Page 8 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Tracy Kemp rises from the bed, careful not to wake her slumbering husband.

The anxiety she’s felt ever since the detective knocked on their door earlier that evening has not abated.

Instead, she feels an escalating hysteria.

She goes into the kitchen and makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, careful to stop the kettle before it screams. She takes her tea into the living room and stands staring out the windows at the darkness outside, unseeing.

Her husband is a cipher. She wishes she could get inside his mind. She wishes she knew if he was telling the truth. She’d loved him once. She’d trusted him. And then that woman happened, and everything went to shit. She told everyone she believed him.

The thing is, even though Henry is a good husband, and loves her, she thinks it’s unlikely that the woman was deliberately lying.

Tracy tells herself that she was more likely mistaken.

That she’d pointed out the wrong man, that’s all.

But what niggles is that she can’t deny that she was relieved when it became clear that his accuser had waited too long to collect the evidence a rape kit would have provided.

Tracy herself had pointed out to the investigating officers that it was highly suspicious that the woman hadn’t gone to the police immediately.

She’d had to listen while a female officer gently explained that there are many reasons why a woman might not come forward right away—which Tracy knew perfectly well. She’d felt like such a fraud.

If only she knew the truth. Without knowing, she’s trapped.

Trapped in a life of constant anxiety. She remembers her instinctive terror when the detective arrived at their door.

If she knew the truth, then she could make a choice.

And what would that choice be? If he did abduct and rape that woman, if she knew , then she would leave him.

But as long as she doesn’t know, as long as he might be innocent, she feels honor bound to stand by him.

The detective’s visit has made this clear to her. For the last two years she has lived in a state of outrage, denial—and doubt. Now it’s all coming into focus. She must learn the truth, one way or another. But how?

Maybe it will all be made clear for her. Maybe her husband has abducted Bryden Frost. And maybe this time he won’t get away with it.

···

The night seems endless to Sam. He barely sleeps at all, getting up every time Clara starts to cry.

He and Lizzie have told her that they don’t know where her mother is, but they’re sure she’ll be back soon.

Clara isn’t soothed; she doesn’t believe them.

She’s terrified, and Sam doesn’t blame her—he’s terrified too.

Lizzie has stayed at the condo overnight, sleeping in the den on the pullout sofa, and she also gets up every time the child cries.

They take turns lying in bed beside her until she goes back to sleep.

The last time Sam rises quietly from Clara’s bed, the sun is already coming through the windows.

He gives up on trying to sleep and makes his way to the kitchen to find Lizzie already there, in Bryden’s borrowed pajamas, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

She looks awful. She hasn’t had any sleep either.

She must be as scared as he is, he thinks.

“I’ll make some coffee,” Sam says, and moves to the granite counter.

The fact that the night has passed and Bryden hasn’t been found hangs heavily over them.

They don’t speak as the coffee is brewing.

Then he brings their mugs and the milk to the table and sits down heavily.

He takes a gulp of the caffeine, hoping it will clear his head.

He looks at Lizzie, summons his courage, and asks, “What do you think has happened to her?”

Lizzie looks back at him with frightened eyes. “Do you think it might be that guy in 811?”

“Maybe.”

She whispers, her voice intense. “I can’t stand it that he’s there, just across the hall.”

“I know.” After a long pause, he asks impulsively, “Do you know anything I don’t? About Bryden? About her life?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Lizzie asks, startled.

He stares at her as she observes him with dismay and then says, “I’m sorry. I—just don’t know what to think.”

Lizzie takes a deep breath, lets it out, and says, “I don’t know anything about her that you don’t, I swear. Do you think she was keeping something from you?”

“No, of course not.” But he can tell that his question has unsettled her. Has made her wonder if things weren’t so perfect between them. He wishes he hadn’t asked.

Lizzie says, “There was nothing, and Bryden tells me everything. We’re very close, you know that.”

Her statement annoys him slightly because he knows that isn’t strictly true. She and Bryden are up and down, they have their issues, and now she’s pretending they don’t. They’re not so close that Bryden would necessarily tell her everything.

“I know she was happy with you and Clara,” Lizzie says, reaching over and covering his hand on the table with hers.

“I’m afraid for her. I’m afraid that she answered the door to someone, someone like Kemp, and they took her.

She wouldn’t just walk away, leave her phone and purse behind.

Leave you and Clara behind. She wouldn’t.

It’s like she was…interrupted. And just vanished.

” Tears begin to spill down her face, and he squeezes her hand helplessly.

After a while she says, “Mom and Dad are arriving today. I have to go pick them up at the airport. Will you be okay on your own? What are you going to do about Clara?”

He hadn’t even thought about it. Should he keep her at home, or would she be better off at day care, where she’d have a normal routine?

But everyone at day care will know her mother is missing by now.

Or soon will. He has to call the office.

There’s going to be a press conference at nine, and then everyone will know. Maybe he should ask Angela to take her?

“Let me take care of her,” Lizzie suggests.

“You’ve got too much to deal with. I’ll call the day care and tell them.

Then I’ll take her to the Albany airport to pick up Mom and Dad.

She’ll be happy to see them. It will distract her.

Make her feel secure to have us all around her.

” She adds, “But Sam, you’re going to have to figure out what to tell her soon. ”

He nods. “I know.” He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and whispers, “Thank you.”

“We’re all here for you,” Lizzie says.

He nods. “I’m here for you too,” he answers. “This is hard for all of us.”