A blend of curiosity and fear stopped him.
Though he managed to find the name, address, and phone number of the woman whom he had sought, Milo still had questions. Had she gone back to training horses yet? Was she still blaming herself for Meera’s death? What was her middle name, and did she even have one? Most pressing, what was the meaning behind her reference to a morning fight?
But more than curious, Milo was afraid. Planning his first conversation with Christine years ago had been difficult enough, but this exchange would be infinitely more challenging.
Christine had been expecting his call. She had even been looking forward to it.
Freckles was not.
Christine had known something about Milo prior to the call. She’d had some familiarity with her future husband.
Freckles didn’t know that Milo existed.
Christine had possessed no reason to hate Milo, though she had apparently found ample opportunity in the past year.
There were already plenty of reasons for Freckles to hate Milo, even though the two had never met.
The camera.
The tapes.
The removal of the nylon bag and its contents from the park that night.
Milo’s decision to watch the tapes, even after it was clear that the footage contained a private confessional of sorts.
The fact that Milo knew about Freckles and her deepest, darkest secrets made the impending conversation between them almost impossible to imagine. Her possible range of emotions was limitless.
Appreciation
Embarrassment
Shame
Disbelief
Shock
Anger
Rage
He wondered if she might be happier if he never returned the camera to her, but then he thought about how it might feel to know that the record of one’s most private thoughts were somewhere in the world, ready to be posted online at any time. Milo reasoned that knowing that one person had viewed the tapes was better than worrying that the world might someday have access to the recordings. Even though he would not be able to explain his ability to identify and locate her without admitting to watching the tapes, Milo could at least assure Freckles that he had been the only one to see them and that no copies had been made.
But that was a conversation that would require some planning.
What Milo did decide in that moment outside her home was not to watch the rest of the tapes. When he finally returned them to Freckles, he wanted to be able to assure her that he watched the recordings only until she mentioned her full name. Though this unfortunately occurred during the telling of her darkest secret, he could at least present himself as an honorable man.
Fooling himself into believing that curiosity trumped fear, Milo decided to return to Cynthia Drive the next morning, early enough to follow Freckles to work and wherever else she may go. He told himself that by filling in the blanks of her life, he could better prepare for their eventual encounter. In truth, he was simply delaying the inevitable, afraid to face a woman whom he liked and admired but who would probably end up hating him.
The following morning, Milo had followed Freckles to the neighboring town of New Britain, to an ugly rectangular box of brick and glass, where she apparently spent her days working. Horse training was not Freckles’s only gig, or at least it wasn’t anymore. Knowing that she had arrived home around five o’clock the previous day, Milo met with two clients during the morning and early afternoon (including Arthur Friedman) before returning to New Britain at four to resume his tail. Freckles left work at four forty-five and had made her way straight to Mill Pond Park, where she had joined a group of a dozen friends and a small horde of children on the far field.
As Milo watched her across the open field, he thought about the possibility that his entire future with Freckles might comprise a single, uncomfortable three-minute encounter. Despite his effort to do the right thing, it was likely that after returning the camera and tapes, he would never see Freckles again. Though he knew it made no sense, it still broke his heart to think of such a future.
He closed the distance between them to less than fifty feet and then remained in place, continuing to watch. This is when one of the final pieces of the puzzle, the explanation of Freckles’s morning fight, finally fell into place.
A middle-aged Indian man in wire-rimmed glasses was standing about twenty feet from Freckles, grappling a spool of kite string. Freckles was standing to his left, spinning out string of her own. High above them, their kites were engaged in a form of aerial combat that Milo had once read about in a novel set in Afghanistan.
Kite fighting.
The two kites, one purple and white and the other various shades of green, were spinning, looping, climbing, and diving around each other at impossible speeds. Milo watched in amazement as Freckles and her opponent made their kites act more like small planes than simple toys on string. In fact, the kites were moving so quickly that Milo couldn’t determine which kite belonged to Freckles and which was controlled by her opponent. Regardless, he was in awe of the performance taking place overhead.
He wondered if Meera had introduced her to the sport.
The battle went on over the contestants’ heads for more than ten minutes, the gathering crowd watching the sky intently as several small children followed the kites on foot, running back and forth across the field, attempting to stay directly below them. Several other kites were scattered around the field, all of various designs and colors, appearing ready for flight. Just as Milo was ready to venture over to the crowd to inquire about the status of the fight, two girls standing near Freckles leapt into the air, screaming in delight. Though he assumed that Freckles had won, Milo wasn’t sure what constituted a victory until he saw the green kite gliding gently to the ground, pursued by the pack of screaming children. Its line had been cut.
