Julia unfurled the carpet and pressed her fingers into the chocolate-brown piling. The sensation transported her elsewhere, memory engulfing her, pulling her under. The feeling was so sudden and disorienting that for a moment, Julia wasn’t sure which way was up. She swam back in time, years, then decades, until the sound of Erika’s old music box filled her ears, and the taste of sticky sweet rock candy coated her tongue. Sunlight streamed in on what seemed like a glorious summer day.
Before it became a storage room full of dilapidated boxes, old fans, sneakers, stacks of books, and retired beach gear, this was the playroom where Julia and Erika spent countless hours with their Cabbage Patch dolls, a Lite-Brite set, and Erika’s art kits.
On that particular day, she and Erika were engrossed in a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, but stopped when they heard voices downstairs. They couldn’t tell what they were saying—the voices were raised, but muffled by the closed door. Who was there? Cormac, of course, but who was he talking to? Something kept nagging at Julia as she probed her memory.
Erika—who was four at the time, if that—tried to open the door. Her tiny hands turned the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. Without warning, she burst into tears. Was the door locked from the outside?
Julia remembered other loud noises and was sure she’d heard something crash. She’d tried the knob as well, but the door wouldn’t budge. Julia pulled with all her might, as if she might rip the door off its hinges. The walls felt like they were closing in. The air took on a thick, oppressive weight.
Erika cried for help. They took turns pounding on the door until their tiny hands were red and raw. Tears filled their eyes at the thought of being imprisoned inside the room forever.
Julia didn’t know how long it was before help finally arrived. It could have been five minutes or an hour. All she knew was that it had felt like an eternity.
When Cormac finally opened the door, Erika was so upset she kept crying for her mother, who’d already abandoned her some time ago. Eventually, the girls downshifted from full-on panic into soft whimpers. Cormac’s big broad smile softened his harder features. His skin had a healthy glow, coated with a sheen of sweat that stretched across his balding scalp, matting together what remained of his sandy brown hair.
He told the girls they were foolish for being frightened, that the door was simply stuck, that they should have pulled harder, and that everything was fine. He patted the top of Erika’s head with his large, calloused hand, smiling down at her.Silly children,he kept saying with his eyes.
It was strange how parts of this memory were so clear, but others remained vague and out of reach. Julia recalled how she burned with shame that day. She’d never felt trapped before, and the experience shook her to the core. However, for Cormac to say it was nothing only added to her distress. She didn’t know what to believe.
Erika was so upset, Cormac had to carry her downstairs. She buried her face in his barrel chest, her legs clinging to his ample belly like a monkey.
When they reached the living room, Julia’s mind was still whirling. Cormac got the girls water and a snack. They ate in front of the TV while Cormac stayed in the kitchen, whistling as he didthe dishes. Something still felt off to Julia, but she didn’t trust her feelings. Cormac had said everything was fine.
But it wasn’t fine. No, somethingwasdifferent. She was sure of it. And now, after all these years, Julia realized what it was. When the girls got downstairs, the beautiful red area rug in the living room was gone, without explanation—the floor where it had been lay bare.
A few days later, the ugly brown carpet appeared in its place and stayed there until recently, when Erika replaced it with a gorgeous red carpet similar to the one that disappeared the day the playroom door inexplicably got stuck.
Chapter 26
Izzy
I have a terrible game face, but I do everything possible to keep my reaction to a minimum. I am sure the box that once belonged to Anna Olsen somehow ended up in my aunt Susie’s possession, and it eventually made its way back to Grace.
I can’t let Taylor in on my secret. If the truth gets back to David about why I wanted this job, why I had Lake Timmeny in my Google Alerts, everything I’ve come here to accomplish will be in jeopardy.
I shut down the iPad before Taylor sees the telltale photo.
“No luck,” I say with a sigh. “I guess I’ll never know why I was so obsessed. But I have to fix the clasp and return the box to Grace. Would you mind asking Lucas to come over with his tools?”
I know I should be wary of the boy who essentially left me to die, or at a minimum wanted to scare the crap out of me in some petty revenge plot, but I need this box fixed, and he’s the boy for the job.
“We aren’t really talking,” Taylor says. Her loaded look implies the subtext:You haven’t learned anything helpful about Lucas and Fiona.That’s true. All I managed to do was get lost and injured.
“I’ll text him,” I say. “Just give me his number.”
Taylor appears hesitant. “Are you sure you want to be alone with him?”
“Based on how he acted in the woods, he couldn’t wait to be rid of me. I highly doubt he’s going to force himself on me.” I don’t mean to be crass and crude; it just sort of comes out.
A look comes over Taylor’s face. It’s more than sadness. Even if I weren’t a naturally empathic Pisces, I would pick up on her pain. Lucas has obviously hurt her, but how? This is more than just a broken heart. A chilling thought occurs to me: Is it possible he could haveassaultedher? It certainly would explain why Taylor suspects Lucas of doing something nefarious to Fiona.
I wonder…
Maybe Lucas knew I was investigating him, and left me to die in the woods before I could learn the truth. I want to think otherwise, that it was just a bad breakup. He and Taylor have known each other for years; could he really do that to her? Unfortunately, I know the answer. We’re educated about it on campus all the time. Rapists come in all forms. Often, it’s the person you know best, the one you trust the most, who takes what he wants without consent.
Is that what happened? Was it a drunken night at the lake, with Taylor in no condition to say yes? Perhaps the Fiona incident is a mirror of her trauma. I’ve read that sometimes victims doubt their experiences and recollections after an assault. Could Taylor be questioning her memory and I’ve been tasked with getting the answer?
I’ve experienced something similar before. My mother’s trauma affected memories of her childhood. Everything was always vague when she talked about it. I think we were there. Maybe we did that.It was all conjecture. Fear filled her memory gaps, overshadowing any and all positive feelings she tried to conjure from her past. Everything became a potential threat. Nothing was safe because a part of her was forever trapped in a time when the danger was so real, it had reached out and taken her sister.
