The Book of Someday (31 page)

Micah is in agony.

While she’s gazing at the woman in the photograph, asking: “What was it like for you? At the end, when the terror came? What did you see? Did you know what was happening?”

The thud of her own heart is all that Micah can hear. As she’s wondering,
Did
you
know
what
I
had
done?

AnnaLee

Glen Cove, Long Island ~ 1986

AnnaLee is halfway down the stairs. Frozen in place. Listening to a thud coming from the kitchen, from the area of the back door. Hearing the sudden noise of breaking glass. The chilling sound of a window being smashed.

Now there’s muffled commotion. Scuffling footsteps, muttered conversation. Someone—more than one someone—inside the house. Coming nearer.

AnnaLee is suddenly in motion. Racing up the stairs, into the dark of Bella’s room.

She’s opening the closet door. Pulling Bella’s winter blankets from the shelf and piling them onto the floor, in the closet’s farthest corner. Making a small nest.

Then AnnaLee is lifting Bella from her bed and carrying her into the closet—laying her on top of the blankets and closing the door. Fervently praying that Bella stays quiet and asleep.

Surely Jack must be aware of what’s happening downstairs. He’s in the living room. But the only movement, the only sound, that AnnaLee can hear is emanating from the back of the house. From the kitchen.

She quickly leaves Bella’s room and hurries down the hall to her own bedroom—the one room upstairs that has a phone. She’s trembling, prickling with fear.

When AnnaLee puts the phone’s receiver to her ear, the fear spikes. And becomes fever.

There’s no dial tone.

Faint sounds are echoing through the earpiece. Footsteps. Low voices. Someone—a man—muttering the word
fuck
.

One of the downstairs phones (either the one in the kitchen or the one in the living room) must have been taken off the hook. AnnaLee has no way to call for help.

She’s looking around the bedroom. Searching for something she can use as a weapon.

It’s as if she’s surrounded by objects in a trivia museum.

A hairbrush on the dresser. A nightgown at the end of the bed. Framed photographs on the nightstand. A leather-bound calendar on the arm of a chair, open to today’s date, August 30. Nothing of substance. Nothing she can use to defend herself.

And with every passing second the noise from downstairs—the threat beneath her feet—is getting louder and closer.

Where’s Jack? Why haven’t I heard his voice in all of this?
AnnaLee is frantic.
What
will
happen
if
Bella
doesn’t stay asleep and out of sight…in her hiding place?

AnnaLee has left her bedroom and is heading for the stairs. Her only option is to go down into the kitchen. And face whatever is there. Do whatever it takes to keep Bella from being found.

She comes down the staircase quickly. When she reaches the bottom step, the hallway in front of her is in semi-darkness. The door leading to the kitchen is to her left—slightly ajar. Allowing only the faintest bit of light to escape. The entry to the living room is on her right. Dark and soundless.

It seems to AnnaLee that someone is lurking at the other end of the hall. The danger doesn’t stop her. She’s being propelled by the rapid, rhythmic beating of her heart…
Keep
Bella
safe. Keep Bella safe. Keep Bella safe.

AnnaLee is stepping off the last stair. Into the darkened hallway. And a woman is rushing at her. Out of the gloom. Panicking her. Causing AnnaLee’s eyes to widen and her mouth to fly open.

Within a microsecond, AnnaLee is understanding that what she’s seeing is her own reflection. In a mirror. At the far end of the hall. A reflection she didn’t recognize because she’s still dressed in her glittering costume from the gala.

But this realization has come too late.

At the first glimpse of the woman in the mirror, AnnaLee has screamed.

And that scream is why someone is opening the kitchen door, flooding the hallway with light.

AnnaLee, her back pressed to the wall, is moving as rapidly as she can toward the living room. Toward her only hope of safety. Toward Jack.

And she’s thinking as she continues to move that her chances of getting away, of survival, are nonexistent.

AnnaLee is watching the person in the kitchen doorway raise a gun. And aim it at her.

The brute solidity of the gun, the matte-black of its squat barrel, the darkness inside the neat circular opening at its tip, are terrifying.

But even more frightening is what AnnaLee is seeing out of the corner of her eye.

