Chapter Nine
Andi
A thunderstorm has rolled in, and I’m sitting in the garage on top of a Yeti cooler and staring at the meat freezer. Carson
is getting the kids ready for Hallie’s birthday party this afternoon, which, despite the weather, Regan didn’t cancel because
she didn’t want a hysterical ten-year-old on top of all the rest of the chaos, I assume.
Carson told me to rest while he made the kids get dressed and sign Hallie’s card, while he found a bottle of wine to bring to the party, and all the rest of it, and I’m grateful for that because I can’t seem to bring myself to calm down and act normal.
I take a moment, in my Dior dress and peacoat with a wrapped gift balanced on my knees, and try to take a couple of breaths before my family comes barreling out and piling into the car.
Ring footage. I thought I was done for in that moment, because I hadn’t thought of the Ring camera, but when I went to look through it, I realized we hadn’t changed the batteries that went out months ago.
We said we should, but we live in Cloverhill Lakes, so who needs cameras?
At least, that was the case only days ago. But thank God.
The lightning flashes like a strobe light through the window, and thunder cracks and startles me to my feet, speeding up my
heart even more, and I stand and pace the garage floor. I guess I’m keeping watch over the damn thing to make sure nobody
comes near it—I need to make sure everyone gets in the car, out the door and back home to bed before I do whatever it is I
come up with next.
Morrison thought it would be better to talk to me tomorrow considering my “fragile condition,” and buying time is fine by
me, but how the actual fuck do I do this? How do I move her? How do I walk around and appear normal and not at all like a
murderer—a monster? I can’t conceive of how a person could pull this off, but I’m forced to figure it out. I have to.
I hear the sound of Carson telling everyone to get a move on and that I’m waiting in the car. I slip into the passenger seat
before they all come bounding out the door and wonder what the hell I’m doing. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m making
it a full-time job to keep a neutral expression across my face and say normal things. That’s what I’m doing. If we canceled
going to Hallie’s party, that would look strange, and I can’t do anything but appear routine, normal, innocent.
As the kids buckle in, Carson reminds me that it’s Monday and the dads will be watching the game in the media room with the rest of the husbands when he gets there, and who plans a party during a Patriots game?
And I tell him a single mom who doesn’t give a crap does and Dez asks if he’s allowed to say the word crap since he’s not allowed to say shit and before I can answer, Carson backs the SUV out of the garage and there is a deafening bang, crack.
“Crap!” Dex yells, and Roxie screams. I’m holding my chest, trying to absorb what just happened. I leap out of the car, realizing
he’s backed up into the meat freezer and it’s fallen over onto its side with a metallic crash so loud my heart is still in
my throat.
“Damn thing never got pushed back against the wall,” Carson immediately starts to say, thinking I’ll blame him and instinctively
absolving himself from any liability. “Who put the emergency brake on, for Christ’s sake?” he asks. Although it happened so
fast, I could see he was trying to push the gas and the car wasn’t moving and when he released the brake, it jolted back.
Unbelievable. Nobody answers, and he knows it was Roxie because she’s still learning.
“I got it,” I practically yell in a panic, rushing over to the freezer. “Just pull up,” I say, desperately trying to distract
him. He stands outside the driver’s-side door with the car running and looks at it. To my absolute horror, I see the impact
has broken the lock and the tarp Tia is wrapped in has tumbled out ever so slightly. I kneel next to it and try to push the
tarp back in, telling him to just pull up and around, for God’s sake.
He can’t tell what’s inside, but if he comes closer, maybe he’ll try to help or ask questions.
“Fine, jeez,” he says, getting back in the car, but Dez jumps out and comes right up behind me before I even know he’s there.
“Barbies,” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to a lock of silky blond hair that has poked out the crease in the tarp.
“Jesus,” I say. “Get back in the car. We’re late.” I’m holding back tears, and a full-blown panic attack is threatening to take over.
“I wanna see,” he says.
