So I start at the beginning. About Cody and Alexis. How I became Dr. Hale’s patient. How she blackmailed me and forced me to do her bidding. The identity of the body under the floorboards. Finally, the true fate of Dr. Adrienne Hale and my goal in coming here this weekend.
Ethan listens to the entire story, his face an emotionless mask. At some point, he pulls his hand away from mine and puts it in his lap. He doesn’t interrupt me once. He lets me tell him everything, and there’s a moment when I’m afraid I’ve gone too far. He killed his mother, yes. But I killed six people and was responsible for the death of one other. One might argue that my sins outweigh his—if they were keeping track.
When I finish talking, Ethan just sits there for a while, staring at the fireplace. I let him mull over what I just told him. He deserves a few minutes to think it over. I quietly cross my fingers and my toes. He will understand. I know he will.
Won’t he?
“Wow,” he finally says. He’s still staring at the fire.
What is he thinking? Is he going to turn me in to the police? I took a massive chance here tonight. But I thought he loved me too much. And now his child is growing inside me. He would never do that to me.
He wouldn’t. I’m almost sure of it.
But I’m not certain.
“So what do you think?” I say.
“I…” His eyes reflect the flames from the fire. “I think…”
I misjudged him. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought he would understand, but I was wrong. He doesn’t understand. Nobody can.
“Ethan?” I whisper.
He rips his blue eyes away from the fire and looks straight into mine. “I think that guy Luke is going to be a big problem. He knows way too much.”
My heart flutters. “Yes. Yes. I was thinking the same thing.”
“And also…” He is the one who reaches for my hand this time. “I’m glad I’m here to help you. We can take care of this problem the right way. Together.”
I squeeze his big, warm hand. “I knew you would know exactly what to do.”
We stand up simultaneously. Ethan walks over to the bookcase, and he picks up the carving knife he left there. He grips the handle with his right hand. His face glows eerily in the crackling light of the fire. I’ve always wanted a fireplace, but it’s not the sort of thing you could have in Manhattan. And this is a beautiful fireplace.
“You know,” I say thoughtfully, “this house is kind of growing on me. Maybe I could see myself living here after all.”
“Yeah?” His face lights up. “I was hoping you would say that. Because I feel the same way.” He raises his eyebrows. “You coming, Tricia?”
“Yes. Just a moment.”
I find my wool coat, draped on the edge of the couch. I rifle around in the pockets and my fingers make contact with the cassette tape I stashed there. I pull it out, looking at my initials on the side of the tape. I’m a different person now than the girl on the tape. But in other ways, I haven’t changed at all.
I close my fingers around the cassette. I walk over to the fireplace, my cheeks absorbing the heat radiating out of the small space. I toss the tape in with the others, onto the slowly disintegrating pile. For a moment, I stand there and watch it burn.
Then I join my husband.
Epilogue
TRICIA
Two Years Later
My daughter Delilah loves the garden behind our house.
She turned one a few months ago, and she’s in this adorable chubby toddler phase where she walks around with her arms out at her sides, about to topple at any moment. I watch her from the rocking chair in front of the house as she does just that—falls to her knees in the soft grass, then gets right back up without missing a beat.
She is a girl with a mission. Right now, her mission is to bring me a daisy she found growing in the grass. She makes it the rest of the way over to me and places one of her tiny hands on my knee.
“Mama,” she says. “‘Dis.”
“Yes.” I accept the slightly crumpled daisy. “It’s a flower, darling.”
“Flar,” she repeats.
“That’s right.”
She beams up at me. I might be slightly biased, but I think she’s the most beautiful child who has ever lived. She looks a lot like her father. Ethan and I both have blond hair, but mine comes out of a bottle and his is real. She has his blond curls—although his is cut too short to curl—and his clear blue eyes. She’s a spitting image of the way he looked in the baby pictures he finally showed me soon after we bought this house.