a corner, behind other, newer boxes. But now there’s the feeling that all it would take is a simple nudge for it to topple over, and the lid to fall free, and the names to scatter across the dusty floor. The box is exactly like it is in Cooley Ridge. The past, boxed up and stacked out of sight. But never too far away.
Open the top because Annaleise mentioned Corinne’s name and disappeared. Close your eyes and reach your hand inside. Pull out a name.
That’s how it works here.
That’s what’s happening.
Yes, I had called Everett for advice. For my dad. He could’ve told me what to do about the cops who were ambushing my senile father at his nursing home, but he hopped a plane three days ago and paid a ridiculous amount of cab fare and set up his own base of operations in the dining room. He showed up at this house and stood on the front porch because he said I’d scared him, and I loved him for it. I loved that he came. But I couldn’t dig through our history with him here. Couldn’t figure out what the hell had happened to Annaleise without dragging him into it.
My advice to him: Leave. Leave before we pull you down with us.
“It’s my family,” I said.
“I don’t want you staying here,” he whispered, pointing to the backyard that stretched as far as we could see, disappearing into the trees. “A girl went missing from right there.”
“I’ll take that prescription, and I’ll try to sleep more, I promise. But I have to stay.”
He kissed my forehead and mumbled into my hair, “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
Wasn’t it obvious? She was everywhere I looked. On every telephone pole. In every store window. The same places I’d hung posters of Corinne, stapling them with a knot in my stomach, handing them out faster and faster, as if my speed could somehow change the outcome.
Annaleise on those posters now, with her huge, open eyes, telling me to open mine. Everywhere I looked, there she was. Look. Look. Keep your eyes open.
* * *
THE TAXI COMPANY SAID a car would arrive in twenty minutes, but I guessed it would be more like forty. Everett was leaning against the laundry room doorjamb, watching me dump his clothes from the dryer into the warped plastic bin with half a smile on his face. “You don’t have to do that, Nicolette.”
I cleared my throat and balanced the laundry basket on my hip. “I want to,” I said. I wanted to fold his clothes and pack them up and kiss him goodbye. I wanted him to get home and open his suitcase and think of me. But I also just wanted him to go.
He watched me fold his clothes into perfect squares on the dining room table. And then he watched me stack them in his suitcase, as if performing a delicate surgery. “See if you can break your lease,” he said, striding toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I folded his last shirt. He brushed my ponytail to the side and put his lips against my neck. “I want you living with me as soon as you’re back.”
I nodded and kept my arms moving. It should be easy for me to say, Yes, of course, yes. It should be easy for me to envision: me, with my clothes taking up half his closet; us, cooking together in his kitchen, curled up on his couch with the red throw blanket over my legs because he kept the temperature about five degrees cooler than I liked it. Him, talking about court. And me, talking about my students as I poured two glasses of wine.
“What’s the matter?” Everett asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking of everything I need to do here first.”
“Do you need anything?” he asked, stepping back. He cleared his throat, tried to make his voice seem natural. “Money?”
I flinched. He’d never offered me money. We’d never even talked about money. He had it and I didn’t, which meant we circled the topic like a fire that could quickly burn out of control and consume us both. It was why I never brought up the wedding, because then he’d have to mention the prenup that I knew his dad would demand I sign, and I would, but there it would be, out in the open, ready to burn. “No, I don’t need your money,” I said.