A Mother Would Know (83)

I worry for a moment that I’ve made a mistake. A boy needs his mother—more than I’d even realized, I think guiltily. But then I think of all the pain Kendra’s caused, the terror she’s secretly inflicted. The Kendra I’ve seen is a responsible mom, but who knows what she might do to Mason if she doesn’t get help. No, I’ve done the right thing for Kendra and for Mason.

My blinds are open, and I stare out at the early-morning sky, knowing that below my window is Leslie’s house.

When I left her house after our last conversation, I’d felt so defeated, thinking I’d failed to convince her of Hudson’s innocence, but looking back, I realize she’d never actually admitted to pointing the finger at Hudson.

It was two days later when I saw them wheel her body into the ambulance. If only I’d said something different. Something more. I’m not sure what that would’ve been, but something that would have given us both closure.

Now that she’s gone, I’d always have that regret. Of a friendship gone stale. Of all the years we hated each other.

I’d been right all along. Hudson hadn’t killed Heather. It was an accident, just like I had insisted. I know that now. I hadn’t needed to be afraid of letting him tell the truth. But still, I understand her need to avenge Heather’s death. To hold on to it. I know it in the same way I know I still love Kendra fiercely, even after all she’s done. The way we feel for our children defies logic. They are a part of us. Leslie blaming Hudson was probably her way of keeping Heather alive.

How had I missed all the signs?

It will take me a while to process all that’s happened today. I’ll have to retrain my brain, rewrite the narrative I’ve believed for years. All the memories I’ve attributed to Hudson that were actually Kendra.

The doll heads, the hamster, the breakin, even Heather’s death.

All these years, I’d thought our house was haunted by Grace, but really it had been haunted by Kendra.

I hear Bowie downstairs, and I sit up. Even though I’m exhausted, I know I won’t be able to sleep until Bowie’s up here with me. I need his comfort tonight more than ever. Sliding my legs out from under the covers, I feel them drop over the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the cool floor. I test my movement, flexing my toes, then push my weary body up off the bed. Force myself to stand.

I shuffle gingerly across my bedroom floor, press my door open, and step into the hallway. From this vantage point, I don’t see Bowie or Hudson. Based on the noises, I’m guessing they’re in the family room. I feel too weak to call him, but I’ll be able to see if I walk to the edge of the stairs.

As I pass Hudson’s room, its open door, my toe snags over something sharp and small. Crouching down, I spot a tiny clump of white clay on the ground. There is a trail of it leading into Hudson’s room. Most of it is a mere dusting, almost invisible.

My heart seizes.

That’s what’s been bugging me. The nagging thought in the back of my mind. The thing I saw in both Molly’s and Leslie’s homes. Clumps of clay nestled in the fibers of the carpet. It didn’t register until this moment. Maybe because of all the medicine I’d been on, Kendra’s cocktail of antianxiety medications and sleeping pills.

But the clay—it had been there in Molly’s bedroom and Leslie’s hallway. The speck of perlite, I thought, reaching for the earring.

My eyes follow the chain of them into his room. From my crouch down low, I can see into the mess under Hudson’s bed—and I suck in a ragged breath. I crawl forward, my back aching with the effort. Tucked above a bin of sweaters is a leather-bound book. I squint into the shadows, taking in the date on the side. Written in Sharpie.

It’s Leslie’s missing notebook.

The one from this year.

“Turns out, there are worse things than being cheated on.”

“Hudson was scary jealous.”

My conversation with Natalia plays in my mind. I see her face in a new light, how fearful she looked when she spoke of Hudson—her mouth curled downward, the terror in her eyes. That wasn’t made up. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but her emotion was real.

“If it weren’t for her,” Hudson had said earlier tonight, “Heather would be here today. If only she’d kept her big mouth shut.”

He’d blamed Kendra for his fight with Heather that night, truly believing it was her fault they’d gotten into it. Not that his actions were the catalyst. And I think about the dates and words in Leslie’s journals. Why had Leslie thought Heather was scared of Hudson, not Kendra? No matter how Hudson tried to swing it, wouldn’t Heather have told her mom if she’d been afraid of Kendra instead?

In my memories, I always see Hudson and Heather so happy together. But that wasn’t always the case, was it? I’d overheard them fighting. Yelling. Multiple times over the years. And there were weeks where they barely spoke. A period of time when Heather barely came around. Is it possible that I’m only allowing myself to remember the good?

I think about Kendra’s desperate words as the police carted her out of here, protesting her innocence.

But what if she hadn’t been lying?

“Bro, stop hitting me up or I’m gonna block you.”

Maybe...maybe Blondie was Molly. Theo had said he’d hook him up, and he did so in front of Kendra. I’m sure he thought if he didn’t, it would look bad—especially if she already suspected him of having an affair. Perhaps he did give Hudson Molly’s number.