Page 7 of Buried in the Woods Below

“Tim said he needed time ‘to investigate’ the issue.” I hit the gas and cut into the left lane.

“What’s there to investigate? You told them what happened, didn’t you?”

“I know, but they’re just covering their ass.” I slap my fingers on the steering wheel, picturing Tim Colby’s smug face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Bob Bernfeld will be at the conference this week. I’m going to buttonhole him and straighten this whole thing out. I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to the CEO of one of his biggest banking clients.”

“Mom, do not buttonhole the managing partner of Winthrop. The last thing I need is the perception I went crying to Mommy. And who even uses the term buttonhole?”

She laughs. “Old people, that’s who.”

“Where are you seeing Bob Bernfeld?”

“He’s presenting at the Business Roundtable this week.”

“Then definitely don’t talk to him about my situation.”

“All right, I’ll hold tight for now, but if I see him, I can’t be held responsible for what I might say.”

“Fine. Enough about my problems. What are you up to?”

“It’s funny you should ask. Your little leave of absence—”

“Suspension.”

“Tomato, tomahto. Whatever you want to call it, it may have been a blessing in disguise. The Parkers hosted me for a lovely dinner last night.”

My foot eases off the accelerator as fractured memories of Olivia flick through my brain like a projector tripping on film: her shrill scream knifing through the air, the dead thud as her body struck the ground, the paramedics inserting the IV. But the film is grainy, fragmented, too worn by time to trust.

“Oh,” I say. “How are they?”

“They’re doing quite well. We had a delightful meal at their new house on Lake Minnetonka.”

“In Minnesota?”

“Yes, the Roundtable meeting is at Target headquarters. Anyway, Laelynn and Eric have eight-year-old twins now, and they were just telling me they’re looking for a little extra help when Laelynn heads out to her retreat in the Boundary Waters in a couple of days. They asked me to extend you an invitation.”

“They have eight-year-old twins now? Aren’t they a little old?”

“Well, they were so young when they had Olivia, and they got tired of the empty nest. Laelynn was only forty-two, so they gave it a shot, and voilà—two for the price of one.”

I exit onto Fullerton Parkway and glide into my neighborhood. Lincoln Park’s sidewalks are bursting with yuppies knee-deep in happy hour; it looks like a blast, but you need to have free time and friends to enjoy a happy hour, a perk my job doesn’t offer. Maybe traveling to Minnesota isn’t such a bad idea. I certainly wouldn’t be leaving much behind.

“I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t seen them since the State Fair, and I’m not sure they’re going to want to see me.”

“Sweetheart, that was eighteen years ago. And it wasn’t your fault Olivia fell.”

I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of me.

“I know. I just… I could have done more.”

“Charlotte, you know how you told me to tell you when you’re dwelling too much?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re dwelling too much.”

“Message received.”