When I walk down the hill to her house, I see the front door is already open, and she’s standing there in a black gown with a plunging neckline. She’s waving to me. Waving me in.
“I’m coming,” I say.
“I’m impatient,” she says.
“I brought coffee,” I say, handing her one of the cups.
“My sweet! Come, let’s drink it in the parlor. I’ve cleaned it up.”
She leads me to a room I’ve never been in before, one with silky wallpaper and dainty furniture. There’s a baby white marble fireplace, an excess of reedy plants, a few watercolors depicting bucolic landscapes. We sit on two pretty but uncomfortable chairs, drinking our lattes.
Sophie tells me about her week, about a new balm she made for her cuticles and about how Monday is Halloween and no one in town likes to celebrate because of her.
“I don’t know what they think,” she says. “I threw a party one year, and nobody came! I like those tiny little chocolate bars just as much as the next person. It’s beyond aggravating.”
“Yeah,” I say, debating whether to disclose Oskar’s weird comment.
“There’s such a stigma,” she says, sighing. “You know I don’t believe in self-pity, but if I give myself one night a year to feel sorry for myself, that’s the one. I’ll probably mix myself a cocktail in a cauldron and get bloody drunk.”
“A cauldron?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.
“Mm,” she says.
I don’t have a response, which results in an awkward pause. The quiet recalls Oskar’s voice. Some people go out there and they don’t come back.
I look up at Sophie, and she’s looking back at me. Her amber eyes have gone dark.
“What is it, pet?” she asks, her chin ascending.
“Um, no-nothing,” I stammer. The coffee cup begins to crumple in my hands. I’m clutching it too tightly.
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” she says. “You can tell me.”
“Really, it’s nothing.” Why would Oskar say that to me? Why would he say it if he didn’t have good reason?
Have I been too accepting? Have I glued on my blinders for the sake of this friendship?
I always thought I was an exceptional judge of character. That I could see people for who they really are deep down. But isn’t that the kind of arrogant thinking that gets people called to the witness stand? Ted Bundy had a wife, didn’t he?
Oh, God. Would I have married Ted Bundy?
“Annie,” Sophie says, coolly examining her nails, “we’re friends, yes? Friends don’t keep secrets from one another, now, do they?”
“No,” I say. I don’t have a choice now. “It’s just . . . It’s Oskar.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“He said something to me. I just . . . It was weird. I thought it might . . . I don’t know. I thought it might hurt your feelings. You know, the stigma.”
She laughs. “Oh, pet. You don’t need to worry about Oskar hurting my feelings, though I am curious. What did he have to say about me?”
“It wasn’t anything bad,” I say.
She laughs again. Louder this time.
I swallow. “He said that I shouldn’t come out here. He said . . . he said . . .”
She leans forward. Closer to me.
Closer. Closer.
“He said . . . he said some people come out here and don’t come back.”
She latches onto me, her hand on my knee. She sinks her fingertips into my skin. Her eyes are wild. A sneer possesses her lips. “Did he really?”
I nod.
She lets go, settling back into her chair. “He still blames me. I suppose it’s easier than accepting any responsibility himself. He can’t bring himself to confront the reality of what happened. It’s too painful for him.”
“What happened?” I ask, nerves churning.
“His wife. Helen. Erik’s mother. She was unhappy. She was very young when she married Oskar, when she had Erik. She felt trapped, completely overwhelmed. So she came to me. We spent some time together. She was so lost. I thought she was seeking friendship, direction.” Sophie’s eyes catch on something. Some memory. She’s quiet for a moment. “Then she left.”
“Left?”
“One morning Oskar woke up and she was gone. He came storming over here, of course, accusing me. I hadn’t a clue where she went. He didn’t believe me. He asked to come inside. I didn’t much like the idea of letting an angry man into my home, for him to turn the place over, searching for someone I knew wasn’t here. He threatened to call the police. Imagine! I said if he did that, I’d harvest his teeth, pluck them from his jaw one by one and use them for jewelry.”