Page 48 of Buried in the Woods Below

He knows exactly where to make the incision.

My thoughts spin, a frantic, roaring engine that refuses to catch, building to a suffocating heat behind my eyes.

“I just can’t fucking believe that guy,” I shout, ripping my oar out of the water and slamming it on my thighs. I let out a loud growl that echoes through the treetops.

Olivia perks up, her eyes coated in sympathy.

I continue ranting like I’m arguing a case in front of a judge. “I mean, first of all, he’s responsible for this mess yet acts like I’m harassing him. Second, I’m one of the top consultants in The Firm. I’m on pace to be one of the youngest Winthrop partners ever, and he acts like I’m some underachieving intern. And then…”

“Girl, don’t do this to yourself,” says Olivia.

“And then…he follows me to Big Island. Could be he’s stalking me. Could be The Firm is watching me. God only knows why. And he has the audacity to imply I’m stalking him. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined someone who could take the truth and twist it like that. And then his fucking wife is just standing there, oblivious to it all, talking about the psychopathic girl at work who harassed poor Vivek. It’s like I’m living in some kind of bizarro world.” I jab my oar into the water and resume paddling.

Olivia places her hand on my knee. “You can’t think like that. This is what he wants. He wants you to question yourself. You can’t forget. You know what happened. You know who he is.”

I paddle faster, trying to create distance between me and Vivek, between me and the memories. “Yeah, you’re right. I know. It’s just so infuriating.”

“The question you have to ask yourself is, what are you going to do about it?”

“That’s another thing. Right now, I can’t do anything. I’m waiting for Winthrop to complete its investigation. Obviously, I could press charges, or I could sue him. But I’m trying to make partner, and that’s definitely not going to help my case. For now, all I can do is wait and hope they do what’s right.”

“But will they?”

I think back to what Vivek said. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

Olivia bites a hangnail off her thumb. “You should think about whether you want to leave your fate in their hands.”

Chapter 24

I keep paddling, bringing us around the point until we see the Parkers’ home. At first, I shudder, thinking I’m going to have to see Laelynn, and then I remember she’s gone and my shoulders drop. As we skid back onto the beach, I hop out and drag the canoe to shore. Olivia looks me up and down and says, “I think you could use some food. Nothing wrong with eating your feelings, right?”

I laugh. “Right.”

Eric’s out front chopping wood, his toned arms rippling. Unfortunately, he’s not shirtless; he wears a sweat-stained army-green T-shirt. That will remain a fantasy. He catches our eyes, a mischievous spark in his own, and then hustles inside, a secret grin playing on his lips.

As we walk up the lawn, Emma and Penelope run around the yard barefoot in matching light-blue pinstriped smock dresses, swinging a jump rope, singing some nursery rhyme I’ve never heard of.

“You want to jump rope?” Penelope asks us. More of a command than a question.

Olivia tilts her head, and a smile creeps across her face. “Definitely.”

“I’m not doing this,” I say.

“C’mon, it will be fun,” says Penelope.

Emma just smiles a gap-toothed grin and runs her tongue back and forth on her gums.

“Yeah, c’mon, it will be fun,” says Olivia.

Next thing you know, I’m jumping, watching the rope sail over my head, red-faced and laughing. Just like when we were kids.

Emma and Penelope watch me and giggle uncontrollably at the sight of this gawky giant bouncing. The rope whirs, the laughter bubbles, and for a blissful moment, the gnawing anxiety about Vivek, about Winthrop, about everything I’ve lost vanishes.

Eventually, when I sense that either my legs or my lungs are going to give way, we call it quits and head up to the house, much to the twins’ disappointment.

Olivia and I enter, and I’m struck with the most wonderful bouquet, a glorious blend of sugar, flour, butter, and fruit. Eric has baked an incredible smorgasbord of pastries. Danishes, mini doughnuts, croissants, and delights I’ve never even seen before. He stands behind the counter, clad in an apron that says Mr. Good Lookin’ Is Cookin’, with a touch of flour on his cheek and his arms spread wide.

“Ta-da,” he says.