Page 103 of Head Under Water

Mom’s eyes narrow, then she leans back. “That’s right. Oh god, that’s right. The school.” She puffs out a frustrated breath through her nose. “I can’t believe I forgot I’d heard he left Carlisle.”

I grip my thighs with my palms, thinking. “Does George drive a blue truck?”

She presses her lips together, eyes darting back and forth in thought. Finally, her gaze meets mine. “You would probably know better than I would. I haven’t seen George since we left Havenport.” But as she says it, her eyes shift nervously.

Is she lying? Why would she be lying?

“There was a blue truck at the school today. The same blue truck I saw at your house, and I’d be willing to bet it’s the same one Cory saw at Ruth’s before she died. I think it’s been following me.”

Her brows knit together, and she shakes her head, already denying it. “Following you?”

“Mom. If it was him, if he…if he came back around and tried to talk to Ruth, if they got into a fight or if he hurt her, and somehow Margie found out. He could’ve… He could be behind all of this. He was really weird today, warning me to stay away from this friend of mine, and I just⁠—”

Mom puts a hand on my hand, cutting me off. “Opal, breathe. I hear what you’re saying, and I know you’ve been worried and working yourself up, but…George would never do that.”

She says his name with familiarity. Something isn’t right here.

“You don’t know him,” I say. “You told me yourself, you hardly knew her husband. I’m sure Ruth told you the nice stuff about him. But if he’s… If he was abusive, would she have told you? You and I both know Ruth was closed off when she wanted to be. She didn’t… She might’ve…” I pause, drawing in a deep breath. “This is serious. I think we need to go to the police.”

Her expression is unreadable. So conflicted I don’t understand it. It’s as if I’m accusing her of something. As if, because she’s not the one who figured it out, she’s to blame. Like she thinks she’s let her friends down.

“I, um…” Mom’s expression pinches, and she pushes out another huff of a breath. “There’s…there’s something else you should know.”

A lump sits in my throat, thick and heavy.

“You’ll hate me, and you should.”

Everything around us disappears. “Tell me.”

“I never wanted you to…to find out this way.”

My pulse ratchets up, drowning out all the noise in the room—the chatter, the ringing phones, the pacing footsteps—so all I can hear is her. All I can see is the sweat around her hairline, the worry in her eyes. Mom would never have hurt Ruth. She’d sooner die than hurt either of her friends, but…

“The woman George had an affair with…was me.”

The words slam into my chest like a wall of bricks. Everything else slips away. The room has shifted. We’re all sliding slowly. My vision tunnels. “You… No, you…”

“It was before you were born. In college. Before I even really knew Ruth. George and I had an English class together. We were partnered up, and well, one thing led to another.”

I can’t breathe. None of this can possibly be real.

I think of those pumpkins we used to carve on the floor of Ruth’s kitchen before Halloween. The moms would cut the tops off and then we’d use our hands to scrape the guts out. That’s what I feel like. Like my guts have been scraped out, handful by handful.

I’m empty.

Hollow.

“I met him before I met Ruth, but I knew he was married. He wore the ring, but…he was charming. And I was young.” Haunted memories flash over her eyes. “Stupid. Careless. It was months later before I got to know Ruth, and even once I had, we were too in love to stop it at first. They had a child. A life. And…” She shakes her head, blinking away the fog. “By the time I found enough sense to call it off, Ruth and I were friends. I thought about telling her so many times, I swear to you I did, but what did it matter? George and I were over. I didn’t want to ruin their marriage. And then, a few months after we’d graduated and moved back home, she told me they were separating. She was going to move back to Boston once the divorce was final, but then Margie found out she was pregnant with Cory and she had the idea about buying the land and raising our families together and…and I guess I thought…does it even matter anymore? It all seemed so far away by then.”

I just stare at my mother as she lays out this story that feels impossible. Like a movie we’d watch rather than something she lived.

“We bought the land, and she was fighting for custody, and I, well, I finally told Margie. To see what she thought I should do. I thought, maybe, if I told Ruth the truth, she could use it against George in court. But we didn’t know how that would work. If it would be enough to help. And, at that point, I was scared to lose my best friend. So I made a selfish, terrible choice. And I will spend the rest of my life blaming myself for her death and wondering if I’d just told her the truth sooner, would it have stung a little less? Would she still have…” She shakes her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “I don’t expect you to forgive me either. I was so scared to tell you. I never wanted you to know. I never wanted…” Her eyes hold mine. “But, Opal, George was a decent man. A cheater, yes. Young and headstrong back then. But he was kind, not just to me, but to Ruth. They fought over custody, sure, but he wasn’t violent.”

“You really believe that?”

“From everything Ruth has ever told me and everything I know about him myself, yes, I do.” She pauses. “He was the one who texted me. The message you saw. What did we do? It was George. He was…lost after Ruth died. He blames himself. He’s the one who reached out to tell me what happened, to tell me their son had found out about our affair and told Ruth. It was the first I’d heard from him in years. He…he wouldn’t have hurt her. I’m sure of it.”

I rub my lips together. Something isn’t right here. There’s something missing.