down on one side or another. She didn’t know how to think about the possibility without starting to believe it.
Either way, it seemed increasingly likely that when he had asked her to tell him about anything “sensitive,” he had been talking about evidence.
The diary’s pages were wrinkling under her grip. She forced herself to relax her fingers.
The therapist in Connecticut had given her a bunch of phrases she was supposed to pull out whenever she felt herself slipping. Thought distortion. Catastrophizing. Kate tried to string them together in a way that might apply to this situation, but instead she wound up reciting them to herself like a mantra—thought distortion catastrophizing thought distortion catastrophizing—until they lost all meaning.
It was 3:13 now. She put the diary back in the drawer exactly as she had found it. Theo had destroyed the drawings only after he knew she’d seen them. He didn’t have to know she had found the journal. She could just leave it here, exactly as it had been. Theo would think it was safe from her, and that was how she would keep it safe from him. She would read it the way Miranda had written it: bit by bit, a little every day.
* * *
“Frank,” Kate said after dinner, as she was helping her aunt and uncle clean up, “the other day you said you had a friend who was a detective on Miranda Brand’s case.”
Frank nodded. “Victor Velázquez. Good guy. We play tennis sometimes.”
“So he still lives around here?”
He spread his arms. “Why would anyone ever leave Callinas?”
“Fair enough,” Kate said, although she could think of a few reasons. “Could you ask him if he would talk to me?”
Louise paused in the act of loading the dishwasher. “What about?”
“Some stuff about the case.” Kate opened a cabinet and pretended to search for a water glass. “You know. The inconsistencies you mentioned.”
Behind her, there was another brief silence. She could practically hear Frank and Louise exchanging looks. Then the clanging of plates and silverware recommenced.
“Well, remember he’s retired,” Louise said. “And I know he and Leah are visiting their son in Tahoe for the next few days. But sure, I think he would talk to us if I asked him.”
Kate spun around. “You don’t need to come with. I can talk to him on my own. It could take a while.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Louise thrust a knife into the dishwasher as if she were spearing a live animal. “Of course I’m coming with.”
MIRANDA
SERIES 2, Personal papers
BOX 9, Diary (1982–1993)
* * *
JUNE 25 1982
Back from Nangussett.
What do I do now?
I remembered making something incredible right before I left for the hospital. I didn’t remember the details, didn’t even remember what it was, but I remembered the pride filling me up inside.
My whole time in That Place, I thought about that photo, and what it would be like to see it for the first time. Putting all the negatives out on the light table and lowering the loupe. I thought it would hit me like a sack of bricks. I thought it would show me some secret truth I’d forgotten. The reason I went through all this.
I looked for it for so long. I developed every roll of film I have.
All I found were photos of the ceiling fan. My pillow. My hand. Photos of Theo, cherub cheeks, looking like a baby clothing ad. Blurry shots. Empty rolls.
There was nothing.
I have nothing to show.
JUNE 26 1982
Theo is bigger than when I left. They say they grow so fast, but you don’t know until you are locked up for six weeks and get out and the person you pushed out of your body has doubled in size. His skin is milky, not red, and his wrinkles have smoothed, like a raisin plumped up with water. He smiles now. What is there to smile about? You have a crazy person for a mother. You don’t know what life will bring you.
I can’t nurse yet, they say. Which was fine when I was inside, but now that I am back with Theo my tits are leaking everywhere. They think they’re needed.
I am afraid to be alone with him. In the hospital I thought (or I hoped) maybe I had imagined it all. That I would come home and everything would be easy. I even thought maybe I had imagined the crying. But he still cries. I twitch when I hear him. He knows something is wrong. He knows I am not supposed to be here.
SERIES 2,