The thing that’s taking shape in the shadows.

At the bottom of the stairs.

Livvi

East Norwich, New York ~ 2012

It is Christmas Eve—chilly in the attic. In spite of that, Livvi is being slow in descending the attic ladder, taking as long as possible before arriving at the second floor landing. She wants to delay the moment that will reveal what’s waiting for her on the ground floor of this house. At the bottom of the stairs.

Savoring the moment just before discovering a surprise, and being certain that the surprise will be something delightful, chosen especially for her, is new to Livvi. And yet, like so much else that has happened to her in this house, the sensation seems faintly familiar. Like something she once experienced. Long ago. In a dream.

There is stability here, and serenity. Livvi has been welcomed with open arms. It’s as if after all these years she is in the home—in the peace and joy—that was Olivia’s heart’s desire.

Every morning since coming to this lovely old house on Long Island where David’s grandmother lives, around nine o’clock Livvi has found a gift waiting at the bottom of the stairs. On the first morning, the day Livvi attended the Manhattan Literary Luncheon, the gift was an antique book of poetry. A slender volume holding the faded scent of cigar smoke and gardenias. It had as its bookmark a flattened length of gold braid—a delicate artifact that might have once graced a debutante’s gown or the uniform of a dashing young naval officer. On another morning, the surprise had been a nosegay of holly and pepper berries, tied with a red ribbon. Yesterday, it was a glossy brown paper bag no larger than a drinking glass. Filled to the brim with hand-made caramels. Rich and mellow with sugar and butter, and sparkling with the taste of sea salt.

The gifts are from David. All of them small and thoughtful. And, each in its own way, perfect. He has never mentioned that he is their giver. And Livvi, although she has expressed how charmed she is by them, has never directly acknowledged that she knows who they’re from. The giving and the receiving has become a sort of innocent flirtation. And the whimsical manner in which the gifts arrive, seeming to appear out of nowhere, at the bottom of the stairs, like magic, has created a wonderful anticipation in Livvi. An enticing sense of possibility.

Which is why, now, as she’s seeing that there’s absolutely nothing waiting for her, she’s feeling a twinge of disappointment. She wasn’t ready—just yet—to lose the pleasure of those small surprises.

Livvi is holding a heavy lace tablecloth that she has just taken out of the attic. As she’s starting down the stairs, she’s wishing that David’s delightful gifts and her fun in discovering them could have gone on a little longer. And she’s wondering if there’s some particular reason that David chose today as the end-point for their lighthearted version of hide-and-seek.

Several moments pass before Livvi comes back to reality and realizes she isn’t alone anymore.

David has just appeared at the foot of the stairs. Holding a little white dog in his arms.

The dog is young and bright-eyed, wearing a garland of miniature silver bells around its neck. And David is telling Livvi: “This is your Christmas present.”

David seems to immediately understand the wonderment in Livvi. The unspoken question that’s asking,
“How did you know?”

And he’s saying: “One day, right after we’d closed the publishing deal on your book, we were at lunch and you mentioned that when you were a little girl you’d always dreamed of having a dog. A small white one, with a curly tail.”

Livvi has now reached the bottom of the stairs—David is putting the dog into her arms. “This one doesn’t have a curly tail but—”

“She’s exactly what I wanted.”

Livvi is overcome with happiness. Amazed by this gift—and its simple perfection.

It takes Livvi a moment before she can find her voice and ask: “What’s her name?”

“She belonged to a guy in our office who just found out he landed a job in France. He only had her for a couple of days. She doesn’t have a name yet.”

“I think I’ll call her Granger,” Livvi says. “It’s the name of someone…something…that was very special to me.”

“A man?” David asks.

“No, a woman,” Livvi explains. “A woman I didn’t know, but dearly loved.”

Livvi is looking into David’s eyes. And at first, what she’s seeing is fascination, as if he’s intrigued by the things she’s just said. Then she sees something else—centered exclusively on her. Something steady and pure. Like the glow from a sea of freshly lit candles.

It’s as if she’s being shown a beautiful piece of heaven.

Livvi’s voice is soft, incredulous. “That lunch…when I told you about wanting a dog…that was more than two years ago. How could you have remembered? For all this time…?”

