Neighborly(60)

He might not be entirely wrong, but I’ll tell him he’s completely right. Melody is wonderful, and I’m the one with problems. I’ll work hard to fix them and to accept Melody’s love.

I’ll tell him whatever he needs to hear, because I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my family.

I carefully lay Sadie down in the bed, surrounding her with pillows on either side so that she can’t roll off. Not that she can roll yet anyway, but you never know when a new skill will kick in. Better safe than sorry.

Still in just my towel, I locate my phone. As I go to push the text icon, planning to beg Doug’s forgiveness and tell him we can come to Fort Bragg every weekend if that’s what it takes, I accidentally touch the camera instead. Then I freeze.

There on the screen is a picture of Wyatt and me. More specifically, it’s Wyatt and me, kissing passionately.

I want to think it was doctored, but despite the darkness, the image remains clear. It would have to be the most perfect photoshopping ever, done on a very tight time line.

Who took that picture?

Has Doug seen it?

And what else could I have done that night to destroy my life that I have no recollection of?





CHAPTER 20

“Absolutely,” I tell Melody. “You push the stroller.” I glance at Doug, hoping he’ll notice how magnanimous I’m being toward his mother, praying he’ll forgive me.

“It’s two of my favorite things: the three of you and the gardens. Or are those four of my favorite things? Scott’s the math wiz.” Melody smiles, the fault lines of her face crinkling. She adjusts the brim of her enormous hat, its own solar system, though it’s a mostly cloudy day. Practically every day is, this far north along the coast at this time of year.

Doug smiles at her. Since he stared me down in the carriage house, he’s ignored me. He blew off my repeated attempts to apologize. But being Doug, he ignores me in a way that escapes his parents’ attention and thereby makes only me uncomfortable. He manages to be perpetually occupied elsewhere. For example, he’s currently making sure Sadie’s stroller is at the right height for Melody.

In the time I’ve known him, I’ve never been this close to a breakdown. I’m using every trick Dr. Morrison ever taught me. I even tried to call her, but the number was disconnected, and when I searched for her online, all I found was old practice information. Dr. Morrison has gone out of business. Two therapy sessions for the price of one! Everything must go! Even the couch is for sale, and the soothing pictures of hydrangeas! Anyone need a lifetime’s supply of tissues?

I’ve deleted the photo, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. Whoever took the picture knows, and if that’s the same person who wrote the notes, then I have no reason to believe they’d be discreet. Someone could tell Doug. He’s been so angry lately. Is that because someone already told him?

Of all the people to kiss in the alley behind Hound, somehow I picked Wyatt, Doug’s best AV friend and the husband of its most insecure woman. Or did Wyatt pick me? I just don’t understand how it could have happened. I don’t even remember Wyatt being at Hound. I thought it was girls’ night.

Ketamine, that’s the only explanation. I would never have done that otherwise. I know that much.

But would Doug understand if I revealed everything? Would he consider me a victim or think I brought this upon myself? For so many years, I blamed myself for inviting the monsters under my bed, like I deserved it. I’ve tried so hard to believe that I deserve better, and Doug’s a part of that. But if I would betray Doug with Wyatt so casually, maybe I was right all along.

Doug’s eyes are on Melody, who’s in her element on this particular outing. She likes leading us around and seems to feel a pride of ownership in the gardens. She takes charge, striding ahead with Sadie. “You’re going to love the rhododendrons!” she says in a singsong voice. I prefer to think her singsong is more annoying than mine, but Sadie likes hers just as much.

Because of Sadie’s stroller, we have to keep to the main path. There’s a formal lawn, but the vast swaths of rhododendron bushes along the rim have an untended vibe. Multiple blooms adorn each stem, often with prominent stamens, but the overall impression is still feminine. So conservative Melody loves a hermaphroditic flower. I’d laugh under other circumstances. The bushes of varying hues and heights seem anarchic, like they’re threatening to come forward; they’ll overtake that lawn someday, dammit. They’ll defy the odds. I want to believe in the underdog right about now.

“I just love the colors,” Melody says. “Don’t you?”

“I really do.” I try to infuse it with maximum feeling. I’ll be your daughter now, Melody, because my family depends on it.

Doug refuses to notice. He’s pretending to admire the flowers.

“Doug, which color do you like best?” I ask. He’ll have to answer me. Engage or risk exposing our dirty laundry.

“Which do you like, Mom?” He punts it to Melody, his eyes on her. He’s tricky, that one. Like mother, like son. I’m beginning to despair.

“The deep purple. Right there.” She points and then walks in that direction, pushing the stroller onto the lawn, off-roading. She stumbles.

“You OK, Mel?” Scott asks, instantly at her side. See, that’s what love looks like, Douglas. Sometimes you have to hold each other up.