Open House(7)

“I’m gonna grab a coffee,” Chris announced. He turned and walked away from them, instantly lost in the swarm of patrons.

Josie’s phone lit up. She snatched it off the table a little too quickly, her face flushing as she read the incoming text. She tossed it into her bag, and said, “I’m sorry to have to run, Haley. I’ve got a two o’clock appointment.”

So do I, at the precinct, actually, Haley thought. “I’ll see you at the open house tomorrow, then,” she said.

“Can’t wait,” Josie said, standing. “Right at eleven? I want you to see it first.”

Haley nodded, lifting her hand in a wave. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said. She felt a little guilty that Josie and Noah usually treated, but they stood to make a lot of money in commission, and they probably didn’t care too much about the five-dollar lattes. It wasn’t like that with Haley and her friends. Most of them were still in their early twenties or midtwenties and could barely make rent. When she lived in the city, Haley had worked as a research assistant in a lab, but the money wasn’t good enough to afford a New York City apartment and eat at the same time, so she’d supplemented it by bartending three shifts at a dive bar on the Lower East Side. And then Dean proposed, and soon after, he asked her to quit the bartending, telling her he could cover their rent so she could save for medical school. He said he couldn’t sleep, always worrying something would happen to her in the middle of the night.

Josie wrapped a white scarf around her neck. “Say goodbye to Chris for me,” she said. She belted her trench, and gave Haley one last apologetic smile before turning with a flash of flowing blond hair, her petite figure carving a path among the customers, then disappearing.

Haley turned to Noah. They hadn’t really had that many one-on-one conversations. He was looking down at his phone, his eyes the tiniest bit sunken, making Haley wonder how hard he still partied. When he looked up, he said, “I’m sure you and Dean will be relieved to find a more permanent situation. Renting is never quite as satisfying as owning a home.”

Haley didn’t know what to say. She’d only ever rented. “The cottage you and Josie found us to rent is beautiful,” she tried. “But Dean thinks it wouldn’t be safe to raise a family so close to the rough water.” It was one of the only things Dean had ever said about starting a family. He was adamant they could not live on that river, and of course, with Emma disappearing there, Haley agreed.

“He’s probably right,” Noah said. He looked away, scanning the customers, his eyes landing on Chris ordering at the counter. The girl behind the counter looked college-age, and she was blushing at whatever Chris was saying. When Chris tipped back his head and laughed, so did she. Noah frowned as he watched their interaction. “Anyway, those houses on the river are a fortune,” he said.

Haley inhaled the scent of banana muffins wafting through the café. She needed to get to the precinct, but she didn’t want to dash off the second after Josie had left because something about that felt awkward, and she’d been accused of being awkward before. She was trying to be less so, to be more of a people person, because bedside manner was important no matter what kind of doctor she ended up being. The doctors at the hospital always emphasized how important it was to be present with patients, to try to read everything that appeared on their faces, not just in what they said. And Haley was able to do that in the room with a patient, but too often in the classroom she was distracted, her mind wandering during lectures—a few of her professors had called her out on it. The grief was one thing, but the not knowing was what kept her mind constantly turning.

“The house with the green shutters, is it private?” Haley asked. “Not a lot of neighbors?”

“Very private,” Noah said. “I don’t think you’ll even see the neighboring houses. It’s surrounded by woods.”

Haley nodded, hearing Dean’s voice saying the words. Privacy, Haley, we need a house with privacy. As though they had something to hide.





FOUR

Priya

Sure. I’ll meet. Where? When?

That was the text Priya had sent to Josie a few minutes ago, and now she was furiously scrubbing her kitchen, waiting for a reply. Her medication had kicked in, and she watched herself scrub the subway-tiled backsplash as though her hand were someone else’s body part. Tears burned Priya’s eyes and blurred her vision until the tiles smudged into each other, until she couldn’t see them well enough to clean. She stumbled back, blinking, and then turned on the water as hot and fast as it would go, letting the white noise and scorching temperature dull her senses as she rinsed out the sponge. Elliot would be home any moment from the neighbors’ house, and she needed to behave normally, not like someone being chased by skeletons a decade old. She put her soaking hands over her eyes and held them there until they turned cold and her breathing returned to normal.

Ten years ago, Josie Carmichael and Emma McCullough were Priya’s art students at Yarrow. They were just girls then, really, and Josie always sat at the easel front and center. Sometimes Priya would look up from her own painting and catch Josie staring at her. It was uncomfortable even to remember it.

Priya wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing at the sink. She’d been losing track of time ever since she started the new antianxiety medication Brad had prescribed, and it seemed to work in both directions: sometimes the minutes lengthened like taffy, and other times they sped up, scurrying together and vanishing before she could make sense of whatever she was supposed to be doing. She’d tried to tell Brad about the side effects at first, but he’d cut her off, asking, Are you saying you’re missing chunks of time? That’s very serious, Priya.