David’s tone is as soft as Livvi’s, and as full of wonder. “There was no way I could forget. I spend every day thinking about you.”

All there is in Livvi is awed stillness. As if she is waking up in the dawn of an unexpected new world.

David seems worried by her silence—nervous that he’s said too much.

Livvi has no words—only sensation—the sudden desire to be kissed by David. And to touch him.

But the moment is passing; the silence is going on too long. David is filling it with small talk. “It’s almost nine, you’re dressed like you’re headed out for a run. I thought you always ran first thing in the morning.”

The shift in the mood is both a relief and a letdown. Livvi’s not sure where they should go from here—isn’t sure where she wants to go. She’s trying to figure out what it was that just happened between them. Was the expression in David’s eyes, and her reaction to it, something real? Or something she simply imagined?

While she’s working to put the pieces of this puzzle together, she’s telling David: “I was out the door and running before dawn, I just haven’t had time to change. I’ve been busy helping your grandmother get ready for tonight.”

“Tonight will be unforgettable. Grandma’s Christmas Eve dinner is always the best part of the holidays.” David seems perfectly content to keep things light and conversational. He’s picking up the lace tablecloth from the spot on the floor where Livvi dropped it in her excitement over the dog. “So the old girl has you bringing the lace tablecloth down from the attic, huh? Has she put you to work polishing her great-grandmother’s silver too?”

“I did that right before I went up to the attic…” Livvi’s voice has trailed off. She’s wondering if, in what happened between them a few seconds ago, David really was offering her more than simple friendship. And she’s being startled by the discovery that some part of her may be open to that offer.

“Fetching the tablecloth and polishing great-great-grandmother’s silver…that’s quite an honor. Grandma is obviously crazy about you. Those are chores she usually reserves for family.”

The reference to family shifts Livvi’s thoughts to Andrew. And to the awful afternoon in his parents’ driveway. To his wife, and the way in which Andrew is shackled to her. It’s making Livvi think about how sweet it would be. Being with a man available to love and be loved—without guilt or shame. A man who would truly include her as part of his family.

And in thinking about family, Livvi is thinking about the only relative she has. Her father. She’s thinking about the fact that he’s dying, that she’ll soon be an orphan.

And in this same moment, David is saying: “Arrange the place cards at dinner tonight so you’re sitting next to me.”

***

The kitchen of David’s grandmother’s house is bathed in a clear winter’s light, fragrant with the scent of rosemary and red wine. David has been gone for an hour or so. And Livvi is helping his grandmother, Evelyn, prepare for tonight’s Christmas Eve dinner.

Evelyn is at the old-fashioned stove—adding the rosemary and the wine to a beef bourguignon already savory with pearl onions, and mushrooms, and fresh garlic.

Evelyn’s eyes are a pale blue-gray. Her smile is radiant. Her skin, lined and thinning, pearly with age. She is tiny, barely five feet tall. Her hair is silver-white—and she is beautiful. And in the time that Livvi has been in her house, she has made Livvi feel beautiful too. Because she has made Livvi feel loved.

Evelyn is glancing up at Livvi, asking: “How are you doing, sweet girl?”

“I’m getting there,” Livvi tells her. “But I don’t understand why it’s taking so long.” She’s methodically chopping carrots into inch-long pieces, each one diagonally cut at the top and bottom—doing her best to match the sample Evelyn has left on the cutting board.

“Well, I’d say you’re doing just fine.” Evelyn is at Livvi’s side now, her hand closing over Livvi’s, adjusting Livvi’s grasp on the knife. Guiding it in a flowing motion that’s sectioning the carrot into picture-perfect pieces. Evelyn’s touch is warm—filled with affection.

And Livvi is imagining, just for a minute, that she belongs here. At Evelyn’s side. Resting in her kindness. Wrapped in her caring.

For an instant, Livvi is able to capture the sublime feeling of being the daughter of a wise and loving mother.

But she can’t hold onto it. There’s too much going on. The puppy, Granger, is bounding in circles around Livvi’s legs—and darting across the room to nuzzle Evelyn’s fingertips. While Evelyn is saying: “It’s nice to have new life in the house, especially at this time of year.”