I went under several times so that I’d be out of breath. I did that, over and over, until I could barely stay afloat. I screamed her name and didn’t stop until a police officer was pulling me out of the water.
I continued to scream her name, throwing in the occasional, “My daughter!” and “My baby girl!”
One person was in the water looking for her. Then two. Then three. Then I felt someone fly past me, onto the dock. He ran to the end and jumped in head first. When he popped up, I saw that it was Jeremy.
I can’t describe the look on his face as he yelled for her. It was a look of determination mixed with horror mixed with psychosis.
I was crying real tears at that point. I was hysterical. I wanted to smile at how appropriately hysterical I was, but I didn’t because part of me knew I had messed up. I could see it in Jeremy’s face. This one would be even harder for him to recover from than Chastin.
I didn’t anticipate that.
She’d been under water for over half an hour when he finally found her. She was tangled in a fishing net. I couldn’t tell if it was green or yellow from where I sat on the beach, but I remembered Jeremy losing a yellow fishing net last year. What are the odds that I tipped the canoe in the exact spot it was tangled beneath the surface? Had the fishing net not been there, she probably would have made it to shore.
After she was untangled, the men helped Jeremy lift her onto the dock. Jeremy tried to perform CPR until the paramedic made it to the edge of the dock. And even then, he wouldn’t stop.
He wouldn’t stop until he had no choice. The dock began to cave in, and Jeremy rolled right off the edge of it, catching Harper in his arms. Three other men remained on the dock, reaching for her body.
I wondered if that moment would haunt him. Having to catch his dead daughter’s body as she fell on top of him in the water.
Jeremy wouldn’t let go of her. He found his footing in the water and carried her, all the way to the shore. When he reached the sand, he collapsed, still holding her. He pressed his face into her sopping wet hair, and I heard him whispering to her.
“I love you, Harper. I love you, Harper. I love you, Harper.”
He said it over and over as he held her. His sadness made me ache for him. I crawled to him, to her, and I wrapped my arms around them both. “I tried to save her,” I whispered. “I tried to save her.”
He wouldn’t let go of Harper. The paramedics had to pry her from his arms. He left me there, with Crew, while he climbed into the back of the ambulance.
Jeremy didn’t ask me what had happened. He didn’t tell me he was leaving. He didn’t look at me at all.
His reaction wasn’t quite what I had planned, but I realized he was in shock. He’d adjust. He just needed time.
I’m gripping the toilet as I vomit. I was sick before I even finished the chapter. I’m shaking, as if I had been there. Like I witnessed firsthand what that woman did to her daughter. To Jeremy.
I press my forehead against my arm, struggling with what to do.
Do I tell someone? Do I tell Jeremy? Do I call the police?
What would the police even be able to do with her?
They’d lock her up somewhere. A mental institution. Jeremy would be free of her.
I brush my teeth, staring at my reflection. After I rinse my mouth out, I stand up straight and wipe my mouth. As my hand moves across my face, I can see the scar in the mirror. I never thought this scar would become insignificant to me, but it’s starting to feel that way. What I went through with my mother is nothing compared to this.
What happened between us was a disconnect. A broken bond.
This was murder.
I grab my bag and search for my Xanax. The pill is clenched in my fist as I walk to the kitchen. I pull a shot glass out of the cabinet and pour Crown Royal into it, all the way to the top. I pick up the shot glass, just as April rounds the corner. She pauses, staring at me.
I stare right back as I pop the pill into my mouth and down the shot.
I go back to my room and close my door, locking it. I pull the blinds down over the hole in the window to block out the sun.
I close my eyes and pull the covers over my head as I wonder what the hell I should do.
•••
I wake up sometime later, feeling a warmth travel down my body. Something touches my lips. My eyes flick open.
Jeremy.
I sigh against his mouth as he lowers himself on top of me. I welcome the comfort of his lips. Little does he know that every ounce of sadness his kiss is eliminating is sadness I feel for him. For a situation he knows nothing about.
I adjust the covers, pulling them out from between us so there’s no barrier. He’s still kissing me as he rolls onto his side, pulling me against him.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he whispers. “You feeling okay?”
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m just tired.”
“Me too.” He feathers his fingers down my arm, then grabs my hand.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, knowing the door was locked from the inside.
He smiles. “The window. April took Verity to the doctor, and Crew won’t be home from school for another hour.”
The rest of the tension built up inside me somehow seeps out with that news. Verity isn’t in this house, and I’m at instant peace.
Jeremy lays his head on my chest, facing my feet as his fingers explore my panty line. “I checked the lock. It appears, if you slam a door hard enough, it could latch into place.”
I don’t respond to that because I’m not sure I believe it. I’m sure there’s a chance, but I think the chance that it was Verity is greater.
Jeremy lifts my T-shirt—another one that belongs to him. He kisses a spot between my breasts. “I like it when you wear my shirts.”
I run my fingers through his hair and smile. “I like it when they smell like you.”
He laughs. “What do I smell like?”
“Petrichor.”
He’s dragging his lips down my stomach. “I don’t even know what that means.” His voice is a mumble against my skin.
“It’s a word that describes the smell of fresh rain after warm weather.”
He moves until his mouth is close to mine. “I had no idea there was a word for that.”
“There’s a word for everything.”
He kisses me briefly, then pulls back. His eyebrows draw together as he contemplates. “Is there a word for what I’m doing?”
“Probably. What are you referring to?”
He traces my jaw with a finger. “This,” he says quietly. “Falling for a woman when I shouldn’t.”
My heart sinks, despite his admission. I hate that he feels guilty for how he’s feeling. I understand it, though. No matter the condition of his marriage or his wife, he’s sleeping in their bed with another woman. There’s not much justification for that.
“Do you feel guilty?” I ask him.
“Yes.” He regards me silently for a moment. “But not guilty enough to stop.” He lays his head on the pillow next to me.
“But it will stop,” I say. “I need to go back to Manhattan. And you’re married.”
His eyes seem to be protecting thoughts he doesn’t want to speak out loud. We’re both quiet as we stare at each other for a while. He eventually leans in to kiss me before saying, “I thought about what you said in the kitchen last night.”
I don’t speak in fear of what he’s about to say. Was he open to everything I had to say? Does he agree that the quality of his life is just as important as Verity’s?
“I called a nursing facility who will take her during the week, starting Monday. She’ll come home three weekends a month.” He waits for my reaction.
“I think that’s the best thing for all three of you.”
As if I see it happen in real time, the grief begins to evaporate. From him, from this house. The wind is blowing through the window, the house is quiet, Jeremy looks at peace. It’s in this moment I decide what to do about the manuscript.
I’m not going to do anything.
Proving that Verity murdered Harper wouldn’t make Jeremy feel better. It would make him feel worse. It would open up so many wounds. It would rip the fresh wounds open even wider.