“I just want to forget it.” Kim was suddenly strangely grateful for the blackness in her head. She couldn’t bring herself to hold last night too close to the light. “Seriously. Please don’t tell anyone else. Not even Charlie.”
Naomi had looked like she might try to argue, but at last she nodded. “Okay.” Kim felt weak with relief. “Yeah. If that’s what you want.”
It was. Kim had never again brought it up, so Naomi hadn’t, either. For a while afterward, though, Kim had half feared new memories would resurface without warning. The sensation was strongest when she was down at the reservoir. The sight of the dense bushland with its hidden pockets would immediately trip something deep inside. It would creep over her, setting her heart pounding and sharp snaps of adrenaline zipping from her chest and through her limbs. Full fight or flight. It became almost unbearable, and yet it didn’t help her remember anything. Whatever was hidden in the blackness stayed there. But Kim hated her reaction to the reservoir. She felt out of control and very alone down there. And so, without mentioning it to anyone, Kim simply stopped going altogether.
Charlie noticed. Kim just didn’t realize it until years later, one sunny afternoon not long after Zara was born. Charlie had been driving them home from a doctor’s appointment, Zara tiny and soft, tucked up in her car seat in the back. They’d had a busy day already, and the quickest way home, Kim knew, would be to turn off the highway and carry on down the track past the reservoir. She never drove that way herself, but she wasn’t the one behind the wheel now, and as they approached the turn, she felt the familiar unwelcome response kick in. She was pressing her fingers lightly against the armrest, the intense prickling feeling already building in her chest, when she realized Charlie had stayed on the highway. He was taking the long way around.
“Are we going somewhere else?” Kim had asked, surprise and relief washing through her.
“No. Just home.” Without looking, he’d reached over and taken her hand. His voice was soft. “You really don’t like it down there, hey?”
Kim had stared at his familiar palm, so warm and solid, and she’d felt like she could breathe again. This wasn’t the first time Charlie had done this, she’d realized, as she suddenly remembered all the times he’d quietly made it easy for her—taking the slower route without comment, or suggesting before Kim had to that they meet friends elsewhere for a walk. How long had he been doing that for her? She wasn’t sure. Years, maybe.
“I’ve never liked it down there.” That wasn’t the case, but Charlie didn’t call her out on it. “I think the water or something creeps me out.”
He’d looked over then. “Yeah?”
“I mean … you don’t know what’s out there.”
“No. I suppose not.” He’d waited patiently, until it was clear she wasn’t going to say any more. “Well. Whatever it is, we can just leave it alone out there. If that’s what you want.” He smiled at her in her favorite way, the way that always reminded her of the very first time she’d seen him. “It doesn’t have to come home with us.”
And that was so true, Kim thought as Charlie had held her hand and driven her and their daughter back to their cozy, babyproofed house surrounded by vines. She’d known in that moment that she could have told him. Everything. What she remembered, what she didn’t. How that all made her feel. And she’d known it would be all right. Kim could tell Charlie, but she still didn’t want to. Not because she was worried anymore but because in that moment she felt other things, too. Loved and safe and suddenly determined that whatever had happened all those years ago, it didn’t deserve to take up space that could be filled by happiness instead.
So Charlie didn’t know. But on the phone so many years later, discussing their teenage daughter and the annual party at the reservoir, Kim found herself wishing for the first time that he did. But it was too late now. They didn’t have those kinds of conversations anymore.
“Let Zara go,” Kim said in the end. “Tell her to be careful.”
* * *
Kim had less time than she might have had to dwell on things back in Marralee because here in Adelaide, for the first time in her life, work was not going well.
Rohan had come along for Friday-night drinks to celebrate the end of a successful campaign and had been oddly subdued when they’d finally got home.
“Hey, I thought the Williams project was yours?” he’d said as they’d brushed their teeth in their master bathroom. The underfloor heating Rohan had recently had installed warmed Kim’s bare feet.
“It is.”
“So why is Sarah talking about bringing someone else in on it?”
Sarah was her boss and a woman Kim had always enjoyed working with. She’d stared at Rohan in the mirror. “Who?”
“That curly-haired man, I think.”
“Jeff? Bring him in how?”
“As a project supervisor.”
“But I’m the supervisor.”
Rohan had frowned and run his toothbrush under the tap. “Maybe I got it wrong. It was noisy in the bar; maybe she meant for support.”
“But did Sarah say I needed support?”
Rohan had hesitated. “It was really loud, Kim. I probably misheard.”
In bed, Kim had stared at the ceiling, analyzing her recent conversations with Sarah. Rohan had rolled over.
“Sarah hasn’t spoken to you about needing help to meet the brief?”
“No.”
“Well, look, that’s on her. She should have done that first, before sounding out Jeff at a bar. It’s unprofessional. God, I’m not surprised you’re stressed there.”
“I’m not,” Kim said. “Or, I wasn’t, at least.” She was a little now, though, and it had taken a while to fall asleep. On Monday, she had booked some time with Sarah to discuss the Williams brief. Kim had turned up to the meeting to find that the working outlines of the central design concept were missing from her files. She spent the next three days trying to recover them. On Friday afternoon, Sarah suggested bringing someone else on board to help Kim redo the work in time for the deadline. Kim, embarrassed and frazzled, agreed, and Jeff was duly summoned.
Rohan took her out to dinner to cheer her up and bought her a book on toxic management techniques. He asked her which ones applied to Sarah, and when Kim said none of them seemed to, he’d laughed gently and told her she was always too nice.
* * *
Rohan left his phone lying about. On the kitchen counter, on the coffee table. Kim knew the pass code. She had known Charlie’s as well, but Rohan seemed to offer his up as a sign of trust. He was always handing his phone to her, asking her to dig out an email, read from a recipe, get an address from his texts. She did the same, because it felt like something that was important to him, and anyway, she had nothing to hide.
“What did Naomi want?” Rohan said one day as they were cooking dinner.
Kim had glanced up in surprise from the pan she was stirring. “Not much. Just called for a chat.” She hadn’t told him that Naomi had phoned, but it was recorded right there in her call history.