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“Oh, wow,” said Mako. “Holy cow.”
They were rounding the final bend that Bracken had described and the house came into view over the trees. Finally they were in the circular drive. The pictures had not done the place justice—hardly a cabin. A towering wood and glass design dream, with a wraparound porch, three stories, surrounded by old growth trees—pine, maple, birch—landscaped with fecund azalea bushes bright and hot pink. She could see inside through the big windows the elegant and spacious interior—towering ceilings, leather and wood furniture.
Mako got out of the car as soon as she pulled it to a stop, let out a delighted whoop. This trip. Why was it so important to him? She knew him well enough to know there was always an agenda—either internal or external. He hadn’t shared it with her.
She sat a moment, took a deep breath, and let the beauty of the place wash over her.
I am breathing in. I am breathing out.
She felt a twinge of nostalgia for the camping trips with her family—nothing like this of course. Luxury, which was Mako’s number one concern for all travel, was not on the menu for her parents, both teachers. Tents and hot dogs cooked over the fire, her dad snoring too loud, and her brother kicking her as he tossed and turned in the neighboring sleeping bag. Her mother’s slightly off-key but sweet singing as she made the coffee in the morning. It had been enough. More than enough.
Mako popped the trunk, grabbed some of the bags from the back, and headed up to the porch.
She waited a moment, liked to move slowly and mindfully so that everything didn’t rush past.I am breathing in. I am breathing out.
Sitting there, watching Mako try to punch in the code on the door, that’s when she felt it. A hard pain in her abdomen, followed by a mild nausea.
No.
Then the light around her seemed suddenly too bright, a throb beginning at the base of her neck. There, a little spate of floating white dots.
The IVF. It had brought back the migraines she used to get in college with a vengeance. She closed her eyes, took another deep breath and asked the pain to pass through her. It wouldn’t. You couldn’t, it seemed, meditate away a migraine. Maybe, she’d found, you could delay it a bit. But eventually it would come for her, fell her like a villain against whom she was utterly powerless.What are you trying to teach me?she’d asked the pain last time.What can I learn from you?
Be quiet, it had seemed to hiss back.Just lie here until I’m done with you.
Mako was cursing at the door, his voice carrying over the quiet. He was the smartest person she had ever known, and yet he had the hardest time with simple things. She sat another moment, settling into her breath. Finally, the pain and nausea passed. No, notpassed. Receded. It was waiting.
Please. Not this weekend. Not now.
Her phone pinged on the dash. Okay. There was service after all. It was probably Hannah, saying they were on their way, or asking what she could do. Her sister-in-law who still, like all Mako’s family, felt distant, not welcoming. Polite. The facsimile of warmth. But maybe it was Liza. Maybe it wasshewho was keeping Hannah at a distance. This weekend. She’d make more of an effort. It was more important now than ever that they grow closer.
But it wasn’t Hannah.
It was a text from an unknown number; she felt her whole body stiffen.
You have something that belongs to me.
She stared at the screen. The words seemed to glow with malevolence.
“Liza! The code doesn’t work.”
Mako was looking at her from the porch like a disappointed little kid. He could run a company with a nearly billion-dollar valuation but he couldn’t unlock the door to the vacation rental?
If you think you can run away from this—from me—you’re wrong. I’m right behind you.
Liza glanced out into the thick dark of the trees all around them. She quickly blocked the number and deleted the message. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
No.
What she had belonged to her and her alone.
“Liza!”
She opened the door, lifting the weight of her secrets and regrets, and climbed out of the car to go help her husband. She’d push away the pain of her looming migraine, and maybe this weekend she’d share the big news with Mako. It was time, wasn’t it?
That twinge again, this time more mild, less startling. It was normal. It happened when your body was changing, right? She centered her breathing, made herself solid, drew energy from the earth beneath her feet as she approached the house. The air was cool and the trees whispered. The trees, her father always used to say, they know all the secrets of the human heart. They have borne witness to all our follies, but they don’t judge us. They just watch.
She hoped that was true. She hoped that she wouldn’t be judged for the things she’d done.
