The Perfect Mother(88)

“I do, yes,” Nell says. “But only for Sebastian’s burps. I have an entire storage unit of these things.”

Francie walks back into the kitchen and continues past them. Without saying a word, she opens the glass door and steps onto the small terrace. The railing is lined with potted flowers and herbs, and the beginnings of a tomato plant. She looks out across the yard for a few moments and then walks back inside, her curls misty with rain, and peeks inside a closet just off the kitchen. “You think it’s possible she had a video monitor, or a nanny cam?”

“No,” Colette says. She walks to the closet and shuts the door. “That is definitely not possible.” Colette places her hands on Francie’s shoulders. “Leave the note. It’s all you can do.”

Nell walks closer. “Colette’s right, France. Let’s go to The Spot. It’s been a rough few days. Muffins are on me.” Nell pinches the extra fat at her waist. “See?”

Francie wipes her nose. “You think she’ll call when she gets the letter?”

“I do,” Colette says. “You’re doing the right thing. But it’s time to go.”

Francie nods. “I left my bag in the bedroom.” She walks down the hall toward the back of the apartment as Colette goes into the living room to close the terrace door.

Nell peers down the hall. “Would it be weird if I use her bathroom? I shouldn’t have had that coffee.” But then her expression changes, and she walks closer to the door.

“What’s wrong?” Colette asks.

Nell holds up her hand. “Listen.” Colette hears it then: a baby crying.

“That can’t be her,” Colette whispers.

“I know. She’s away, right?”

“Shhhhhh, baby. Shhhhh.” Footsteps jog up the stairs. “We’re almost home.”

“Oh my god,” Nell whispers, grasping Colette’s arm. “It is her. She’s back.”



Colette follows Nell down the hall to the bedroom and closes the door behind them. They hear Scarlett entering the kitchen. “What are we going to do now?” Nell asks.

“I don’t know.”

Nell rushes to the window. “Is there a fire escape or something?”

“Francie,” Colette says. “Are you paying attention? She’s here.”

But Francie doesn’t seem to hear her. She’s standing in front of a desk in the corner of the room, rifling through a drawer, her expression vacant. Scarlett sings in the kitchen.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry. Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby. Okay, my darling,” she says. “It’s time for lunch. Shhhh now. Mama’s here. Let me get out of these wet clothes first.”

The door opens, and the bedroom fills with the piercing sound of Scarlett’s scream.



“Colette.” Scarlett’s hair is damp down her back, her face stricken with fear. She looks at Nell and Francie, her arms wrapped protectively around her baby, who is squirming at her chest under the rain hood of his carrier. “What are you doing here?”

Colette laughs nervously. “Scarlett. My god, how awkward is this? We’re so sorry. This is—”

Francie steps forward. “We’re here about Winnie.”

“Winnie? I don’t understand. Is this about the e-mails you’ve been sending me?”

“Yes. You didn’t write back. You left me no choice but to come here.” There’s an alarming edge to Francie’s voice and a wild look in her eyes, and then the thought strikes Colette. Where is Token? Why didn’t he alert them that Scarlett had come home?

“To be honest, Francie, if I was going to write back, it would have been to ask you to stop. The number of e-mails you’re sending me. It’s a little disturbing.”

“I saw you the other day, on your balcony, when I was at Winnie’s.”

“On my balcony? What do you mean? We’ve been away.”

“No, I saw you,” Francie says. “You had a watering can.”

Scarlett is shaking her head. “Okay—”

“Winnie confided in you,” Francie says. “That’s what you told us, at the last meeting. She admitted she was depressed.”

Scarlett’s baby releases a soft cry of hunger, and she begins to bounce him. “Yes, and—”

“And you were home that night, right?” Her voice is rigid. “With your in-laws?”

“I spoke to the detectives about everything I know.” Scarlett shifts her gaze from Francie to Colette and Nell. “I’m sorry, but whatever it is you’re doing—the incessant e-mails. And now this, coming here, breaking into my apartment—it’s completely out of line.” Her voice is taut with anger. “Not to mention against the law.”

Colette feels the heat of embarrassment at her neck. “Scarlett, we’re sorry. We were going to just leave a letter—”

“How did you even get in here?”

“Your door—it was unlocked,” Francie says.

“My door was unlocked?” Her face flushes. “How stupid of me.”

“We didn’t plan to—” Colette tries to steady her voice. “We—”

“It wasn’t our intention to come inside,” Nell says, walking to place a hand on Francie’s elbow. “How about we just go and leave you to your day?”