The Last Day of Emily Lindsey Read online

  When her eyes drooped, Lill knew that she was going to fall asleep, and she launched into another verse. She trailed off as she saw that her mother was finally asleep.

  She stood up, dropping Deena’s hand before turning the light out beside her. She was surprised to find that her own cheeks were damp with tears. She turned and walked back to the door, opening it slowly and scanning the hallways. There was nobody there. Jack was right—the kids definitely would have noticed Mother Deena downstairs—but it wasn’t too hard for her to go unnoticed up here. She slipped back into the stairwell and headed downstairs. She didn’t know how long she could keep this up, but she felt happy, as if she’d done the right thing.

  She reached the ground floor and peered into the children’s wing. That door was always unlocked from the stairwell, and she quickly let herself inside. As she stepped through toward the first set of steel gates, she heard a noise behind her.

  She whipped around and saw one of the other boys, Ellis, standing there, his eyes glued on her face.

  “Hey,” she said, her heart pounding.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping closer, a slight frown on his face. “Where were you?”

  “Hmm?” she asked.

  “Where were you?”

  “Nowhere. I’m just going to bed.”

  “You just came from the stairwell.”

  “Oh, yeah, Mother Deena needed me to tell her about something from class. She just let me back in.”

  He frowned. “Why did you all use the stairwell?” he asked. “That’s weird.”

  Lill shrugged. “No reason.”

  “It’s against the rules,” he said.

  “I—” Lill stopped herself and squared her shoulders. “Are you gonna tell?”

  Her heart was beating fast, but she knew she could handle this. Ellis was a quiet boy, one year older than her, and he always followed the rules.

  But Lill had also seen him staring at her sometimes.

  Lill stepped forward and reached out one hand to him. “Tell me you won’t say anything,” she said. “Please?”

  Ellis blinked a few times, and a soft smile crossed his face. He reached out, took her hand in his, and nodded, his cheeks turning red.

  “Okay,” he said. “I won’t tell. I promise.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Now

  Lara and her new husband lived in our house. The not-too-big, not-too-small one with the modern appliances and vintage charm. The one where we were going to raise Kit and maybe another kid, too, if the birth control gods said it was to be.

  It would have been in a good neighborhood, our house, but not too good, not too sheltered, because we weren’t those people whose kids grew up like that.

  We’d lie in bed in our one-bedroom apartment, wrapped up in our sweat and body heat and adoration for each other, and talk about the house we’d never see. The one she’d be living in with him just a few years later. The one I’d drive by when I felt lonely or ached for a glimpse of her and Kit.

  “We should look for something just outside of the city,” Lara had said one time, the sheets tangled around our bodies, her nose pressed into my neck. “So that we can have enough space for a yard, but also be just a quick drive to the train. I don’t want to be one of those couples who moves out to the suburbs and then gets defined by it. Like Sam and Tina in Rosemont. Or Jim and his wife.”

  “Jim?”

  “The ones who live in Greta.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  As I pulled up in front of their house, I couldn’t help but think back to one of our first dates. I’d taken her to a Vietnamese restaurant in her neighborhood, and halfway through it, I’d had the sudden urge to tell her about the nightmares, just to get it out of the way.

  “What’s the one thing that you haven’t told me yet that you think I should know about you?” I asked.

  She put her fork down and cleared her throat. “Okay, here it comes, huh?” she asked. “You’re married?”

  “What?” I cried out, choking on the forkful I’d just stuck in my mouth.

  “Are you married?”

  “No—”

  “Okay then, is it toe fungus?”

  “What?” Louder this time.

  She leaned forward in her seat and, with a completely level voice asked, “Do you have toe fungus?”

  “I don’t, no—”

  “Because ‘tell me one thing I should know about you’ is the kind of thing you say when you’re itching to get something off your chest, which means you have something you want to tell me that you think I’m not going to like.” The couple at the table next to us looked over and then back at each other, barely pretending that they weren’t listening. “Just so you know, those are two things that I really, really wouldn’t like. For really different reasons.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Well, no, I’m not married, and I don’t… Wait, why toe fungus? That’s very specific—”

  “Excuse me.”

  We both turned and looked at the table beside us.

  “Could you please stop saying ‘fungus’? We’re trying to eat.”

  I apologized and turned back to Lara, whose face was bright red.

  She stifled a giggle as she picked up her fork again. “Sorry, it is specific, but it’s just a thing I have. Everybody has their things.” She said this last sentence softly, pointedly, and I knew she was giving me my opening.

  “You’re right,” I said. “There is something I wanted to tell you. I…”

  And then it seemed stupid, and I played around with the words in my mouth before letting them spill out.

  “All my life…I’ve had these…or I’ve suffered from…”

  “What, Steve?”

  “Chronic nightmares.”