The two women, one wearing jeans and a T-shirt and the other a teal sari, ran over to congratulate Freckles, whose purple and white kite still soared high overhead. They were followed by a smaller group of men and women, older and less enthusiastic than the first two but seemingly happy for her nonetheless. Freckles smiled as she shook their hands and listened to them speak, but she seemed uncomfortable with the attention that she was receiving, turning attempts to hug and even lift her off the ground into brief, awkward embraces. Once each member of the group had offered his or her congratulations, she turned and took several steps toward her opponent, who appeared to be waiting patiently for her. She reached out and shook his hand, exchanging words that Milo could not hear; the two appeared to be cordial and maybe even friendly. Then with a brief nod, she stepped away, taking several steps in Milo’s direction, away from the rest of the crowd, before beginning the process of reeling in her kite. Only when the attention of her friends was directed at the launch of two new kites into the air on the other side of the field did Freckles dare a surreptitious fist pump of celebration, her long shadow stretching close enough to Milo that he could’ve reached out and touched it if he had wanted.
Milo had seen Freckles in many private moments like this. Exclusively private moments, in fact. But this was the first time that he had seen her happy, if only for a second. Milo also experienced similar flashes of happiness, moments when his secrets faded away from consciousness for a time, replaced by the normal, everyday pleasures of a normal, everyday person. But for Milo, and likely for Freckles, these moments were brief and fleeting, and regardless of the happiness that he might have felt, there was always a pall cast over his joy, a constant, unwavering awareness that there was something much bigger looming overhead. There was the fear of discovery, of course, but more than that, there was the knowledge that a lifetime of isolation lay ahead. Like the cashier with an endless line of unsatisfied customers, Milo felt his existence stretched out before him like a line of brief and fragmentary moments of joy amid a lifetime of tiring, unending vigilance and loneliness.
In this singular moment, Milo was certain that Freckle
s was happy, but more important, he knew like no other that she too faced a lifetime marked by fitful, solitary moments of delight. He knew that regardless of the joy in this victory, Freckles would eventually find herself in her brown and blue colonial later that night, burdened with thoughts of Meera Singh and Tess Bryson.
Secrets that only he knew.
There was nothing that Milo could do for himself, no way of eliminating the persistence and weight of his inexplicable demands (he was, in fact, in need of a jelly jar at this very moment). Even if he had found the courage to share his secrets with Christine or Andy or even Freckles, nothing would ever change for him. The relentless submariner in his head who issued forth his demands would remain, undaunted and unchallenged, regardless of his confession. Milo knew in that moment, with absolute certainty, that the truth would never set him free. The subterfuge and stratagem could perhaps end, but to reveal his secret would risk the loss of people who he cared about most, and it would likely cost him his dignity as well. Even if he found the courage to tell his friends or family about the karaoke or the bowling or the pressure seals, he didn’t think he could ever face them again afterward.
But he thought that there might be a chance for Freckles, an opportunity for her to be unburdened by her secrets. By telling someone about Tess Bryson, Freckles might be made to realize that she was not to blame, and perhaps Milo could be that person for her.
In that moment, Milo realized that there was something else that he might do for Freckles, something more powerful and convincing than simply telling her that she was not to blame. Like the need to pop a pressure seal or sing karaoke, this idea came on him unexpectedly, a dim light glimmering in a dark room, but in moments, the idea overwhelmed him, expanding to fill every corner and crevice of his mind, the Big Bang of his brain, so large and consuming that it nearly replaced his current need for a jar of jelly.
Yes, he would eventually return the camera and the tapes to her.
Yes, he could be the confidant that Freckles needed.
And yes, he could be the one to convince her that Meera Singh’s death and Tess Bryson’s disappearance were not her fault.
But first, there was something else he must do. An idea that emerged in his head, fully formed. And as outrageous and ridiculous and unlikely a plan as it already seemed, it also would be impossible to ignore. In that instant, Milo realized that he might have stumbled upon a way of unburdening Freckles of her demons forever.
chapter 19
Milo wasn’t sure if Christine would show up to their next appointment. He was sitting in Dr. Teagan’s waiting room on Wednesday afternoon, holding the same Highlights magazine from which he had removed the poem a week before, wondering if his wife would even call if she planned on not showing. They had not spoken since the incident outside the house two days ago, and his half dozen phone calls over the last twenty-four hours to the house and her cell phone had gone unanswered.
Though he couldn’t imagine leaving the state without telling Christine of his plans, a small part of him, the part that dreaded confrontation, hoped that Christine would not show. Any discussion of Freckles, and especially an explanation of his intent to help her, would undoubtedly anger her to an even greater degree. And an hour to talk to Dr. Teagan about his plans, confirm his suspicions, and attempt to obtain his therapist’s approval of his impending journey appealed to Milo a great deal. He had called Andy the night before to tell him about Freckles and Tess Bryson, but about thirty seconds into their conversation, he had decided against it. To discuss Freckles, even with his best friend, felt like violating a trust that he had established with the woman. Andy would ask for details, would want to know everything, and would be annoyed when Milo refused. His frustration would not reach the level of Christine’s, Milo was sure, but it would be enough to make things uncomfortable between the two men for at least a while. Milo reasoned that unless they had watched the tapes, it was impossible for most people to understand the level of privacy involved in the situation.