“It’s just old toys I stored in there—I meant to bring them to Goodwill. Please get in. We’re going.” My whole body is shaking
from the surging adrenaline, and I try to keep my back to him and not panic. Dez shrugs and gets back in the truck while I
push the heavy tarp back inside the freezer with trembling hands and hook the broken padlock back around the metal clasp.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, my mind reeling, silently pleading for Carson not to exit the car and come over. It won’t lock
now, but it will keep it closed at least. I rush back to the passenger seat and Carson backs up, pulls around the fallen freezer,
and drives off, closing the garage door behind us.
He’s clueless. Thank Christ. He’s just flipping radio stations and asking if Dez is excited for cake. I try to breathe and
keep my eyes out the passenger window, focusing hard on the falling rain in a bid not to start bawling my head off.
“We should call and get that thing hauled away. It takes up too much space and we don’t even use it.”
“Yes,” I agree too eagerly, and he gives me a side glance and then raises his eyebrows in an “okay then” expression. “I’ll
call tomorrow morning. Just park outside tonight,” I say, so grateful it was his idea to get rid of it and not mine—not some
suspicious thing I did. He just casually thinks we should get rid of it. Yes, fuck yes, we should. I will move Tia after everyone
is asleep and tomorrow we’ll have the freezer eliminated as evidence.
The drive is uneventful. Carson explains to Roxie that she doesn’t need to put the emergency brake on when she’s parked in the garage on a flat surface and then lets it go and hums to a Journey song.
Roxie is on her phone. Dez is asking if he can have soda and cake, and I’m thinking about how little time I have to fix this so I don’t end up spending the rest of my life in prison.
How can I move her without being seen? Everyone has a Ring camera these days. I can’t just drive her somewhere in the middle
of the night—it would be completely out of character and suspicious no matter what story I came up with. Everyone is paying
attention to my demeanor because of my relationship to Tia. Of course they are. I can’t make one misstep.
Carson works from home half the time, which makes it harder to plan because I never know his schedule, and he doesn’t always
know where he’ll be working—whether he’ll be called into a client meeting or can work from home—sometimes until that morning.
But somehow, I have to find a window of time when the kids are at school and he’s gone, and then what?
“Do you go into the office tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Well, I don’t know if I should. Will you be okay?”
“I’m completely fine. I was just asking because maybe you could drop Dez at school if you are,” I say. I’m hoping the little
push will make him offer—that would give me some certainty of a space of time I can be alone.
“Don’t know yet. I have a lunch with some bigwig buyer who hasn’t confirmed a time, so I might need to prep at home until
they let me know. I can take him, though,” he says.
Shit. I need more than a forty-minute school drop. A client lunch is usually long and boozy when Carson calls them a “bigwig,” so maybe I can do it then. If I can push Morrison off a little longer and he doesn’t show up at the house. God, this is crazy.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, and then Carson makes a turn onto the charming covered bridge that I have always marveled at, with
its weathered spruce timber and metal gable roof, and as we cross over the Connecticut River, something is set into motion.
There is a picnic area on the bank below the bridge, and I remember last time I was there—that cookout a couple years ago.
All of our friends were there, friends of friends and some I didn’t know, and I’ll never forget it because that’s when I should
have known. I sat on a picnic table with a checkered cloth and drank a glass of prosecco while the kids threw a football and
the guys stood around the grill poking at hot dogs and talking about gold or some boring thing, and I saw Tia go and fix herself
a drink from the mimosa bar Kitty Wilson insisted on setting up on a folding table down by the water. That was the moment:
when Tia passed Ray at the grill and touched his back, her hand lingering, as she asked him if he wanted her to get him anything.
He said “No, thanks,” but her hand remained and then gave a little intimate squeeze before she made her way to the bar. I
didn’t clock it then.
But none of that really matters now. What matters is I know exactly where I need to go. I know how to get rid of a body. By
the end of the day tomorrow, this will all be over.