Meredith
Twenty-One Years Earlier
Peeking shyly from behind Alice’s legs is her butter-yellow-haired daughter, Imogen, clutching a pie dish swaddled in plastic wrap.
“Hi!” Alice chirps. Looking down with a grin, she adds, “What do you say, baby girl?”
“Well, thank you, Imogen,” she replies, grabbing the dish.
She hopes she has the child’s name right. They have only met a couple times: at the hectic end-of-summer boat party, and at the community center, when she and Alice took her and Parker on a tour.
“We had an apple-picking day in the yard and used the Galas to make a crisp for you and Parker,” Alice explains, waving the wine. “And this is for us.”
Of course she picked the fucking apples herself, Meredith seethes.
“How thoughtful,” she says instead. Her silver watch reads 4:00. “Just in time for a drink.”
Though, these days, it’s never too early for Meredith to imbibe.
“Come on in, girls,” she adds.
She ushers them inside her modest living room, which smells faintly of a new lavender candle.
She only finished arranging the room yesterday—fretting over every frame on the wall, every crease in the throw blanket—anxious to present a version of their lives worth envying.
She’s riddled with nerves at the thought of it looking unstylish.
“Where’s little Amelia?” she asks.
“Well, if you’d believe it, she already caught a cold during her first week of second grade.” Alice huffs a laugh. “I have a friend over at the house watching her.”
“Oh, I feel terrible,” Meredith admits, plopping into one of her beige armchairs. “We could have rescheduled.”
“She’s in good hands,” Alice assures her, sitting on the sofa next to Imogen.
“It’s only a short drive across the neighborhood anyway if she needs me.
Plus, I’m the one who feels terrible. I barely got a chance to speak to you at the boat party.
” She looks at her daughter. “But you introduced Parker to all your friends, right, sweetie?”
Imogen nods shyly, hands cupped in her lap.
“Speaking of,” Meredith says, springing up, “let me go see where he’s gotten to.”
She sweeps down the hallway, her heels clacking on newly lacquered floorboards, and returns moments later with her son, both hands on his shoulders. Parker’s dark hair falls like a curtain over his eyes, and he offers what some might generously call a smile when his gaze meets Imogen’s.
“Hi, Imogen,” he murmurs.
“Hi, Parker. Want to go play?”
Without another word, the two children slip away together, their footfalls vanishing down the hall.
“He’s… having a hard time adjusting,” Meredith says when she and Alice are alone. She sits carefully, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her pants. “Ever since his dad passed, he’s quieter. More withdrawn.”
This, Meredith knows, is only part of the truth. Parker has been quiet and withdrawn since the day he was born. He didn’t even cry when he exited her birth canal.
“Can I ask what happened to him?” Alice gently ventures. “Your husband.”
Meredith releases a sheepish chuckle. “I think we’ll need some wine for that story.”
She disappears into the adjoining kitchen and returns swiftly, bottle of Pinot Gris in hand, glasses dangling by their stems. The cork squeaks as it leaves the neck, and the wine flows in a pale ribbon. They clink their glasses softly as Meredith sinks back into her seat.
“It was just over six months ago now. Late February.” She takes a slow sip, buying herself a little courage. “I was the one who found him.”
“Oh my god,” Alice whispers. “What happened?”
“He overdosed on pills. Right at the desk in his home office,” she explains quietly, taking a substantial sip, though she knows he didn’t overdose himself.
“He was an anesthesiologist, which he found very stressful. It affected how he treated everyone, how he looked at the world. There was an incident with a patient shortly before he passed, which I believe is why he… took his life. Michael suffered from many addictions—mostly alcohol. But I had no idea he had been injecting himself with stolen Demerol from the hospital,” she adds, realizing too late that she’s said too much.
Meredith continues anyway. “He was chasing this euphoric rush it gave him, I later learned. But he went into the OR high one morning, on Demerol.”
She’s never told anyone this story before, only the ending.
That Michael had taken his life. The little lie she had to concoct.