He thought, however, that Dr. Teagan might.
It was almost ten minutes after their assigned appointment time, and Milo’s hopes that Christine would not show were growing when Dr. Teagan emerged from behind the waiting room door, smiled, and asked for Milo to step in. He followed the doctor down a short hallway and then turned left into the office that he and Christine had occupied a week ago, a time when things seemed simpler and more hopeful than they did now.
Sitting beside Dr. Teagan’s indoor plants, in the same seat that she had been sitting in a week ago, was Christine, arms crossed, glaring at Milo.
Milo stood for a moment in shock, trying to process the meaning of the situation.
How long had she been sitting there?
Had she come in a back door?
Why hadn’t she met Milo in the waiting room?
Something, perhaps Christine’s posture, the arch of her eyebrows, or maybe the way her right foot was gently but impatiently tapping on the carpet, told him that she had been there for a while. But why?
Milo had been standing in the doorway, staring at his wife for half a minute, before Dr. Teagan finally suggested that he take a seat beside Christine. He did, finding the position of the chair in relationship to his wife frustrating in that it did not allow him to see the look on her face without turning and staring. He suddenly felt ambushed and unable to gather information. Alone and outnumbered. To calm himself, he focused on the doctor, who took a seat beside his desk and began.
“Milo, I know you’re surprised to see Christine here, but she called me on Monday morning and asked to talk before we all got together this afternoon. It’s not uncommon, and given the circumstances involved, I thought it was a good idea. Christine, would you like to explain what we’ve been talking about to Milo?”
“I don’t understand,” Milo interjected. “What circumstances?”
“You scared the shit out of me, Milo. How did you think I would feel, having cops come to my door and tell me that my husband is sitting in his car outside the house, watching me?”
“C’mon, Christine. You know me. Do you really think I’m some kind of stalker? You know why I was there.”
“No, I don’t,” Christine shot back. “How long have you been watching me, for Christ’s sake? Were you out there every night?”
Milo was still too stunned to answer, unable to formulate a reasonable response to Christine’s accusation. After a moment, Dr. Teagan spoke up. “Milo, that’s not an unreasonable question. How many times have you done something like that prior to Sunday night?”
“That was the first and only time. I swear.” He was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing Christine already in the office, and the barrage of questions wasn’t allowing for him to even catch his breath.
“Can I ask why you chose that night to sit outside the house?”
The house, Milo noted. Not your house, which it still was. He chose to ignore the doctor’s word choice for the moment. “You want to know why I chose that night? Did she tell you about Phil?”
“Just tell me your story, Milo,” Dr. Teagan said. “What were you thinking at the time?”
“Fine. I stopped by in the afternoon to drop off some flowers for Christine. I thought it would be nice. She wasn’t home, so I left. As I was leaving the house, she pulled in the driveway in this guy’s Jeep. Phil. Some guy from her office.”
“A man you had met before. Correct?”
“Yes, but like a year ago for half a second. I didn’t remember who he was until Christine reminded me.”
“Christine says that you became very angry in the driveway. What happened there?”
“This is ridiculous,” Milo said, and immediately regretted it. The situation was ridiculous, but he understood that the doctor was just looking for Milo’s side of the story, and that on its face value, the whole thing seemed ridiculous and stupid. Despite the justification for his anger, he could imagine how easy it had been for Christine to paint him like a
jealous lunatic, and it appeared that she had done exactly that. He also knew that Dr. Teagan wanted to understand what had happened, but he couldn’t help but feel that these questions were coming directly from Christine. Nevertheless, he had to try to make the doctor understand the truth of the situation. “When I saw Christine in that guy’s Jeep, someone who I didn’t know, I got jealous. And I had noticed a crib in our bedroom, and Phil had a baby in the backseat, so it just all looked bad to me.”
“It wasn’t a crib. It was a Pack and Play,” Christine said.
“Whatever. It was something for the kid and it was in our bedroom.”
“It wasn’t like Phil and his daughter had moved in. They were visiting for the day and Phil needed a place for Penny to lie down. What the hell did you think was going on? Did you think he had moved in? That we were having sex while his daughter slept next to the bed?”
Milo didn’t know what to say. He still couldn’t believe that Dr. Teagan would allow him to be ambushed this way. Every word from the doctor’s and Christine’s mouths sounded planned, plotted, and purposefully impossible to answer without sounding like a crazy person.
Finally, Dr. Teagan broke the silence. “Milo, I think that any reasonable person could see how you might have felt jealous after seeing your wife and this man pull into your driveway. I think Christine understands that too. But what concerns me is your decision to sit outside the house late at night, watching her. I don’t think you’re a stalker, but this is the kind of thing that a stalker does. Can you see how this might frighten your wife?”