wasn’t here. He threatened to call the police. Imagine! I said if he did that, I’d harvest his teeth, pluck them from his jaw one by one and use them for jewelry.”

She sighs, stroking her bare collarbone. “A shame he relented. He does have nice teeth, don’t you think? They would have made a beautiful necklace.”

If I had any sensation left in my body, I’m sure I would feel my chin dropping into my lap.

“Anyway,” Sophie says, noting my expression, “I had nothing to do with her leaving. All I did was listen and give her advice. He was the one who drove her off. He was very dismissive of her needs. But no, as far as he’s concerned, and perhaps the entire town, it’s my fault.”

“Where did she go?”

“She talked about California,” Sophie says, and sips her latte. “Maybe there.”

“Maybe?”

She stares at me. Seconds pass. In these seconds, babies are born, people die, stars burn millions of miles away and I may or may not let out a silent, nervous fart.

“Helen isn’t dead,” Sophie says finally, “or missing, if that’s what you’re wondering. She resurfaced several years ago and has been in touch with Erik. I’ve not been informed of her whereabouts. From what you’ve just told me, it seems her reappearance has not absolved me. A stubborn grudge from a stubborn man.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“No, that’s all right. I suppose it’s best that you know,” she says, “and that I was the one to tell you. Now, do you have any more questions? Any other concerns?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Already in the past,” she says. She sits up straight and smiles, her eyes bright again. “Now! Darling. Will you come? I have a surprise for you in the ballroom.”

Any lingering nerves are immediately mollified when she reveals her surprise. She’s set up a shuffleboard court.

“Have you ever played?” she asks.

“I haven’t,” I say.

“I’ll teach you.”