Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 21
I placed my cell phone, the running video camera facing out, in the mesh pocket along the outer edge of my handbag. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on Tim’s apartment door.
He frowned as he opened it, realizing who’d disturbed him. “I told you to stay away from my place, Caroline.”
“I know.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “But I’m extending you a courtesy you never offered me.”
His expression was halfway between annoyed and amused. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I’m letting you know in advance that you will be receiving a visit from the police.”
He snorted. “What are you talking about?”
“I have excellent therapists, Tim. They’re helping me remember things—things I’m sure you’d prefer I never recall.” I made sure to project my voice so the residents of nearby apartments could hear me. “Like when you told me my mother had no money when she died. Or that you allowed everyone to believe it was my fault our daughter died when it was yours.” I swallowed the choking tightness in my throat.
Tim’s eyes sprang comically wide. He looked like a cartoon character. If the topic of my outburst hadn’t been so devastating, I’d have laughed. Before I could even ask, Tim stepped aside and ushered me in. It was seven thirty, just after the dinner hour. I imagined he didn’t want to risk any of his neighbors hearing my allegations.
I stepped into his vestibule, my jaw dropping as I peered into his living room. The rich leather sofa, cream linen chairs, and plush rug as thick as a mattress looked like something in a high-end showroom.
“This isn’t what you think,” said Tim, standing in front of me in what appeared to be a vain attempt to block my view. “This furniture belongs to my girlfriend.”
“Is she a Kardashian?”
“No, just an attorney. Now, what did you need to tell me, Caroline? You think I murdered our child?”
“Not murdered. Neglected.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “But the result was the same.”
“Obviously your new meds need adjustment.”
“Be sure to share your expert opinion with the police when they arrive, Tim. I’m sure they value the medical insights of mechanical engineers.”
He stared at me, trying to gauge whether I was bluffing. “You keep going to counseling, but you never seem to get better. If anything, you’re getting crazier. Accusing me of killing our daughter is a new twist. But maybe it’s progress. At least you aren’t still lugging around an empty baby carrier.”
I pressed my lips together as my breath stalled in my throat. I couldn’t let him goad me into submission. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I was looking for the baby bath items under the sink that day, remember? I searched and searched while you balanced Emmy in the tub, but when I turned back, you weren’t holding her.” I stared into his eyes, fighting the urge to circle my hands around his neck and squeeze as hard as I could.
He blinked and stepped away from me. “You’re delusional, as usual.”
“Am I?” I stared at him, wanting nothing more than to look away. I felt the sudden moisture pricking my eyes at the thought of Emmy in the tub. “You knew I didn’t do well with water. I would never bathe her without you. I couldn’t.” I shuddered at the thought of it.
He rolled his eyes. “Just one more example of your everlasting neurosis.”
“I’ve got problems, Tim. I admit it.” My voice turned bitter. “Thanks for caring.”
“Caring for you was exhausting, Caroline. It was like living with two infants rather than one.”
“And now we have none.” My voice broke and I had to look away. Stay strong, Caroline .
“It didn’t have to be that way,” he said, venom dripping from his words. “If you’d just put the shampoo where it belonged, I wouldn’t have needed to look in the towel cabinet. I was only distracted for a second...”
“That’s all it took.”
Tim looked down, staring at the floor between us. Seconds ticked by, but he said nothing. Suddenly, his shoulders sagged. “I tried to revive her; I called for an ambulance.”
“It didn’t have to come to that.” If he’d only been patient, Emmy would still be alive. Now it was far too late.
He looked at me. “Caroline, please.” His eyes looked moist. “We need to face this together, mourn together?—”
“How dare you.” My leg twitched with the need to knee him in the groan.
“I’m hurting too.”
“Don’t give me that! Your recovery was remarkably fast. By the time the authorities arrived, you had your story in place, didn’t you? Said I’d been bathing Emmy and had let her slip into the bathwater.” I shook my head, unbelieving even as I was figuring it out.
“Someone had to tell the police what happened. You wouldn’t get off the bathroom floor. None of us could get you to speak. You simply stared into space like a zombie.”
“You counted on my despair, pointed out my postpartum depression, I’m sure. You knew when it came right down to it, it would be my word against yours.”
He stared at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. The moisture breaching the lower rims of his eyes evaporated.
“Just tell me the truth,” I whispered.
His eyes, as cold and hard as coal chips, held my gaze. A dangerous version of a staring contest. I didn’t blink.
“I knew you wouldn’t get blamed,” he finally admitted, his voice low, measured. “If there was an inquiry, police would take your history into account.”
“My history didn’t matter,” I ground out. “It was an accident.”
“People have gone to prison for less.” He looked away. “Once the cops discovered we weren’t getting along, that you walked the streets at night, bringing Emmy out in winter weather?—”
“No one has ever been imprisoned for pushing their properly dressed child in a stroller.”
