Wherever She Goes(29)

Could this be Paul’s idea? He thinks I’m a wee bit unstable right now. Did he confess his fears to Gayle?

“I . . . just don’t want Charlie going over this weekend.”

“Wait. I have an idea, Paul.”

Have they conspired to undermine my parental rights?

Or am I being a paranoid bitch even considering that?

I shift my weight, and as I do, I feel the extra heft of the gun in my purse.

Charlotte.

I forgot about Charlotte.

I didn’t forget she was coming for the weekend, of course, but I failed to put the pieces together. I was retrieving a gun to take home . . . when Charlotte will be there.

If I am so concerned about safety that I’m getting a gun, should I even have Charlotte over?

No, I’m overreacting on the threat. Charlotte is not in danger. I do not need a gun. I could put it back and insist on taking Charlotte tomorrow. Still . . .

I make it clear to Gayle that I don’t require an extra night off and that I’m more than happy to take Charlotte anytime Paul needs it. However, I don’t want to interfere with their plans. Bringing her Sunday morning is fine.

We make arrangements. After I sign off, I tuck the gun back into its hiding place. If I need it, I’ll come back—after Charlotte’s gone.





Chapter Seventeen





Gayle’s call caught me off guard. The more I think about it, though, the more suspicious I become. The drive home from Chicago, in Friday-night traffic, gives me plenty of time to think. Too much time.

After that call, part of my brain whirls in a cyclone of paranoia. A little homunculus inside my head runs in circles shouting “Doom! Doom! Doom!” like a cartoon character. That is the worst side of me. The most childlike side. The most guilty side. The part that is somehow convinced I have gotten off far too easy in life, considering my crimes, and the hammer of karma hangs over my head, waiting for the absolute worst way to punish me.

You are a thief, Aubrey. You stole from people, and you were not caught, and that ache in your shoulder doesn’t repay your crimes.

You think you can run from all that? Fall in love and marry a great guy and have an amazing child and a perfect life? You think that a marriage breakup is the worst thing that can happen? Think again.

The worst thing that can happen is that I lose my daughter. Not through a court of law, but through a foe I cannot fight. Through Charlotte herself. She lives in the only home she’s known. Sleeps in the only bedroom she’s known. She lives there with her perfect daddy, and the only thing missing is her mommy. But what if another mommy comes along? A mommy who’ll take her to princess teas when her own mother forgets. A mommy who’ll whisk her off on surprise horseback rides and birthday parties. A mommy who brings a cool older sister and brother. A mommy who could slide into that house and take her mother’s place, and everything will be the way it was. No, everything will be better.

I want to scream at that version of Gayle, the one who knows exactly what she’s doing, the one who wants to steal my daughter, steal my place. Steal my husband? I can say I’m happy for Paul, but is there a tiny part that hoped for some fantasy reunion? Yes. Yes, there is. And it isn’t tiny. Not at all.

Yet Gayle isn’t that monster. She’s just a woman who’s gone through her own divorce and has now met a wonderful guy . . . a guy I gave up. While part of me wishes she would move a little slower—does Charlotte really need to go to your daughter’s party already?—that might just be my own fears speaking. The fears that know this is one step along a road I don’t want to see them take.

Whatever Gayle’s intent, Paul is up to something. It’s too coincidental otherwise. We parted on bad terms yesterday. Could this be his revenge? That’s not the man I know, but I have hurt him—I know that—and maybe he’s finally lashing out.

Whatever the answer, he should have been the one to call me. That’s what I realize during that drive home, what I’d missed earlier, in my confusion. Paul wanted a day of my time with our daughter. Time that we had agreed upon. We allow for exceptions, of course. We were determined never to put our own needs above our child’s. We’ve negotiated these exceptions with no actual negotiation required. The one who said “I’d like her for x” was the one who also said “I know that isn’t our arrangement, so here’s how I suggest making up for it.”

His requests are always reasonable, and so I am reasonable in return. Even this one—for Gayle’s daughter—is logical. So he should have called me.

Having Gayle phone only makes me more suspicious. Makes me wonder whether adding Charlotte to the outing seems last minute because it is last minute.

“I . . . just don’t want Charlie going over to Aubrey’s this weekend.”

“Wait. I have an idea, Paul. Why don’t we invite Charlie to Libby’s party?”

“I would love that. I’m just . . . I’m not sure Aubrey will go for it. She knows I’m upset. She might see through this.”

“Here, let me handle it.”

I’m in Oxford when my phone rings. I go to grab it. I’d never talk on my cell with Charlotte in the car, but she’s not here, and I’m certain it’s Gayle calling again or maybe Paul this time.

“On second thought, I think we should keep Charlie for the whole weekend. She’ll be so tired Sunday.”