The Couple Next Door(69)

Neither of them seems to want to start the conversation. It’s awkward. Finally Cynthia says, “Are they making any progress with the investigation?” She wears an expression of concern as she says this, but Anne isn’t fooled.

Anne looks at her and says, “I will never get my baby back.” She says this calmly, as if she’s talking about the weather. She feels disconnected, not rooted to anything. She realizes all at once that it was a mistake coming here. She’s not strong enough to face Cynthia on her own. It was dangerous coming here. She is afraid of Cynthia. But why? What can Cynthia do to her, after what’s already happened? Really, with all that Anne has lost, she should feel invincible. She has nothing left to lose. Cynthia ought to be afraid of her.

Then Anne understands. She is chilled to the bone. Anne is afraid of herself. She is afraid of what she might do. She needs to leave. She stands up suddenly. “I have to go,” she blurts out.

“What? You just got here,” Cynthia says, surprised. She looks intently at her. “Are you all right?”

Anne sinks back down into the chair, puts her head between her knees. Cynthia comes over to her and squats down beside her. She rests one of her manicured hands lightly on Anne’s back. Anne is afraid she might pass out; she feels as if she’s going to throw up. She breathes deeply, waiting for the feeling to pass. If she waits, and breathes, the sick feeling will pass.

“Here, have some coffee,” Cynthia offers. “The caffeine will help.”

Anne lifts her head and watches Cynthia pour the coffee. This woman doesn’t care about her at all, but she’s making her coffee, putting in cream and sugar, and bringing it over to her at the kitchen table, the way she used to. Anne takes a gulp, then another. Cynthia was right, it does make her feel better. The coffee clears her head, makes her able to think. She takes another sip and puts the cup down on the table. Cynthia has sat down across from her.

“How long have you been having an affair with my husband?” Anne asks. Her voice is matter-of-fact. There is a surprising neutrality to it, considering how angry she is. Anyone listening would think she didn’t care.

Cynthia sits farther back in her chair and folds her arms across her ample breasts. “I’m not having an affair with your husband,” she says, equally cool.

“Cut the bullshit,” Anne says in an oddly friendly tone. “I know all about it.”

Cynthia looks surprised. “What do you mean? There’s nothing to know. Marco and I are not having an affair. We got a little physical on the back patio the last time you were here, but it was harmless stuff. Teenager stuff. He was drunk. We were both drunk. We got carried away. It meant nothing. It was the first and only time we’ve ever touched each other.”

“I don’t know why you both deny it. I know you’re having an affair,” Anne persists, looking at Cynthia over the rim of her coffee cup.

Cynthia looks at her across the table, holding her own cup with both hands. “I told you, and I told the police when they were here, that we were fooling around a bit outside. We were drunk, that’s all it was. There’s been nothing between Marco and me before or since. I haven’t even seen him since the night of the kidnapping. You’re imagining things, Anne.” Her tone is patronizing.

“Don’t lie to me!” Anne suddenly hisses. “I saw Marco coming out of your back door yesterday afternoon.”

Cynthia stiffens.

“So don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t seen him! And I know about the cell phone.”

“What cell phone?” One of Cynthia’s perfectly shaped eyebrows has gone up.

“Never mind,” Anne says, wishing she could take this last bit back. She remembers that the cell phone might have been for someone else. It’s so confusing, everything that’s been happening. She can hardly keep things straight anymore. She feels as if her mind is breaking down. She was always sensitive before, but now—now her baby is gone, her husband is cheating on her, lying to her—who wouldn’t lose her mind in this situation? No one could blame her. No one could blame her if she did something crazy.

Now Cynthia’s expression changes. The false concern vanishes, and she regards Anne coldly. “You want to know what’s going on, Anne? Are you sure you really want to know?”

Anne looks back at her, confused by her change of tone. Anne can imagine Cynthia as a schoolyard bully—the tall, beautiful girl who taunted short, plump, underconfident girls like her.

“Yes, I want to know.”

“Are you sure? Because once I tell you, I’m not going to be able to take it back.” Cynthia puts her cup down on the table.

“I’m stronger than you think,” Anne says. There’s an edge to her voice. She puts her cup down, too, leans forward over the table, and says, “I’ve lost my baby. What could possibly hurt me now?”

Cynthia smiles, but it’s a cold, calculating smile. She sits back in her chair and looks at Anne as if she is trying to make a decision. “I don’t think you have any idea what’s really going on,” she says.

“Then why don’t you tell me?” Anne snaps.

Cynthia stands up, pushes back her chair with a scrape on the kitchen floor. “All right. Stay here. I’ll only be gone for a minute.”

Cynthia leaves the kitchen and goes upstairs. Anne wonders what Cynthia can possibly have to show her. She considers making a run for it. How much reality can she stand? Maybe there are pictures. Pictures of her and Marco together. Cynthia is a photographer. And Cynthia is the kind of woman to have pictures taken of herself, because she is so gorgeous and so vain. Maybe she’s going to show Anne pictures of herself in bed with Marco. And the expression on Marco’s face will be entirely different from the expression on his face when he’s making love to Anne. She stands up. She’s about to let herself out the sliding glass door when Cynthia appears in the kitchen holding a laptop.