I no longer know what's real. For a while I managed to convince myself that I'd hallucinated the phone call from Emily. It was like when you have a worrisome pain and the pain goes away. First you try to forget about it. Then you do forget it.
I always knew I would be punished for my affair with Chris and for deceiving my husband and having my half brother's child. I should never have told Emily who Miles's father is. No one could be trusted with that information. I had the foolish idea that telling someone would make my punishment lighter. I confessed to the wrong person. Now the punishment comes.
If she's alive, someone knows what I've done. Someone who wants to harm me.
I always knew that Emily was smarter than I am. I should never have let this happen. I should have died of loneliness and sexual frustration before I let myself sleep with Sean and move into Emily's house.
I'm no match for her. She's probably laughing about my pathetic attempt to contact her on my blog by pretending I thought she was dead. She is the only one who knows how much of my blog is a lie.
I wonder how much she told Sean. Not everything, I think. When I mention Chris, I never catch him looking at me nor studying Miles for signs that he's been damaged by incest and inbreeding.
Sean seems to love Miles. Miles is lovable. And I've grown to love Nicky. Do Sean and I love each other? I don't want to think about that.
Wouldn't Emily have wanted this?
Not if she's alive. Which she is. Maybe. Probably. And I'm being punished.
What have I done to deserve this? All I did was try to make a friend, to befriend the mother of my child's friend. Bad call, Stephanie!
What will Emily do now? Nothing. She's dead. Or is she out there? Watching.
I keep imagining someone—a police detective—asking me why I did this or that instead of this or that other thing. I keep saying I don't know. I no longer know what makes sense. I focus on what's best for Miles. But I'm no longer sure that the best thing for my son is living with my best friend's husband when, for all I know, she is watching.
I pull the curtains; it doesn't help. She's out there. Or maybe I'm imagining it. There is always that chance.
I don't know why I don't tell someone. Actually, I do know. What would I tell the police? Remember my friend who disappeared? And you guys did nothing? Well, now I'm living with her husband. And she might be back, and they might be collecting millions of dollars in insurance money from her apparent death. Who would believe me? Who am I? A mommy and a blogger. Women like me get locked up in psycho wards all the time. They see the dead; they hear voices; they can't accept the truth; they insist on their nutty stories until someone in protective services decides that their child would be better off in foster care.
I'm afraid that the story of my friendship with Emily and my relationship with Sean might lead the police to the truth about Miles's dad. They'd have a false missing persons report and maybe insurance fraud on their hands, and self-centered me, I'm sure they'll focus on a possible case of incest.
Whatever Emily is up to, she can count on me. I gave her that power at the county fair when we watched Miles and Nicky on the ride.
I didn't tell Sean that Emily called. Maybe I don't really trust him. I'm no longer sure whom to trust. I trust Miles. And most of the time I trust Nicky.
I'm almost sure that Sean believes she's dead. And if she's alive, she hasn't tried to contact him. Or maybe she has, and he hasn't told me. If she's angry about Sean and me, why is she blaming me? He was her husband. Is her husband.