Though the rest was true. Some in the community knew what happened in the hospital that night, and she’s sure it continued to spill around after they left.
But she doesn’t care anymore. Portland is behind her.
Alice’s lips part, but no words come out.
“He messed up a blood transfusion, and they couldn’t save the patient. He completely… changed after that. If we thought he was bad before, he really turned into a monster after he killed that young man.”
Alice’s eyes close in sympathy. She sighs. She feels bad for Meredith—pities her.
She straightens, clicking her tongue. “Anyway. We needed a change after that. A lot of people were upset—naturally. I didn’t want anyone taking that out on Parker. I thought getting out of the city would be a nice change, and that’s how I found Blair.”
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a better place to start over,” Alice offers.
“And for what it’s worth, I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.
I know Imogen will integrate Parker into the class and make sure he has a supportive new group.
Moving can be so hard on our kids, but I think you made the best choice. ”
Meredith dips her head in agreement. “And yours?” she asks. “Your husband.”
“Oh, I was never married. The girls’ dad—his name is Harry—left us before they were born.
Imogen asks about him sometimes. I guess I still haven’t figured out what to tell her.
” Her face shifts into something forlorn.
The glass’s narrow stem spins between her fingers.
“He was a great guy. But he thought he needed to give too much up to be a good father, that he had to change his lifestyle. He was ready at first, when we found out. But after my second trimester… he changed his mind.”
“Is that why you never married?” Meredith asks, taking a sip.
Alice nods. “There hasn’t been anyone else.
I met Harry here at the lake—after I bought my house.
We were so excited when I found out I was pregnant.
We were in this fairy-tale romance. We talked about getting married.
” She swallows. “But then he left town. Didn’t sell his house—still hasn’t.
At least he’s not living there now, across the lake.
But who knows? Either way, I’m not going anywhere.
I won’t let him have that much power over us. ”
Meredith’s eyes perk, genuinely impressed. “You seem like a capable and loving parent all on your own. I mean, jeez. I thought I had it hard having to take care of Parker by myself. But you’ve overcome a lot, it seems.”
“Hey, we both have.” Alice and Meredith clink glasses with small smiles. “To single moms.” They each take a sip.
“Have you thought about getting back out there?”
Alice thinks on it. “Whenever the girls have a milestone moment, I do miss him. I loved him. But damn him for leaving us like that. We don’t need someone like that in our lives.
” She takes a significant swig. “Sometimes I check in with him because a part of me hopes he’ll come back.
Maybe he’ll realize that he’s made a grave mistake by leaving the girls behind.
” She shakes her head. “But I couldn’t take him back.
Hopefully, someday there will be someone else.
I’m certainly not looking. I’m too headstrong—too independent to truly care.
The girls are my focus.” She sniffs. “I’m sure dating hasn’t crossed your mind yet?
With everything that’s gone on this year. ”
“Parker’s the only man I need,” Meredith says, her eyes glazed and distant. A pit forms in her stomach as the words slither out, hoping he’ll grow into someone easy. Even normal.
Sometimes she hates him. But she knows she’d kill for him.
Coming out of her trance, she focuses back on Alice. “I can’t believe your ex still owns a house here. What if he never leaves? What will you tell the girls?”
Alice blows air from her lips. “Then so be it. If he doesn’t want to know them, it’s not my call to tell them that their father owns a home right in front of their faces.
I think it’s weird—for sure. So weird. I just hope he doesn’t move back, ’cause I want the girls to grow up in a place they know and love.
And that’s Lake Blair. It’s too good a community to waste on him. ”
A clashing sound escapes from down the hallway. Both women freeze, snapping toward the noise. Then comes the sharper shatter of glass. A squeaking groan follows. A noise of pain.
Then Imogen starts screaming. “Mom!”
Meredith and Alice lock eyes in alarm. Meredith’s heart sinks, praying Parker hasn’t done something regrettable… again.
“Imogen?” Alice screams, running down the hallway in front of Meredith.
