51. Zara
ZARA
Peony yawns for the second time in the past several minutes and picks up a wooden block from Simone’s living room floor.
She walks to the lopsided tower Zoe and Kylie have been working on and puts her block on top. The tower sways a fraction of an inch, readjusting to its new center of gravity. But physics isn’t on her side, and the tower crumples.
Kylie and I reach for it on instinct, but we’re too late. The entire structure collapses, clattering loudly on the wood floor.
Jasper jumps to his feet from his dog bed, his nap now over, and barks. At the same time Peony lets out a disgruntled shriek, her gaze on the ruined tower.
The shriek quickly settles into full body sobs. Every inch of her trembles, the rattling aftershocks of an earthquake.
Jasper barks again, eager to play with the girls.
Simone strokes him, and the attention calms the golden Labradoodle.
Kneeling next to Peony, I gather her in my arms and gently rub her back, wanting so much to absorb her frustration, to turn it into a harmless puff of smoke. “Hey, it’s okay, Princess Peony. It’s not a big deal. But I do think it’s someone’s naptime.”
She looks forlornly at me, her bottom lip pushed out. Tears drench her face, and her mouth opens, the subtle warning that another round of high-pitched, ear-shattering wails are about to commence.
“It really is okay, sweetheart.” I pick Poppy up from the floor and hand her to Peony.
Still sobbing, she buries her face in the panda’s fur.
“Let’s get you home now.” I kiss the crown of Peony’s head and stagger to my feet with the aid of the coffee table for support. I rock her from side to side. “Say bye-bye to Auntie Simone, Kylie, and Zoe.”
Peony’s tearful face peers up from Poppy’s side, and she waves at them, her bottom lip still pushed out in a pout. “Bye-bye”
By the time we arrive at Garrett’s house, her eyes are shut, the rise and fall of her chest slow and even. She looks so adorably peaceful like this, I hate having to move her and risk waking her.
I park my car in the shadow of the trees on one side of the driveway, leaving space for Joanne’s car once she gets here, and kill the engine. Peony doesn’t stir.
I climb out and open her door. “We’re home, sweetie,” I say softly, so as not to startle her. “I’ll just put you down for a nap in your bed, and by the time you wake up, Granny will be here.”
Peony doesn’t so much as blink open an eye at my voice.
I was at Picnic & Treats earlier when Joanne phoned and asked for my help. Athena has the afternoon off, and Joanne was looking after Peony, because Garrett has gone out of town for a week, which was news to me.
But then a medical-appointment spot opened up. She phoned to see if I could look after Peony for an hour or two.
And I was more than happy to help out. I haven’t seen Peony since last Thursday. Instead, I’ve come up with excuse after excuse as to why I can’t go for my usual walk with Garrett.
I’m not ready to see him just yet.
A litany of questions still burns on my tongue. Questions about how Garrett is doing. If he’s almost finished with his novel. I also wonder what he was talking about when he claimed the death of his two friends was his fault.
I never mentioned the last part to Emily when she came over with Ben & Jerry’s.
And I didn’t mention it to Troy and Kellan on Friday night, during our weekly Game Night.
A Game Night that only consisted of Troy, Jess, Kellan, Emily, and me, because Garrett, Lucas, and Simone were home with their kids.
I unbuckle Peony’s car seat harness and remove her and Poppy from the car. She stirs in my arms, her head on my shoulder, but otherwise remains comatose.
I carry her to the house, leaving my purse and her bag in the car. I unlock the front door, step inside the house, and key in the password to the security system, disengaging it.
A hollow silence stretches endlessly around me like a tomb. So different to what it usually feels like in Garrett’s home—especially now that Peony lives here.
I can’t tell if Athena is somewhere in the house, out of earshot. Or she might be in the backyard, enjoying the warm summer day.
I put my keys on the hall table, next to the vase filled with flowers from the garden, toe off my sandals, and walk deeper into the house.
A few months ago, this place resembled a man cave.
A nicely decorated one, but a man cave no less.
Now, flower-filled vases decorate the hallway, living room, and kitchen.
In the living room, floral cushions crowd the couch.
Cushions that weren’t here several months ago.
The light sage throw that complements the cushions is another addition that had nothing to do with me.
It’s like Athena is weaving herself into the family, becoming an important thread integrated into the delicate pattern.
But at the same time, I can’t tell if she longs for Garrett the way I do, if she sees herself as one day being his girlfriend or his wife.
Before I stupidly, idiotically confessed I was in love with him, Garrett told me she hadn’t made any moves that suggest she sees herself fitting into his life that way. Maybe helping to decorate your employer’s home is part of the nanny job description.
I walk down the hallway to Peony’s bedroom. Her curtains are open, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to stream across the hardwood floor. I peek through the window into the backyard, but it doesn’t look as though Athena is out there.
I have no idea what Athena does during her spare time. I don’t think Garrett knows either. She’s private about what she does when she’s not working…like she’s private about a lot of things.
Peony blinks herself awake and slowly straightens in my arms.
I smile softly at her. “I take it you’ve finished your nap?”
She looks at the floor. “Daisy.”
“You want your elephant?” I’m grasping for bent straws here. Her panda is named after a flower, so it makes sense her elephant would be named after one too.
She nods, eyes puppy-dog wide.
Her floppy stuffed elephant isn’t on the floor or the bed or the bookshelf. Nor is it on the rocking armchair.
