Hidden Pictures(27)
Mitzi taps the drawings with her finger. “These pictures aren’t normal, sweetie. Something weird is happening in that house.”
I take back the drawings, stuff them into my bag, and thank her for the coffee. My pulse is revving again—more heart palpitations. I thank Mitzi for the advice and open the back door to leave. “Just don’t say anything to them, okay? I’m trusting you to keep this secret.”
She covers her wooden board with a sheath made of black velvet. “My offer stands if you change your mind. And I pretty much guarantee you will.”
* * *
I’m back at my cottage by eight o’clock and still awake at four in the morning. Sleeping is impossible. The coffee was a huge mistake. I try all the usual tricks—deep breaths, a glass of warm milk, a long hot shower—but nothing helps. The mosquitoes are relentless, and the only way to quiet them is to pull the sheets up over my head, exposing my bare feet. I’m just so disappointed in myself. I can’t believe I opened her goddamn medicine cabinet. I toss and turn and obsess over my two minutes in Mitzi’s bathroom, trying to pinpoint the exact moment my brain switched to autopilot. I thought I could manage my addiction, but apparently I’m still Anything-for-a-Bump Mallory, still raiding medicine cabinets for ways to get high.
I wake to my alarm at seven o’clock, feeling groggy and ashamed of myself—and determined not to backslide again.
No more coffee, ever.
No more obsessing over pictures.
And no more talk of Annie Barrett.
Thankfully, when I get to the big house, there’s a brand-new crisis to distract me. Teddy’s favorite charcoal pencils have gone missing and he can’t find them anywhere. We walk to the art store to buy a new pack and as soon as we’re home, he hurries upstairs for Quiet Time. I’m still exhausted from my sleepless night so I move into the den and collapse on the sofa. I only mean to close my eyes for a few minutes, but once again Teddy has to shake me awake.
“You’re napping again!”
I leap to my feet. “Sorry, Teddy Bear.”
“Are we going swimming?”
“Definitely. Put your suit on.”
I feel a million times better. The nap was just enough sleep to recharge my batteries, to bring me back to baseline normal. Teddy runs to get his swimsuit and I see he’s left a new drawing facedown on the coffee table. And I know I ought to leave it there. Let his mother or father deal with it. But I can’t help myself. Curiosity gets the better of me. I turn the paper over, and this is pretty much the last straw.
Look, I know there are many different kinds of parents—liberal parents and conservative parents, atheist parents and religious parents, helicopter parents and workaholic parents and totally toxic parents. And I know all these different parents have wildly different ideas about the best way to raise children. But when I study this picture and see Anya with her eyes squeezed shut and two hands wrapped tight around her neck—well, I think all parents would agree this is pretty fucked-up?
9
Caroline is home from work at five thirty and I resist the temptation to ambush her as soon as she walks through the door. She’s busy, she’s distracted, she needs to greet her son and start making dinner. So when she asks about our day, I just smile and tell her everything is fine.
I go out for a run but I’m still tired from the night before and after thirty minutes I give up. I walk past the Flower Castle, but there’s no sign of Adrian or his family. I go home and shower; I microwave a frozen burrito and try to lose myself in a Hallmark movie. But I’m too distracted to concentrate. My mind keeps going back to the last drawing, to the picture of the hands squeezed tight around Anya’s throat.
I wait until nine o’clock, until I’m certain Teddy will be asleep in his bedroom. Then I gather the three most recent drawings and step outside. I hear voices whispering in the wind and I recognize two figures sitting out by the pool. Ted and Caroline are dressed in white robes and sharing a bottle of wine. They look like the happy couples you see in advertisements for cruise ships—like they’ve just embarked on a seven-day excursion with Royal Caribbean. Caroline is lying back in Ted’s lap and he is gently massaging her shoulders.
“Just a quick dip,” he’s saying. “To relax you.”
“I’m already relaxed.”
“Then should we go upstairs?”
“What about Teddy?”
“What about Teddy? He’s asleep.”
I step lightly over the soft springy grass and I’m halfway across the yard when my heel comes down on a sprinkler head. My ankle twists and I fall on my tailbone, slamming my elbow into the ground, and I can’t help it: I cry out in pain.
Caroline and Ted come running across the yard. “Mallory? Are you all right?” I’ve got my hand cupped over my elbow—the pain is so sudden and searing, I’m certain I’m bleeding. But when I lift my fingers to look, I see the skin is bruised but not broken.
“I’m okay. I just tripped.”
“Let’s get you into the light,” Ted says. “Can you stand up?”
“I just need a minute.”
Ted doesn’t wait. He slides his arm under my knees, then stands and carries me like a child. He walks me back to the pool deck and gently lowers me into a patio chair.