“In the middle of the night, Caroline? In below-freezing temperatures?” He paused, locking his gaze once again with mine. “If the police determined I was negligent too, who would keep us afloat? You had a hard time holding down a job, even before?—”
“Only during the postpartum depression. I planned to go back to work?—”
“You forget I was there, Caroline, watching you fall apart!”
“My hormones were raging. Anyone would have?—”
“Accidentally drowned her baby.” He swallowed hard but held my gaze. “Are you sure you’re remembering things correctly?”
“Don’t gaslight me, Tim.” I shook my head violently. “I was institutionalized for two years. I’m never getting that time back.” I threw my hands out in front of me. “And I’d gladly have given up my entire life if I could just have Emmy...” My voice broke. I covered my face with my hands, angry with myself. I’d vowed to rein in my emotions.
It was quiet in the apartment. As silent and empty as the atmosphere on the moon.
“Look, let’s start over,” came my husband’s voice, contrite, tentative. “Maybe we could make it work this time.”
I lowered my hands and looked at him.
“We could begin again. I’m sure of it.”
I thought of all the times I’d yearned to hear those words from him. I studied his features, aware that his expression was more desperate than amorous. Did he honestly think there was a way to fix this?
“We’ve learned from our mistakes.” His voice took on a pleading quality. “We’ll know exactly what to avoid next time around.”
He spoke as though we’d ruined a recipe or painted a wall in our house an unattractive color. How was I considered the crazy one in this relationship?
“Let’s just give it a try.”
There was more at stake here. Tim didn’t long for a reunion. He was terrified I’d tell anyone who’d listen about what had really happened to Emmy. And I’d start asking questions about my mother’s estate. The truth hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Fast on the heels of our shared tragedy, he saw an opportunity to be rid of me and he took it, feeding his carefully constructed narrative to anyone—and everyone—who would listen. Troubled woman with a tragic background—majorly depressed. Perhaps even suicidal. As time went on, he’d likely added to the story, concocting believable tidbits that would ensure my continued institutionalization.
And he’d never expected me to get out of the psych ward.
The desperation coming off him slammed into me just as forcefully. He had no choice but to keep me close, at least for a little while. I again recalled our early days, when he’d dramatically professed I was his oxygen, and it was true. Only my starry-eyed interpretation had been faulty. Oxygen, after all, is the one thing that feeds a fire. The more you have, the higher the flames leap. And Tim needed me to help him torch my life. He’d counted on me creating an inferno so intense and lasting, I’d not survive.
Infusing my voice with an encouraging note instead of what I really wanted to do—spit in his face—I said, “I’ve waited for months to hear you say that.”
His smile looked hopeful. “The wait is over.”
I forced an answering smile. I’d underestimated his arrogance. His certainty that I needed him so badly I’d be willing to accept him no matter what had happened between us. That I’d be able to overlook the fact that he’d allowed our baby to drown and blamed it on me. I had a weird impression of acting—as though we were in a play or, more appropriately, a soap opera. Tim was doing nothing more than spewing lines he was paid to recite. I suspected the payment was coming from my inheritance.
I stared at his smug expression, wanting to slap the self-satisfied grin off his face. My husband thought he’d won me over, again. He had no idea who I really was, and he never had. But that apparently hadn’t mattered to him. He’d discovered my mother’s financial status and realized I was vulnerable. The timing bore out this theory. After my mother died, he’d started pulling away.
Now that I viewed him without emotion, the picture was so clear. It hadn’t occurred to me until this very moment I was bound to a narcissist. I thought about his lack of close friends, his physical and emotional distance from family members. Most of all, his strict judgment of others while allowing himself huge leeway for his own mistakes. Even foisting the deadly neglect of his child onto me. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? Perhaps narcissism had seemed normal to my lithium-addled brain.
“What about your girlfriend?” I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He brushed his hand in the air. “That’s not working out.”
“Why is that?”
He looked away. “She’s not really around anymore.”
Perhaps she’d left him. Smart woman. But no, there had to be more to it than that. I looked back at the beautiful living room. “She left all this expensive furniture behind?”
Tim’s eyes flickered with impatience for just a second, but he masked it quickly with an uneven grin, knowing the charming effect it always had on me. Again, I wanted to kick him in the groin. And kick myself while I was at it.
“I’m sure she’ll pick it all up at some point, or I’ll give her a few bucks for the stuff.”
That was literally what he’d do. Pay her a pittance for the costly furnishings.
“Yes, well, I’m glad we talked.” I slapped an earnest expression across my features as I turned and walked to his door, swinging it wide. Stepping out, I said, “Oh, by the way, I was bluffing about the police.” I looked over my shoulder and smirked. “But you knew that, didn’t you? You could always read me like a book.”
His superior smile said more than words would ever convey. “I’ll be in touch, Caroline.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a promise or a threat.