CHAPTER TWENTY
MARISSA
MARISSA AWAKENS INTO DARKNESS so thick and heavy it’s like black velvet. Her body and mind feel sluggish, the result of the two glasses of wine plus the Xanax she took last night.
She rubs her gritty eyes, then reaches over to Matthew’s side of the bed. But instead of touching his warm body, she feels the covers tightly pulled up against the mattress.
Did her husband not come home last night?
Pulling herself upright, she blindly fumbles for her phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking her glass of water onto the floor.
Eight thirty-two A.M.
She blinks hard, certain her eyes are playing tricks on her and that the eight is really a six. But the slim white numbers don’t change.
In a panic, Marissa leaps out of bed, calling, “Bennett! We’re late for school!”
She races down the hall and flicks the switch by the door of his room, cringing as the bright overhead light sears her eyes. Sam, Bennett’s gecko, scampers across his cage, making a rustling sound.
“Bennett, come on! I overslept, so—”
She hurries closer to his bed, then realizes the lump beneath the rumpled covers is Mr. Rainbow, his stuffed bear.
Her heart stutters.
Her son is gone.
She spins around in a circle, yanking at doorknobs, praying he is in his bathroom, or getting clothes out of his closet. But those spaces are empty, too.
She calls her son’s name again as she hurries downstairs, her bare feet padding soundlessly against the thick carpet.
What is happening? Where is her family?
She skids into the kitchen, crying out as her hip bangs against the hard, unforgiving edge of a countertop.
The kitchen is just as she left it last night—the sink is empty, the countertops are smooth and gleaming, and the empty pizza box is folded in the recycling bin.
But Bennett’s backpack is missing from the hook by the garage door.
Marissa sucks in a deep breath, fighting a rising swell of fear, then she pivots and stares at the coffee maker next to the refrigerator.
It’s full of rich-smelling, freshly brewed coffee.
Beside it is a note, written on a Post-it: You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. B and I are getting bagels on the way to school.
Marissa closes her eyes as relief courses through her, wondering how she blotted out so much: Matthew’s arrival home last night, and the sound of his alarm going off at six thirty this morning—as it did every weekday. He would’ve taken a shower and changed and roused Bennett, while she slept on.
But Marissa never sleeps late—all too often, she wakes around 4:00 or 5:00 A.M., her mind churning. During the increasingly rare occasions when she does manage to catch a full night’s rest, she always jolts awake at the sound of Matthew’s alarm.
She looks at Matthew’s note again. This isn’t a complaint about her husband, but she can count the number of times Matthew has taken Bennett to school on both hands, and that includes his spontaneous drive-in last week. And he’s been so busy at work, which makes the gesture seem all the more loving.
Is it possible that her husband has truly forgiven her?
He wouldn’t if he knew the full story, Marissa thinks as a wave of dizziness passes through her.
Marissa takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with cold water, drinking it straight down. She is parched and has the faint beginnings of another headache.
She needs to get a grip.
With the first bracing sip of strong black coffee, she feels the stirrings of clarity in her mind. She begins to form a plan: no wine for the rest of the week, and certainly no Xanax. She’ll eat well and get in some cardio so that her body will be naturally relaxed at bedtime.
She needs to talk more to Bennett, too, so maybe she’ll pick him up right after school—now that he is quitting baseball, there is no need for him to stay for practice. She’ll take him out for his favorite frozen yogurt at the place where you can choose from dozens of sugary toppings. Polly will cover the store—
Polly. Marissa wants to scream. She is supposed to meet Polly in—Marissa glances at the clock on the microwave—exactly four minutes.
Marissa runs back upstairs and grabs her phone, typing a quick text to Polly: So sorry! Had an emergency this morning and I need to reschedule coffee.
She hesitates, then adds, Can you open the shop? I’ll be there ASAP and we’ll sort everything out.
She holds her breath until the reply comes in a moment later: Sure! I’ll be happy to!
Out of all the unpredictabilities in her life, at least Polly’s eagerness has remained a constant.