Her One Mistake(28)
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“I need you to tell me the truth,” I insisted.
She rolled her eyes. “You know I would.”
I didn’t answer as I sipped my coffee.
“Charlotte,” she said, her voice firm, “there are friends you trust with your children and ones you don’t. You are definitely one I would. You know that.”
We had talked about it once at a barbecue at Audrey’s. She and I were both tipsy when Aud gestured toward Kirsten, a neighbor of hers who was never less than fifteen minutes late picking her children up from school.
“I left the twins at her house the other day,” Audrey had told me. “When I went to get them, her oldest, Bobby, was on the glass roof of the conservatory. They’d laid a mattress on the grass and he was jumping onto it. Thankfully my two weren’t being so stupid. Or maybe I just got there in time.” She’d laughed. “I won’t be leaving them with her again. Even if my leg’s falling off, I’ll wait for you to come over before I go to the hospital.”
Audrey smiled and said, “I’d still wait for you first, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, though I wondered if she might be the only one.
HARRIET
On Sunday morning Brian and Harriet sat in silence in the back of Angela’s car as she drove them to the hotel for their public statement. Harriet’s stomach clenched in knots as they passed the familiar landmarks that blurred in a haze.
In the small parking lot, Harriet looked out the window and saw the hotel was one of the generic boxes built away from the coast that always appeared to be filled with suited businessmen rather than vacationers.
Her door opened and she stepped out, shivering, even though it wasn’t remotely cold. Brian took her arm and, with Angela on her other side, she was led up the concrete steps and into the reception area.
There was nothing attractive about the orange bricks or the mass-produced paintings that hung behind the reception desk, and the air-conditioning blasted through the conference room, making her wish she’d worn something warmer.
The room was already filled with rows of people, chattering among themselves, oblivious to her and Brian. Angela pointed to the front and told her they would be sitting at the table, where microphones were strategically placed and cameras were facing.
Harriet stood rigidly in the doorway. “I don’t think I can do it,” she said in a whisper.
She felt Brian move closer, could smell a fresh waft of his aftershave. “We can do this together,” he said, never taking his eyes off the front of the room as he slowly walked her past the rows of people who began to lull into silence when they saw them approaching.
A flash of light made Harriet startle, as journalists began snapping photos before they’d even sat down. “Come sit over here,” Angela told her as she directed Harriet to a chair, depositing her into it.
“Are you going to be next to me?” she asked.
Angela shook her head as she directed Brian to the chair on Harriet’s right. “No, Captain Hayes will be,” she said and crouched down. “You’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Just remember what we said earlier.”
Harriet nodded and glanced over at the young media officer who had come to the house that morning. Kerri had told Harriet she was there to advise them both about the statement, and confidently reeled through a list of instructions that Harriet had only half listened to.
“We should find you something to wear,” Kerri had said, looking pointedly at Harriet, who in turn waved her hand toward the wardrobe. Kerri could choose something and she’d wear whatever it was. Though now she felt exposed in the thin white blouse that clung to her skin, and wished she hadn’t been so careless that morning in her attempt to shut out what was happening.
The magnitude of the next hour was overwhelming, absorbing all her thoughts. Harriet knew exactly how important this was. She’d been the one sitting at home watching Mason’s parents last October and had seen the mother’s raw grief seeping from every bone in her body. But then she’d listened to the journalists who’d picked apart the parents’ gestures, twisting them and suggesting the unimaginable. His father hadn’t looked worried enough, according to one website. His eyes had shone bright with fear, as far as Harriet had seen, but it hadn’t taken long for the trolls to label him aggressive. The mother had been caught smiling at her baby when they left the public appeal. Surely that meant she hadn’t been affected by her son’s disappearance, one paper had said.
People who knew nothing of Mason or his family wondered anyway, “Do you think it was one of them?” How frightening that the media can turn on you in an instant. So Harriet knew exactly how important their appeal for Alice was, and knew it was about much more than looking for her daughter.
Brian fidgeted next to her as she watched the room. The journalists had started chattering among themselves again as they waited for the news conference to start. A burst of laughter arose from the back before the room descended into a guilty silence.
Brian continued to squirm in his chair as though he were uncomfortable. His hands were splayed wide on the desk in front of him as if he were trying to ground himself. A night of no sleep and his usually pristine stubble had turned into the clumsy start of a beard. The gray hairs near his mouth glinted pure white in the false light of the hotel. Her eyes drifted to his hair that tufted up on top and then down to his eyes, heavy from a night of pacing the house. Despite all that, he still looked effortlessly handsome, she thought. The public would like that.