The woman in the gray suit breaks eye contact first and, with that, the connection she shared with Rhea severs, too. Rhea could have been imagining it. But her heart’s beating faster, practically out of her chest.
Mary Beth—“Who told you that?”
“Asher’s dad. The lawyer. You know the one, he wants everyone to know he’s a lawyer. That guy. He does have very nice hair, though.”
Rhea’s eyes ping-pong between her friends. Heart still hammering.
“And they don’t know whose?” Mary Beth’s nose is running and she seems to be out of Kleenex. She keeps trying to dab in the most ladylike way possible with the back of her hand.
“They were … small.” Whoever told Darby—an administrator, another mother, a teacher—probably did so in confidence, but that was their mistake.
Rhea glances toward the woman once more to be sure she’s moved on. “But that would mean one of the children found her,” she says.
Mary Beth covers her mouth with her hand. “Which one?”
All three of them turn to watch the four-year-olds gathered by the reflective pond. Bodhi picks petals off his rose and drops them into the water. Some of the parents take pictures of their children dressed up in their fancy clothes, which feels wrong, but unsurprising. Wild-haired little Bex sits on the ground and starts to cry.
“Exactly.” Darby watches with a frown as Lola lowers herself to her stomach in front of the pond—her skirt lifting to show a sliver of white bloomers—and sticks her fingers into the water, then splashes. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of—what it will take to figure out who saw what.”
Mary Beth’s face buckles, as though the scaffolding in it was never quite structurally sound.
“You okay?” asks Rhea.
Mary Beth gives a teary nod. “I think I should go get Noelle. I feel like she probably needs me.”
Darby and Rhea stay put while Mary Beth toddles away, a tad bit unsteady on her feet. “And then there were two.” Darby shrugs. Despite Rhea’s best efforts and her most prickly loner instincts, she still manages to get glued together with certain people. With Marcus, with Mary Beth, with Darby, perhaps now, even, to some degree, with Miss Ollie.
When she’s around Darby, she feels like a better mother in comparison; she knows that’s mean to think, but it’s true. If Mary Beth were still standing here, she probably would keep her mouth shut. Because Mary Beth would say, How do you know Erin Ollie wasn’t her real name? Why were you looking into her background? What were you doing there? Darby’s a safer choice.
“Darby,” Rhea begins, because it all comes down to karma and her chakras, those mysterious spinning wheels of power located along her spine that have been thrown completely out of alignment.
But Darby has started talking at the exact same time and, as usual, her words spill out faster and louder. “What would you do if Marcus went behind your back?” she says.
“What—what do you mean?”
“Like, I don’t know.” She seems frustrated to have to explain herself. “Something to do with Bodhi maybe. For example. What would you do? How would you handle it?”
Rhea rears back. Does Darby know? Has she somehow found out that Rhea has indeed gone behind Marcus’s back about Bodhi—worse than that even? She bristles. “I—”
“Shh, shhhh.” Darby pats Rhea’s hand and she stops talking.
“You ready to go?” Griff skulks up out of nowhere, doesn’t even acknowledge Rhea’s presence.
“Yeah, sure.” Darby pats her bag and her pockets, checking for her cell phone, her wallet, absentmindedly. “We can head out. Let us just grab the kids, okay?” She shoots Rhea a meaningful look.
Apparently Rhea gets no say in the matter.
Five minutes later, the adults ride home in oppressive silence while Lola and Bodhi point out an ambulance, a motorcycle, an old-timey truck. Lola is hungry. Bodhi is hot. Rhea wants out of the car before there are meltdowns. When she waves goodbye to the Mortons, she feels worn out, clear down to her bones.
At least, she’s learned one thing, all credit to her strong sense of womanly intuition, and that’s that Griff Morton is lying about something. She’d bet her life on it.
“Go change out of those clothes,” she tells Bodhi, once inside. “And make sure you put them back on hangers. Those are new.”
She crosses the kitchen and tips a ceramic vase. A tiny bit of silver skitters along the countertop like a tooth. She slaps her hand over it to stop it from falling into the sink. There, she holds it up to the light as she’s done every day since The Day, and on the right straight edge she checks, sure that when she looks hard enough she can still make out the orange-red hue of a few drops of sticky blood.
FIFTEEN
For as long as she can remember, Mary Beth has kept up a chatty rapport with God. She’s not one of those kneel-at-the-foot-of-her-bed Christians. She prefers to keep her Lord and savior up-to-date with the frippery of her daily routine:
Dear God, remind me to pick up fragrance fillers for our plug-ins at Target today while I’m in the store. Dear God, I’m struggling with whether to allow Angeline to get the Bratz dolls. I pray that you’ll speak to my heart and help me to make the right decision. Dear God, this weekend’s episode of SNL made me laugh out loud, thank you. Jesus as a best friend is actually true for Mary Beth.
But the conversation has dried up.
For the past week, it’s been radio silence and she can’t exactly blame God. It’s been five days since anyone set foot in Little Academy. What she hopes—if she dares to—is that a return to school might herald normalcy and a restoration of her silent blabber. She has a lot to catch God up on and it’s not all good, she’s afraid.
Today, the school issued an oblique message regarding the returning class of fours:
Parents,
If your children have exhibited biting behaviors, we ask that you please plan accordingly. The front office is available for questions and guidance. Don’t hesitate to reach out.
Welcome back in this time of grief and healing.
Yours Truly,
Mrs. Parker
On the day school reopens, she arrives early by design, clasping Noelle’s hand tightly on her way into the building. Today will be difficult, yes, but not insurmountable with the right mental outlook. I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. Look! It’s coming back already.
“Do you remember what we talked about?” she asks as the door to the academy swishes shut behind them.
The most striking thing is how nothing’s changed, really. Children’s artwork has been left untampered with on the walls. There are all the usual signs to wash your hands before entering the class. Sneeze into your elbow. As if the scariest thing that could happen here is catching a cold.
“It’s not polite to speak about what happened to Miss Ollie,” Noelle recites with impatience.
“That’s right. Miss Ollie questions are Big Feelings questions and they should be handled by mommies and daddies only. Got it?”
“I know.”
Still, Mary Beth wants to hear her say it again. “Noelle—”
Mary Beth stops, not dead, nothing so dramatic as that, but she just sort of peters out along with all the words that were flowing right along with her.