Things weren’t right between them yet, but Matthew had agreed to try, and that felt like the best anniversary gift he could have given her.
He seemed to have something else up his sleeve, though.
After they’d eaten lunch, Matthew helped Bennett pack an overnight bag and was currently taking their son for an unprecedented school-night sleepover at Charlie’s.
Marissa had felt a sharp pang when Bennett hugged her goodbye; she was gripped again by the yearning to be near her son, keeping her eyes on him at all times.
But she didn’t let on. Bennett had only been on two sleepovers in his life, and even though both were at Charlie’s house, Bennett was still a little nervous.
Don’t forget to feed Sam, he’d said, chewing on a thumbnail.
I won’t. She’d smiled brightly at Bennett. I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow.
By then, she’d hopefully have hired a new assistant and given Polly notice. And Skip would be out of their lives.
Instead of being filled with a sense of peace, her unease intensifies when Matthew and Bennett leave.
She keeps busy, tidying the kitchen and loading the dishwasher with their plates from lunch, then removing the watch from her hiding place in the garage and bringing it into the kitchen to wrap. She’s folding down the last corner of the package when the Scotch tape in the dispenser runs out.
There’s more tape in her makeshift office upstairs, but a closer roll is likely in Matthew’s study. She leaves her gift on the kitchen island and walks into the room, the hardwood floors cool against her bare feet.
Across the room, the window by Matthew’s cherished Picasso sketch is firmly shut. She averts her gaze. She won’t let thoughts of Skip intrude today.
There’s a letter opener, Matthew’s laptop, and a pencil holder on his desk, along with a silver-framed family photo, but no tape. Marissa walks around behind the desk and pulls open the top drawer. Like everything in Matthew’s office, it’s well organized, with scissors, envelopes, paper clips, and a stapler in neat sections. The tape is toward the back.
She pulls the drawer out a little farther and sees another object next to the tape: a woven white rope.
She stares at it in confusion, even though she knows exactly what it is: Bennett’s missing Cub Scout rope.
What’s it doing hidden away here?
She pulls it out and stares at it. It’s tied in an intricate knot that resembles a figure eight.
It’s called a sailor’s knot. She knows because she grew up on the water, and even though she never learned to make them, she’s seen them a hundred times.
Bennett wasn’t practicing sailor’s knots, though; he doesn’t even know how to form them. He was working on square knots.
Her skin prickles.
She hears the sound of Matthew’s car pulling into the driveway and quickly pulls off a piece of tape, putting back the roll along with the rope and shutting the drawer.
She hurries into the kitchen and finishes wrapping the gift, sliding it into her handbag by the time Matthew has unlocked the door.
He steps into the kitchen. He’s wearing a black jacket and dark jeans and his expression is grim.
Then he sees her and smiles. “It’s just the two of us now.”
For some reason, her stomach clenches. It’s because of everything that happened last night, she tells herself.
“I should get changed so we can go.” She desperately needs a minute alone.
“There’s no rush.” Matthew walks around the island to stand next to her, taking off his jacket. He’s wearing a light blue oxford, one that Marissa bought him because it complements the color of his eyes. “Come, sit down. There’s something I need to tell you about.”
She doesn’t want to sit, but she acquiesces.
Matthew, however, remains standing, setting his jacket down on the stool next to Marissa’s. He’s close to her. She feels penned in.
“I just spoke to Skip. I told him I know what happened between the two of you and that he needs to stay away from us.”
“How did he take it?” she manages to ask.
“He apologized. He seemed to understand. But he’s been acting so unhinged lately, I don’t think we can count on this being the end of it.”
An image of Skip flashes into Marissa’s mind: Skip at seventeen, gently cleaning away the blood on the back of Marissa’s hand from the oyster shell cut. I’m not hurting you, am I? he’d asked.
She would never see Skip again. Never hear his voice.
A deep sense of loss sweeps through her.