The Golden Couple(102)

Don’t forget to feed Sam, he’d said, chewing on a thumbnail.

I won’t. She’d smiled brightly at Bennett. I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow.

By then, she’d hopefully have hired a new assistant and given Polly notice. And Skip would be out of their lives.

Instead of being filled with a sense of peace, her unease intensifies when Matthew and Bennett leave.

She keeps busy, tidying the kitchen and loading the dishwasher with their plates from lunch, then removing the watch from her hiding place in the garage and bringing it into the kitchen to wrap. She’s folding down the last corner of the package when the Scotch tape in the dispenser runs out.

There’s more tape in her makeshift office upstairs, but a closer roll is likely in Matthew’s study. She leaves her gift on the kitchen island and walks into the room, the hardwood floors cool against her bare feet.

Across the room, the window by Matthew’s cherished Picasso sketch is firmly shut. She averts her gaze. She won’t let thoughts of Skip intrude today.

There’s a letter opener, Matthew’s laptop, and a pencil holder on his desk, along with a silver-framed family photo, but no tape. Marissa walks around behind the desk and pulls open the top drawer. Like everything in Matthew’s office, it’s well organized, with scissors, envelopes, paper clips, and a stapler in neat sections. The tape is toward the back.

She pulls the drawer out a little farther and sees another object next to the tape: a woven white rope.

She stares at it in confusion, even though she knows exactly what it is: Bennett’s missing Cub Scout rope.

What’s it doing hidden away here?

She pulls it out and stares at it. It’s tied in an intricate knot that resembles a figure eight.

It’s called a sailor’s knot. She knows because she grew up on the water, and even though she never learned to make them, she’s seen them a hundred times.

Bennett wasn’t practicing sailor’s knots, though; he doesn’t even know how to form them. He was working on square knots.

Her skin prickles.

She hears the sound of Matthew’s car pulling into the driveway and quickly pulls off a piece of tape, putting back the roll along with the rope and shutting the drawer.

She hurries into the kitchen and finishes wrapping the gift, sliding it into her handbag by the time Matthew has unlocked the door.

He steps into the kitchen. He’s wearing a black jacket and dark jeans and his expression is grim.

Then he sees her and smiles. “It’s just the two of us now.”

For some reason, her stomach clenches. It’s because of everything that happened last night, she tells herself.

“I should get changed so we can go.” She desperately needs a minute alone.

“There’s no rush.” Matthew walks around the island to stand next to her, taking off his jacket. He’s wearing a light blue oxford, one that Marissa bought him because it complements the color of his eyes. “Come, sit down. There’s something I need to tell you about.”

She doesn’t want to sit, but she acquiesces.

Matthew, however, remains standing, setting his jacket down on the stool next to Marissa’s. He’s close to her. She feels penned in.

“I just spoke to Skip. I told him I know what happened between the two of you and that he needs to stay away from us.”

“How did he take it?” she manages to ask.

“He apologized. He seemed to understand. But he’s been acting so unhinged lately, I don’t think we can count on this being the end of it.”

An image of Skip flashes into Marissa’s mind: Skip at seventeen, gently cleaning away the blood on the back of Marissa’s hand from the oyster shell cut. I’m not hurting you, am I? he’d asked.

She would never see Skip again. Never hear his voice.

A deep sense of loss sweeps through her.

Matthew is staring at her. “Everything okay?”

She nods because it should be, but it isn’t. Matthew is so close she feels as if she is inhaling the breath he exhales; her lungs are growing tight.

An almost overpowering sense of claustrophobia grips her as Matthew reaches out and strokes her hair.

“Oh, I just remembered!” Marissa’s voice sounds strangled; she clears her throat. “I need to call Charlie’s mom to make sure Bennett turns in the permission slip tomorrow for his field trip.”

Matthew’s hand dips down lower and he begins to massage her back, his fingers digging into a painful knot in her right shoulder.

“I already told her.” Matthew’s fingers are too strong; it hurts.

She winces and pulls away. What Matthew said makes no sense; she’s the one who filled out the permission slip and tucked it in the pocket of Bennett’s backpack. She wasn’t even aware that Matthew knew about the field trip.

“You did?”

Matthew responds with a question of his own: “Why are you so tense, sweetie?”

She can’t stop seeing that white rope in his desk drawer. If Matthew would just back off, she could try to make sense of the puzzle. Then he finally does move away, and she gulps in air.

He walks around to the other side of the island and pulls out a bottle from their wine rack.

“I thought we could have a drink before we leave.”

“Sounds nice. I’ll get the glasses.” Marissa starts to get up, but Matthew waves her away; he’s already taking them out of a cabinet.