Chapter 3: The Woman Who Came on Thursdays
I kept the phone pressed to my ear.
"Who are you?" I said.
"My name is Carol.
I was your neighbor.
I moved away four months ago, but I lived in the house directly across from yours for two years."
"Why are you calling me now?"
"Because I've been waiting for you to come home," she said.
"And because what I saw in that house — I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."
Vanessa had gone very still near the doorway.
Her eyes were fixed on the phone in my hand.
"Don't listen to her," Vanessa said.
"She's unstable.
She has a history of—"
"Vanessa." I held up one finger.
"Don't."
She closed her mouth.
I walked into the hallway, pulling the door halfway shut behind me.
I could still see Lily through the gap, sitting on the floor with Noah in her lap, stroking his back in slow circles the way I had taught her.
"Tell me what you saw," I said to Carol.
"She had a man coming to the house.
Every Thursday, while you were traveling.
Sometimes he stayed for hours.
Sometimes he was there when I left for work in the morning and still there when I came home."
My jaw tightened.
"How long?"
"At least fourteen months.
Maybe longer.
I started noticing around the time Vanessa announced she was pregnant."
The floor felt unsteady under me.
"There's more," Carol said.
"About three weeks before you left for Seattle, I saw her carry a box out of the house and put it in his car.
A large box.
Sealed.
She looked around before she did it, the way people look when they don't want to be seen."
"What was in the box?"
"I don't know.
But I wrote down his license plate.
I've had it for weeks.
I didn't know who to give it to."
I leaned against the hallway wall.
"Give it to me."
She read it out slowly.
I typed it into my phone with one thumb.
"Carol," I said.
"The bottles in the cabinet.
Did you ever see her bring anything into the house?
Anything that wasn't groceries?"
A pause.
"Once.
About two months ago.
She came back from somewhere and she had a paper bag.
Small.
She looked at it in the car for a long time before she brought it inside.
I remember thinking it was strange."
I looked back through the gap in the door.
Lily had laid Noah down on the rug and was lying beside him, watching his face.
"Carol, I need to ask you something directly."
"Go ahead."
"Do you think Noah is in danger?"
The pause this time was longer.
"I think you should take him to a doctor tonight," she said.
"I'm not a medical person.
But I've watched that baby for months.
There were days he looked fine.
And there were days he looked — wrong.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Like he wasn't quite there."
I ended the call and stood in the hallway for a moment.
Then I pushed the door open and walked back in.
Vanessa had not moved.
But something in her posture had shifted.
She was no longer leaning against the wall.
She was standing straight, arms crossed, chin up.
"Whatever she told you," Vanessa said, "she has no proof of anything."
"She has a license plate."
The chin came down slightly.
"That means nothing."
"It means I can find out who he is by morning." I picked up the bottles from the cabinet one by one and set them on the table in a row.
Seven bottles.
All unlabeled.
"And these mean I'm taking Noah to the emergency room tonight."
"You're overreacting."
"Lily." I turned to my daughter.
"Go get your shoes and Noah's bag.
We're going out."
Lily was on her feet before I finished the sentence.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"You are not taking him anywhere."
"He is my son."
The word landed between us.
She looked at the photograph still on the table.
Then back at me.
"You don't know what that photograph means," she said.
"Then explain it to me."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"That's what I thought," I said.
I picked up Noah, held him against my chest, and felt his small weight settle against me.
He was warm.
His breathing was slow but even.
His eyes tracked my face when I looked at him.
"Daddy," Lily said from the doorway.
She had her shoes on.
She was holding Noah's bag with both hands.
I walked toward her.
"If you leave with him," Vanessa said behind me, "you will regret it."
May you like
I didn't turn around.
I just kept walking.
