Open House(47)

Priya smiled weakly. “So do the meds you prescribe me.”

“You could find a psychiatrist for that,” he said. “Or get another therapist, better than the ones you’ve had.”

“Someone else should be prescribing, not you, shouldn’t they?” Priya asked carefully. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground—his career, his ego.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Brad said, shaking his head. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I know that,” Priya said, “I do. But I think maybe, the dose, isn’t it a little aggressive?” His eyes went wider. “I googled it,” she said, “that’s all, and it seemed—”

“There’s an acceptable range of dosage, Priya,” Brad said.

“Oh, okay,” Priya said, unsure how to respond.

Brad’s face was sad and unfamiliar when he said, “It just seems in this conversation you’ve accused me of murdering someone, stabbing someone else, and poisoning you with medication.”

“No, of course not,” Priya said. “I know you would never hurt me. I just thought perhaps . . .”

“That I was overmedicating you,” he finished.

“Yes,” she said.

He pressed his lips tightly together. “It’s a higher dosage than normal,” he said, “but not out of the range of what’s sometimes prescribed. And I told you I was starting you on the highest dose; we talked about that. Priya, it’s not been easy, seeing you have these spells of anxiety, knowing you’re caring for our son alone, and knowing you could have another panic attack at any minute, while you were driving him somewhere, even, and what if . . .”

“I’ve always taken good care of Elliot,” Priya said. “I’ve always kept him safe and loved.”

“I know that. God, do I know that. You’re the most incredible mother I’ve ever known.”

Priya blinked. He’d never said it like that. They were quiet, staring at each other, until Priya said slowly, “I’m going to get a new therapist, and a new doctor.”

“There’s a psychiatrist I know from work . . .” Brad started, but Priya held up her hand. “I’ll find my own,” she said.

Brad nodded, and then a knock pounded on the front door. Priya assumed it was Elliot and rose quickly, the blue-and-white tiles blurring beneath her feet as she hurried down the hall and into the foyer. Brad followed her, and they opened the door to see Detective Rappaport and two uniformed officers standing behind him. He flashed his badge, which felt entirely unnecessary, and then said, “Dr. Aarons, you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Josie Carmichael.”

Priya covered her mouth. She glanced at her husband, standing there in the doorway with his face white. “Let’s make this easy,” Rappaport said as he began to frisk Brad for weapons. “We wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of your neighborhood, Dr. Aarons.”

“We didn’t do anything!” Priya blurted.

“Forensics found evidence that gives us probable cause,” the detective said, the words piercing the cold air like a slingshot.

“I’m going with the police,” Brad said slowly, reasonably, and then he nodded toward their neighbor’s house, and that’s when Priya saw something so much worse than Rappaport and his all-powerful badge: her son was trudging through the neighbor’s front yard toward hers.

“No,” she said beneath her breath. Please, turn back, Elliot, go back inside.

Elliot was wearing Brad’s oversized snow boots. Priya had shooed him out of the house so fast he couldn’t find his own. He looked ridiculous in them, and he could barely walk through the snow without stumbling. What had she been thinking?

“Call our lawyer,” Brad was saying, but his words were too fuzzy inside her brain. Elliot was still so focused on the snow he hadn’t looked up yet to see the officers on their front step. The lights on the cop car weren’t flashing, and nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have caught his eye yet.

“Priya? Do you hear me? Call our lawyer and send him to the station.”

Their lawyer? Was Brad trying to sound tough in front of the detective? The only lawyer she ever considered theirs was Brad’s brother. “Jack?” she asked, and he nodded. She swallowed, and the moment she turned back to Elliot, his eyes found hers. He stopped dead in his tracks. Snow crept halfway up his boots. She wanted to call to him, but she couldn’t find her voice. Elliot’s gaze went to his father on the front step with Rappaport and the other cops. His brown eyes went wide. He started to sprint through the snow toward them, but then he lost his footing.

“Elliot!” Priya called out as he fell facedown into the snow, and then she took off running toward him. Two neighbors across the way had opened their front doors. Neither came to help Priya. They just stood there, one with a phone pressed against her ear as she stared at the police car. The news of Brad’s arrest would be all over Waverly within the hour, and Priya knew they deserved it.

Elliot pushed himself to his feet and started barreling toward her, and she toward him, both of them stumbling through the snow until they were in each other’s arms.

“Mama?” he asked, a question in his voice she didn’t know how to answer.

Priya held her son and watched as his father was handcuffed and escorted into the back of a police car.