A thin water glass is scattered across the hardwood floor of Parker’s bedroom. He’s perched against the wall, his mop of black hair pushed off his forehead, his left cheek gashed open and dripping crimson off his chin.
“Imogen hurt me!” he cries, pointing at her.
A few feet away, Imogen crouches on the floor, knees tucked to her chest. One small hand clutches her throat as she coughs soundlessly, saying nothing.
She just rocks in place, wide eyes locking on her mother’s—pleading silently.
Meredith sees it in her expression: I promise there’s more to the story.
And Meredith knows it, too.
But the suggested thoughts of Imogen don’t come out of her mouth. They remain solely within her eyes. Her face is a pale shade of blue as she holds her arms close to her chest in protection.
Meredith’s gaze switches between them before crashing to her knees in front of her son. A small, triangular piece of glass sits within his supple skin. “Don’t touch it! Come with me.”
She gently drags him to the adjoining bathroom, propping him on the closed toilet seat and fussing for the first aid kit under the faucet, her mind sprinting in every direction.
She looks back at Parker, who is expressionless.
Even now, with blood slicking his cheek, he is disturbingly void of emotion. Meredith isn’t even surprised.
When she sat him down on his bed some six months ago, telling him his father was dead—not wanting to sugarcoat it with a lie that he moved to Timbuktu, or that he was simply on an exceptionally long work trip—a smile had crossed Parker’s lips, as though she were delivering positive news.
And maybe, in a way, she was. The devil in their home couldn’t hurt them any longer.
“It worked,” Parker had calmly said to her.
At first, she wondered if she misheard him. Your father is dead. He’s not coming back, she had said. How could he mistake that?
“What worked?” Meredith had asked her seven-year-old, confused.
“I hoped he wouldn’t think his coffee tasted too funny.” His smile grew. “It worked. He drank it.”
Before she could respond, his tiny arms wrapped around the back of her neck in a hug. And all she could do was hold him.
In this moment now, the same chill fills her.
“What happened?” she whispers, quiet enough so Alice and Imogen can’t hear her from the adjoining room.
Parker shrugs. Moments ago, he proclaimed that Imogen had hurt him. Now an oath of silence washes excuses away.
“Tell me,” Meredith demands under her breath, attempting to pry the little piece of glass from his cheek with tweezers.
She internally forces her hand to steady—relax relax relax—removing the glass with one sturdy pluck.
She studies the wound to ensure no glass remains, then presses a wet washcloth against his face, cleaning the oozing blood.
From her kneeling stance in front of him, their eyes meet.
She wills his near-black pupils to explain what they’ve seen.
“Parker,” she tries, her eyes welling with worry. They soften in defeat.
At first, he looks back, blinking. Then, flatly: “She didn’t want to play with me the way I wanted to play with her.”
Meredith feels his jaw clench under the cloth.
“And how was that?” Meredith swallows. She dabs his wound, using her other hand to fish for isopropyl alcohol in the medicine box. But suddenly, her attention is thrust back to Parker.
“The way Daddy played with you.”
Parker’s tiny hand snaps to her throat, squeezing hard against her windpipe in terrifying familiarity.
His other hand begins to travel down atop her breast, but Meredith shoves him off—bewildered.
Her brunette bob shakes across her face as the memory of Michael’s final assault on her jumps off the walls of her mind.
The disgusting things he said as he violated her on his desk.
The way he brought her near death with his hands.
He got off on her terror. And Parker must have watched it happen.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” Meredith whispers, a stark harshness in her tone. She’s choking back tears. “It is not okay to do that to anyone. That is not how we play, and that is not how we show love.”
Parker stares into his mother’s wet eyes without saying another word, his expression even flatter than before—clearly upset with the demand. His stare intensifies. It’s fixed—almost lethal.
Meredith’s heart thumps a little harder. She can almost hear it in her ears, replacing the piercing silence around her.
Her fears surface for the first time, drying her lips in an instant as Parker continues to stare. Meredith stares back and finally realizes… she’s afraid of her son. So she better do exactly what he says.