Page 37

Julia

Julia went straight for the closet where Erika said she kept the liquor. The bottles were easily accessible and neatly arranged on a large shelving unit off to the side. No big shock: the Maker’s Mark wasn’t there.

She sank to the floor, despondency washing over her. He was desperate enough to steal from their friends.

The idea of Christian restarting his sobriety, getting his first twenty-four-hour medallion (again), and going back to AA meetings—two, maybe three a day—was too much to bear.

For Julia, it meant a return to endless worry, fretting anytime she got close enough to smell his breath, and living in constant fear of another relapse.

It felt like a crushing weight pressing down on her, even though this was all Christian’s doing.

But shouldering the burden always fell to the woman, didn’t it? If she were the drunk, she’d have to pick up her own damn pieces. Christian—Mr. I-Lost-Your-Lake-House—wouldn’t be her knight in shining armor, that was for sure.

Julia thought about taking a final selfie next to the makeshift liquor cabinet and trying her hand at a pithy caption that would summarize her state of mind.

My husband fell off the wagon, yet I’m the one who got run over.

Or maybe…

When life gives you lemons and your alcoholic husband steals whiskey to make a whiskey sour, call a divorce attorney. #nojoke #referralswanted

Thoughts of Taylor sprang to Julia’s mind, returning her to the here and now. She couldn’t fall apart. She had to be a stable parent and a strong role model for her daughter. God knew Christian wasn’t capable of filling that role.

Julia got to her feet, straightened her clothes, and dabbed tears out of the corners of her eyes. She would figure this mess out and not lose her family’s lake house in the process.

As she was heading for the door, Julia tripped over a shoebox, but caught her balance thanks to a rolled-up carpet propped against the wall. It was the brown rug that she and Erika had talked about only days ago, the one they both disliked.

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 did the 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, something was different. 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.