accentuating her cleavage. There’s a shot of her on some Mediterranean island—her honeymoon with Geoff, which took them from Rome to Greece to Egypt—where she looks like a sun goddess: iridescent blond-white hair, glowing golden skin, her face lifted to the skies.
“She walked out on him,” Megan has reminded her, whenever Linda has gotten insecure, threatened by the memory of her predecessor. “Remember that. He found her in bed with a teenager! They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, what’s even worse is a man whose ego has been wounded. If Geoff ever felt anything for her, believe me, sweetie, it evaporated pretty quickly when he found her boning some pimply paperboy.”
And how many others? Linda knows that’s what Geoff wonders. How many others had she cheated on him with? Those men she’d dazzle at college parties. The students she’d tease when they came to the house seeking extra help from Geoff. How many did she seduce once Geoff was out of sight?
And Josh? Could they be sure he was Geoff’s? He looked nothing like his father, so fair and blond and soft and pretty like his mother.
But no. Linda won’t allow herself to think that way. She’s seen the bond between them. She’s seen the love, the connection between father and son. The way Geoff will hoist Josh on his shoulders and carry him across campus. The way they wrestle on the living room floor, Josh reduced to a giggly bowl of little-boy jelly. The way the boy will look at his father, his eyes filled with awe, with love, with a sense of who he will someday be.
Geoff has started to snore slightly.
Linda sits up in bed. She’s wide awake. It was such a strange day. The weather. Geoff’s mood. That urn. Those drawings of Josh’s.
She stands, slipping into her robe. But the events of the day aren’t the reason for his sleeplessness. There’s something else. Something amiss. Something she can’t quite put her finger on.
Josh. She needs to check on Josh.
She pads down the hallway silently. At the boy’s door, she pauses. Downstairs she can hear the grandfather clock chime twelve. Midnight.
Linda pushes open Josh’s door, careful not to wake him.
He’s not in his bed.
That’s what she felt was wrong. Josh—he’s gone.
She hurries downstairs, hoping she’ll find him back at the dining room table, coloring with the last tiny chunks of red and yellow crayons. But he’s nowhere to be found. She looks around the room frantically.
The front door. It’s ajar.
Linda hurries to the front steps. “Josh!’ she whispers into the still-dark night. The only sound is the soft swaying of pine trees in the breeze. “Josh!”
In the moonlight she makes him out: a tiny figure in the driveway, staring out into the road.
Linda makes her ways through the dewy grass in her bare feet. “Josh!” she calls. “What are you doing outside at this time of night?”
The boy is in his pajamas. He just keeps staring out into the road.
Linda has reached him. She places her hands on his shoulders, expecting him to pull away from her. But he doesn’t.
“My mother is coming,” he says softly, almost hypnotically. “My mother is coming.”
“Oh, Josh.”
Linda drops to a stooping position beside him so that her eyes are level with his. She sees he’s crying. Her heart breaks.
“Oh, Josh, your mother isn’t coming. I know how much you must miss her. I know you must think I’m here to replace her, to make you forget her. But I’m not, Josh. I know I can never take your mother’s place. She’ll always live in your heart. I don’t want you to forget her.”
He turns his small face to look at her. The moonlight casts a soft white glow across his features. A tear drops down his cheek.
“But she’s not coming, sweetheart. We don’t know where she is. Your dad tried to find her. You know that. But she’s gone. I know that’s hard to understand. I wish I could give you a better explanation. But I can’t.”
Josh just looks deep into her eyes.
“Will you come in the house with me now?” Linda asks gently.
The boy begins to cry harder. He allows Linda to take him into her arms. He buries his face in the folds of her robe and sobs. She holds him tightly for several moments, then lifts him and carries him back into the house.
There’s little chance of sleeping after that. She tosses and turns, dreaming of Josh, a little forlorn elf standing at the foot of the driveway. She sees his tearful face as she lay him back into bed, bringing the blanket up around him. She hears his muffled cries in her dreams, and she can sleep no more.
The sun is beginning to rise when she finally gives up on her rest. Geoff is snoring now, seemingly back to normal, rattling like a bear. Linda throws on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She peeks in on Josh. Sound asleep. She smiles and makes her way downstairs.
She’s glad Julia isn’t awake yet. She puts the coffee on herself. She mixes flour and eggs in a bowl for pancakes. Maybe things are changing. Maybe Josh will come around. He let her hold him. He let her pick him up and put him to bed.
The coffee helps to waken her, to throw off the lethargy of the night. Linda stands in the kitchen, sipping its warmth, leaning against the counter and watching the shadows of the room disappear. The pink light of dawn slices through the windows. It’s going to be a beautiful day.
She walks outside into the yard. This will be my house, she thinks. Our house. Mine and Geoff’s. Mine and Geoff’s and Josh’s. Our family’s house.
The tulips in the side garden are beginning to open. Had Gabrielle planted them? It doesn’t matter: they’re Linda’s now.
The sun is still low enough in the sky to cast long blue shadows across the yard. Linda loves the very early morning. She often gets up this early so she can jog or head to the gym before work. She’ll do a run through Boston Common and marvel at the light, at the solitude, at the peacefulness. In a few hours the city would turn into a bustle of energy and frantic, angry noise, but at dawn it was quiet and respectful.
In the front yard there are daffodils, most past their bloom, but a few still soldier on. She’ll add more bulbs in through here, she thinks. Hyacinths and narcissi. Make it a vibrant spring garden.
Something catches her eye. Down in the road, there’s a figure, still far off but walking this way. Someone else out enjoying the first light of day.
Linda watches. The person walks from the east, so is little more than a silhouette in the glow of the rising sun. Linda holds her coffee mug close to her chest as she keeps her eyes on the figure. She can’t seem to move from the spot. The person gets closer, growing larger. Linda can make out a cloak, a long full flowing cloak. And a hood.
She suddenly feels cold terror. She wants to run, scream, hide in the house, but she’s rooted in place, unable to look away. The figure approaches.
It is a woman.
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