Page 83 of Unforgivable

“What did she say?”

“Well, you know…she probably shouldn’t have told me, it’s none of my business, but she knows Brielle and Charlie are best friends and I was asking about you and that just…came up.”

“What did she say, Erin?”

She does that horrible thing people do when they’re pleased about something, but they don’t want to show it. She presses her lips tightly together to stop herself from smiling, but it’s in her eyes. She tilts her head. “That you and Jack are breaking up, that Jack canceled the wedding, that he’s seeing someone else. And honestly, I was so shocked, Laura, I mean you never see these things coming but still, you two always seemed solid. I did think it was odd she told me…and she asked that I don’t say anything to you because you’d be upset…but I should have called. I’m sorry, Laura, I should have checked in. I’ve thought about it many times, but I didn’t know how to broach it. You know how it is.”

And I’m thinking, is that Bronwyn’s big hidden agenda? For Jack and I to break up, then to spread gossip about me, alienate me from my friends? Is that it? And then what? Does she want him back? Or will she just disappear, secure in the knowledge she’s ruined my life? Again.

“We’re working through it,” I say, biting my tongue. I have a suspicion that whatever I say might find its way back to Bronwyn.

Then she says, “Bronwyn said he got a new job. Let’s hope this time…”

“This time what?” I ask.

Erin leans forward again. “The babysitter doesn’t ruin it for him.”

I walk into the house with my sunglasses still on. We find Bronwyn in the backyard, smoking a cigarette, dropping ash on the grass, a copy of Vogue on her lap. I stand at the back door, Charlie leaning against me, she looks up.

“Well hello, you two!” she says brightly. “Give your mommy a kiss, Charlotte! How was school?”

Give your mommy a kick in the shins, Charlotte.

Charlie does as she’s told with about as much enthusiasm as a trip to the dentist. I mouth to Bronwyn,bad mood, and roll my eyes. Bronwyn gives me a littleOh,of understanding.

I jerk my thumb behind me. “We stopped to buy a chocolate cake. To celebrate.”

Bronwyn looks puzzled. “Celebrate what?”

And I’m thinking, isn’t that obvious? Jack’s new job? But then I wonder, am I supposed to hate Jack or not? I don’t remember. I rub a spot on my neck. Charlie has come back from kissing her mother hello, and as she walks past me and back into the house, I tilt my head in her direction.For Jack. Her idea,I mouth exaggeratedly enough that she’ll get it.

“I’ll get started on dinner,” I say.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec.” And for a crazy second, I think she means to help with dinner, which sends a jolt of panic zigzagging inside me, but then she stretches her arms above her head, closes her eyes and says, “I think I’ll have a nice long bath.”

My hands are shaking when I make Charlie a snack. If she notices, she doesn’t say. She takes it to the living room to watch TV while I unpack the groceries and when I open the freezer, moving bags of frozen vegetables around to make room, I find them: a dozen squares of paper in different sizes, different colors. I gather them together, sit on a stool and open them one by one. They all have the same single word in big capital letters.

MOMMY.

On some of them, Charlie has pressed the pen so hard it went through the paper, as if she’d clutched it in her fist. My heart splinters. I want to sit with her and wrap her in my arms and say, it’s going to be okay, it’s almost over, I promise you, just one more day, but I know I can’t. I crumble them in my hands, biting down on my own teeth and stick them at the bottom of the trash.

I grab my phone and go into Jack’s office. I glance up as I reach the next landing and hear nothing. She must be in her bath.

In Jack’s office, I check the dates of the emails from Jenny.

The first one is dated over two years ago, when Bronwyn was still living with Jack, and I was still painting her portrait. Had she fired her then? I don’t remember the exact dates. I scan through the rest and the more I read, the more convinced I am that Bronwyn sent them, and it’s making my heart tumble around my chest, bumping against my ribs.

But I need proof. I need something I can show Jack. Something irrefutable.

Bronwyn told me at the time she was very thorough in her interviews when she searched for a babysitter. There must have been application forms, references, interview notes. I search through his files. You can almost see the physical separation betweenbeforeBronwyn left, andafterBronwyn left, just from the neatness of the files and how organized they are. The before Bronwyn left have neatly-printed labels, although now slightly yellowed with age. As time went on Jack started scribbling on folders.Tax. Bills. Applications.Then he stopped labeling them altogether, just shoved receipts, invoices, rejection letters, manuals for electronic equipment, unopened bills into them.

There is one older file carefully labeledbabysitters. I flick through its contents and my heart races when I find Jenny’s application for the job. There’s even a cellphone number. Before I call I push the door of the office so it’s almost closed, but not completely, then sit down at Jack’s desk, and punch the number. I try to think of what to say when she picks up.Hello, I’m looking for the person who’s been ruining Jack Blackman’s life. Do I have the right person?But it doesn’t matter anyway, the number is not in service.

I check the file again. Jenny’s address is in West Seattle. Maybe I should go there tomorrow. Then I see that she’s listed her next of kin,parents, with a phone number. I listen for Bronwyn. If she was walking around I’d hear footsteps from here, and the fact that I don’t tells me she’s still in her bath. I try the number listed for her parents. It rings once, twice. Someone picks up. They don’t say anything, just a pocket of dead air.

Then a female voice, older. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Smith?”