  I waited for her to laugh or to look uncomfortable, but she didn’t move. She just sat there, her fork in her hand, waiting for me to continue.

  When I didn’t say anything, she finally spoke.

  “Is that a thing? Aren’t nightmares by nature…chronic?”

  She wasn’t trying to be funny, and I could see that she was genuinely trying to understand. And at that moment, I realized that I’d never—not once—had the conversation I was about to have with her with anyone else.

  I told her about the dreams, the nightmares, the stifling, the waking up, right then and there over a bowl of pho on our third date. I whispered because of the eavesdroppers next to us, and she leaned in closely as I told her things I’d never said out loud to Nell or Mike or anyone else. She listened and asked questions, and as much as I could tell, she cared.

  I’d been burned in the past, and then there she was, so clearly and beautifully the one. Lara was smart, and not just in the book-smart way. And best of all was that with her, I was smart, too. I didn’t have to try to be—my natural thoughts, my responses, my inclinations were always right with her. I was funnier, more compassionate. I was awesome with Lara. I knew it, and she knew it, and by date number three, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

  • • •

  As I sat in my car outside their house, I struggled with my desire to drive away and the deep pull to go and bang on the door and demand that she let me see Kit.

  I’d called her again that morning, and she’d picked up on the last ring.

  “Steve…” she’d started.

  “Look, if I can’t see him, just say it,” I’d said. It was mean, I knew it. I should just let it go. Put her out of her misery. Lara would never say no. “Just tell me that you have no obligation to let me see him, that you won’t let me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  She hadn’t said anything for a while, and not for the first time, I had marveled at how different our relationship was from what it had been only a short time ago.

  “Lara?” I had said, and then I had been whiny
. “You’re the one who said it would be okay for me to see him once in a while, and it’s been four months.”

  “Come over tonight,” she had said suddenly. “I’ll tell Kit that you’re coming. Just for an hour or so.”

  “Are you sure?” I had started, but it was halfhearted, and we both knew it.

  I had heard her sigh deeply. “Text me when you’re on your way.”

  I’d texted her, but she hadn’t texted back.

  I got out of my car and walked up to the door. The front stoop was lined with plants and flowers of every variety. My leg brushed against a pot of roses as I climbed the steps, and I rolled my eyes.

  When I first learned that she was remarrying just seven months after our divorce was finalized, I hadn’t been able to focus on anything except the guy’s job.

  “He’s a what…horticulturalist?”

  “No, Steve, he’s a dentist. Who has a green thumb.”

  As I navigated the plants that led up to their front door, it was clear that it was much more than just a hobby.

  I rang the doorbell and waited, my heart pounding against my rib cage.

  The door flew open, and I sucked in a breath when I saw who it was.

  Greg, the dentist with the green thumb.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him—it was his house, after all—but I’d been preparing myself to see Lara. I figured he’d avoid me or at most walk by to make sure I knew how unhappy he was about me coming over.

  But to answer the door?

  “Hi,” I said slowly. “Is Lara—”

  “She’s not here,” he said.

  I froze. “She isn’t?”

  “No, she had to make some stops after work. She told me you were coming over.” He stepped back and opened the door wider to let me inside.

  What the hell?

  “Should I come back later?” I asked.

  “Why?” he asked levelly. “Kit’s here.”

  We glared at each other, and I finally nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

  As I stepped into the house, I was overwhelmed with the smell of nature and the sight of greenery everywhere. Plants and flowers, of all shapes and sizes, lined the floors, the windows, the entire house.

  Greg led me to the living room and told me to take a seat. I was surprised that he seemed as uncomfortable as I did. As I sat there, I felt an overwhelming feeling of self-doubt, and I wondered what the hell I was doing there.

  How had it come to this?

  I should just leave.

  I was that guy, and I desperately, painfully, needed to stop being him.

  For the sake of Lara and her husband, and, arguably, for Kit.

  I was standing to leave when I heard a noise behind me. I spun around, and there he was.

  And every bit of the awkward mess I was creating made sense.

  Kit stared at me, his eyes round, one hand in Greg’s. And then he flew across the room and buried himself in my arms. As he did, I felt like the unthinkable was going to happen, that I would start to cry right there in the living room, without Lara there, just me and Greg and our kid. I felt the tears rush to the surface, and I stood up quickly, lifting him up into the air.

  “Hey, buddy,” I croaked out.

  “Hi,” he said shyly.

  We spent an hour together. He told me about the turtles they were taking care of at school, his friend Robby, and the play that Greg and Lara were making him participate in.

  “Everyone has to do it, but I could’ve just been in the choir,” he said softly. “They told Mrs. Lewis to give me a bigger role, so now I have the second biggest part.”

  I felt a wave of anger at Lara for pushing him too far out of his comfort zone. Kit had been an incredibly shy toddler, and she’d acted as if it was the end of the world, as if it were a sign of the kind of life he’d face.

