Mother of All Secrets(74)

Vanessa had us. Our only way back to our children and our lives was to let her have her way. But I knew that I couldn’t continue with my life knowing that I had stood by and let an innocent woman be murdered.

Isabel gave herself over to begging for her life. “Vanessa, please. Please don’t do this. Don’t do this to my daughter. I know I’m not perfect, but—you’ve helped me so much. You’ve taught me so much about standing up for myself. I’ll be better. Just please let me stay. I don’t want to leave. Please. I need to be with her.”

Selena had been silent for several moments but had not taken her eyes off Vanessa. I saw out of the corner of my eye that she was holding a wine bottle opener that presumably she’d taken from the bar cart. I had no idea when she’d grabbed it. She saw me register it, and our split-second eye contact communicated all we needed it to. As Vanessa slowly approached Isabel, Selena inched toward Vanessa while her back was turned. She started to raise the wine opener.

“Enough talk!” Vanessa said. “This is happening.”

“No, it’s not,” we heard from a new, but familiar, voice. “No.” Louise, Isabel’s mother, had descended the stairs without any of us hearing a thing. She took a small silver pistol out of her leopard fanny pack and aimed it at Vanessa.

“Huh?” Vanessa’s face failed to conceal her shock.

“Mom!” Isabel cried out, a mixture of relief and horror flooding her voice. “You’re supposed to be with Naomi! What are you doing here?”

“She’s at your aunt Joan’s for the night. Don’t worry, she’s fine. I wanted to be available for my daughter tonight, but I knew you’d never let me, so I didn’t ask. I’ve waited as long as I could, to try to let you girls sort this out on your own. As a mom, it can be hard to know when to let live and when to intervene. I regret standing back for as long as I did with Connor, Isabel. And I wasn’t going to do that again.” She glanced our way. “Get out, ladies. I’ll handle this. Just leave. Now, please, girls. That includes you, Isabel. Vanessa, stay just where you are.”

I felt like a high schooler being kicked out of a party by parents who’d returned earlier than expected. It was the unique sense of being both busted and rescued, both ashamed and relieved.

The four of us ran out the front door and down the stairs, not looking back, though I thought I heard Isabel whisper, “Thank you, Mom.”





Chapter Thirty-Four



Tuesday, October 13

We each speed walked in different directions when we exited Isabel’s house. We knew implicitly that we couldn’t risk convening, being seen as a group by any witnesses.

I had no idea where to go. I was spinning out. I had Connor’s blood on me. My walk turned into a half jog, if only for a way to direct the frenetic energy that was swirling around my body. The streets were still basically empty, and I hoped that to anyone who did happen to be looking, I appeared to be midworkout. It was after 1:00 a.m., but fortunately, in Manhattan, there is no weird time to go for a run.

I jogged over to Riverside Park and all the way down to the Hudson River footpath. There were even a few other runners on the path, which gave me hope that what I was doing appeared normal.

The irony of wandering around the exact spot where Isabel had supposedly gone missing was not lost on me. How did I get here? was what I kept circling back to. I was sure that the same question had dominated Isabel’s thoughts many times over the past week, and probably years—about her situation with Connor, the arrangements she’d made with Vanessa, and of course, now, after everything that had transpired tonight. How did I get here? It wasn’t a new question to me, either. I’d pondered it in bed holding Clara after my encounter with Connor—no, after he raped me—tears running down my face.

Connor, who was now dead and draining blood on the floor of his living room.

I peeled off my sweatshirt and dumped it in the river, leaving me wearing only my tank top. It was warm for October, just under sixty degrees, but I was shaking with chills. I splashed some of the water over my arms to rinse the blood off them. I’d never touched Hudson River water before, always kind of skeeved out by it, thinking of the possibility of dead bodies floating beneath its surface. And here I was, confirming my own suspicions about it as I disposed of my bloody clothes.

Eventually, I had no choice but to walk home. Clara would be bound to wake up soon, if she hadn’t already; I’d been gone for nearly three hours. I fervently hoped that she was still asleep so that I wouldn’t have to concoct some story about a late-night walk to Tim, as I’d planned to if needed.

When I got home around two—terrified I’d see someone else in my elevator, and relieved beyond measure when I didn’t—I yanked off the rest of my clothes and put them straight into the washing machine, which was conveniently right by our door. I walked naked down the hall and into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. I took a “real” shower: I shampooed my hair, scrubbed my body all over, and shaved my legs and underarms for the first time in at least a week, cutting myself several times because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. But I wanted every trace of Connor’s blood, and what I’d participated in, off my body. I have no idea how long I stayed in there, but my skin was practically purple with heat when I finally got out. I couldn’t help but think of the fact that the night that I met Connor and the night that I participated in his murder ended pretty much exactly the same way: scalding myself in a shower, wondering how I would face my family and my life in the light of day.