I lower Peony to the floor and walk over to the toddler bed. I get down on my stomach, peer under the bed, and pull out a board book, a red ball, and a yellow plastic donut-sized ring.
But no Daisy.
I search through Peony’s toy box, but it’s not here either. “Let’s look in the living room. She’s probably there.”
We head back to the living room. When a cursory glance around the room doesn’t result in Daisy, we look under the coffee table and behind the couch and on the bookshelves. But still no sign of the elephant.
“Any idea where you last saw her?” I ask Peony.
She takes one last quick scan of the room and takes off running down the hallway. I follow her.
She stops outside of Athena’s bedroom door, which has been left slightly ajar. Not giving any thought to Athena’s privacy, Peony pushes the door open and enters the room.
I stand motionless in the doorway, watching her wander around the room like she’s on a mission. “I don’t think we should go in there, Princess Peony. That’s Athena’s room. It’s private.”
“Nina.” Peony points at the bed and drops to her knees next to it.
Like the rest of the house, Athena’s bedroom is immaculately tidy. The only messy thing about her room is her bed. Her bedding is askew, haphazardly dangling over the side, forming a small puddle of sheets on the floor.
“You think Daisy’s under there?” I gesture to the queen-sized bed .
Peony attempts to push the bedding aside, like branches of a weeping willow hiding a cave entrance.
I kneel next to her and lift the curtain of bedding. “Do you see it?”
Peony lies on her stomach and peers under the bed. Giggling, she stretches toward what I’m guessing is Daisy.
But it seems to be too far out of her reach, unless she’s planning to crawl under the bed to retrieve it.
“I’ll get it,” I tell her and flatten onto my stomach.
Blindly groping, I move my hand along the floor, searching for the stuffed elephant. The familiar ache in my shoulders and back protests the awkward movement.
As I breathe through the pain, wishing orgasms were in my near future, my fingers brush against a book.
Peony’s bright eyes shine at me, and she giggles. “Daisy!”
Oh, Daisy isn’t a toy. It’s a character in one of Peony’s picture books.
I slide the book from under the bed. But it’s not a board book like I was expecting. It’s a sketch pad with a flat metal box sitting on top. A metal box containing colored pencils. The quality kind artists use.
Peony shifts to a sitting position and pats the book, as if that will magically open it.
Athena must be okay with Peony seeing whatever’s inside it. Otherwise, Peony wouldn’t know about the book. I ignore the voice telling me it still doesn’t give me the right to be in Athena’s room, and I open the book to the first page.
A breathtaking drawing of a young woman’s face stares at me.
Her straight black hair frames delicate features, and long dark eyelashes accentuate sad eyes.
But the most heartbreaking part is that the girl has no mouth.
She has a nose and those expressive blue eyes, but it’s as if Athena never got around to drawing the mouth.
Or she had another reason for leaving it out.
I flip through the next couple of pages. They contain more sketches of girls who could be in their late teens or early twenties. There’s something disturbing yet beautiful about each one.
I trace my finger over the green-eyed girl, as if that’s all it will take to erase her pain. These pictures and Athena’s talent don’t come as a complete surprise. I remember the image she drew several months ago, when she came to Picnic & Treats and drew the sketch of a girl using only a crayon.
I turn the page. This time I’m not met by the exquisite eyes of a young woman. It’s a sad bunny that stares at me. It’s cute, like the kind of picture you would find in a children’s book.
Peony points at the bunny. “Daisy.”
Ahh. So this is the mysterious Daisy.
I keep flipping the pages, pausing on each one to appreciate what I’m looking at, only to eventually realize the pictures of the various woodland critters, in their natural habitat, represent some kind of story.
Peony points to the wolf, and her adorable face pinches into a scowl, like she just ate something bitter. “Bad.”
“Is he the villain?”
She doesn’t reply, but instead helps me turn to the next page, where more of the story plays out.
I flip past a few more pages to one with a bear on it.
Peony points at the drawing and scowls again. “Bad.”
Ah, the story has two villains. “Has your daddy seen this? It’s really good. You think maybe Athena should consider a career in illustrating children’s books?” Possibly also writing them.
The last page of the sketchbook doesn’t contain a drawing of the bunny or any of the woodland critters. A sketch of Kenda smiles at me. A sketch accompanied by the familiar photo that at one point also included Garrett and me. Our existence has since been cut away. Disposed of.
How very metaphorical.
I flip the photo. My handwriting is on the back.
True friendship stays strong, no matter the distance.
What the hell? I wrote those words on only one copy of the photo. The copy that was in my apartment. The copy that recently went missing.
Why would Athena steal the photo and cut it up? It’s not even Garrett’s picture she kept…not unless that part is under her pillow .
A muffled sound, so quiet I almost don’t hear it, comes from somewhere in the direction of the front door.
Shit. Athena.
The last thing I want is to be caught in her room, going through her things, even if I apparently had the right to, given she stole the photo from my apartment.
I return the photo to where I found it, close the sketchbook, and quickly shove the book and the box of pencils under the bed.
I make sure the bedding looks close to how we found it and usher Peony toward the door, hoping to get out of Athena’s room before she finds us here.
A thick wall of a man steps into the doorway, blocking our exit. A surprised shriek catapults from my lungs, the sound barely louder than my now racing heart. I stumble back a step.
I’m not the only one who screams. But Peony’s scream isn’t one of surprise.
It’s a scream of terror. The kind of terror that turns you cold from the inside out.