  “We have to push him out of it,” she’d said. “I read that this is the most important age for socialization.”

  “Four?” I’d said. “That’s what’s most important for him at four? How about we just let him grow out of it naturally?”

  I leaned over and ruffled Kit’s hair. “You’ll be great, okay?” I said.

  He nodded.

  I knew it was time for me to go when Greg appeared in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, just stood there while Kit and I finished our conversation.

  “Hey, I gotta take off, okay?” I said, and Kit stared at me and nodded. “I’ll stop by this weekend and drop off your birthday present, okay? I got you something special.”

  He smiled. “Okay,” he said quickly.

  I knew then that he’d been preparing for me to leave, that he’d been warned that I could only stay for a little while, and that he knew he shouldn’t make a big deal about it.

  I gave him a hug and followed Greg out onto the front porch. From his body language, I could tell that he was going to say something.

  “You talked to Lara about dropping off the gift?” he asked.

  “No, but I didn’t think she’d have a problem with me bringing—”

  “You could’ve brought it today,” he said.

  “But I didn’t.”

  He sighed. “You know this isn’t going to last much longer, right?”

  “What?”

  “Look, man, I’m seriously not trying to be a jerk, okay. Really. But this can’t continue.”

  “This isn’t between you and me,” I said. “It’s between me and Lara.”

  He chuckled. “And that’s where you mess up. Thinking that there’s anything between you and Lara that’s not between you and me,” he said.

  I wanted to kick him in his smug face, but the problem was that he wasn’t just smug. He was also probably right.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m going to do what Lara wants me to do, because you’re right. This is her choice. And she is worried about Kit, and it’s obvious that you two had something. But you have to know that it’s not going to last forever. If Lara doesn’t start pulling back, Kit will. He’s seven. He’s got to move on with his life. He needs someone who’s there for him, and that’s me now. I’m sorry it was you before and that things didn’t work out, but that’s life. You gotta grow up, man.”

  I balled my fists at my sides and stopped myself from responding.

  There was nothing I could say that would help things.

  He turned to go back into his home, and I walked down the stairs, feeling exhausted, sad, and angry all at the same time.

  Because, of course, he was right.

  I just didn’t think that made me wrong.

  And he certainly didn’t have to be a dick about it.

  I’ll show you how grown-up I can be.

  On the way down the stairs, I let my fingers close around one of his perfect roses.

  Ripping the flower from the stalk, I crumpled it in my fingers and scattered it on the pavement as I walked back to my car.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You all right?” Gayla asked me, the following day.

  I looked over at her, and she nodded toward the steering wheel. I followed her gaze and saw that I was tapping my fingers quickly against it without noticing it. I stopped, gripping the wheel tighter, and I tried to slow my racing thoughts.

  We were heading back out to Piper Woods. I didn’t know what the hell we were going to find out there, but we had to keep looking for some sort of clue as to why Emily had been out there.

  Another team had been dispatched to the site, and Gayla and I were heading out to help with the search. And I could barely sit still. What if I saw the man in tan again?

  And worse, what if I saw him and nobody else did?

  It was hard enough facing my visions and nightmares on my own, but it was exhausting trying to make sure that nobody else knew what was going on.

&nbs
p; As I pressed down on the gas pedal and sped toward the lake, I peeked over at Gayla again. She was staring at me with that sort of peaceful, inquisitive expression that said “I’m not judging you, but of course, I am.”

  Mary gave me that look a lot, sometimes when she didn’t want me to know what she was thinking. I hate that look. It’s equal parts sympathy, pity, and yes, judgment. I had to deal with it from Mary—that was her job—but I didn’t need it from Gayla, too.

  “Steven?”

  I looked over at her, and she was watching me with a frown on her face. I realized she’d been talking for a while, but I hadn’t heard a single word she said.

  “Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said with a shrug, hoping my expression was neutral enough. “Sorry, just lost in thought, but I’m okay.”

  “What were you lost in thought about?” she asked.

  “Just trying to process this whole case. I’m not sure if there’s anything left to find out here. It seems like it’s been gone over with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “Yeah, maybe not,” she said. “But I guess it’s worth taking at least one more look. Not like we have many other leads. What we need is to find her car.”

  We pulled up to the site about twenty-five minutes later and got out of the car. The air was humid and sticky today, and the sun was blazing down. I flashed back to two days ago and the man I’d seen in the woods. The itchy sensation started again in my arms, and I tried to fight it. I looked over at Gayla, but her gaze was glued to her surroundings, and she didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable I was. I swallowed. I’d been hiding the images from people for so long. I’d always told myself that I would try to get to the root cause—to get rid of the nightmares and the images instead of just dealing with them. But then a year went by, and another. I found a new way to tackle it, and when that got old, I found something else. I knew that I should do something about it, but just getting through each day was hard enough.