Chapter 2: The Friday Nobody Explained
“Harper, honey, can you tell Mommy when you last saw Taylor?””
I tried to keep my voice gentle.
My daughter swung her legs beneath the chair, apparently unaware that the entire morning had just changed.
“Last Friday.””
Diane's eyebrows rose.
“Last Friday?””
“Uh-huh.””
Diane slowly turned toward me.
“But I picked you up last Friday, sweetheart. We went to your house, remember? We made grilled cheese.””
Harper nodded enthusiastically.
“And then Grandpa came!””
I looked at Diane.
“Grandpa?””
Michael's father, Robert, sometimes helped with Harper when Diane had appointments. It wasn't unusual for him to collect her or drop her off, although Diane generally handled Fridays.
“What did Grandpa do?”” I asked.
“He took me to Daddy.””
Michael's expression changed so quickly that I almost missed it.
His eyes widened.
Then he looked at Harper with a fixed, warning smile.
“Sweetheart, remember what we talked about? You shouldn't get confused about these things.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What things?””
“Nothing. She's six. Kids mix up their days.””
Harper frowned.
“I don't mix them up.””
“I know, honey.””
“No, Daddy. I know.””
She folded her little arms across her chest.
It would have been adorable under different circumstances.
Instead, I felt a strange chill creep up my spine.
I had spent years believing that children were unreliable witnesses to adult schedules. They forgot times, mixed up days, and confused conversations.
But Harper wasn't struggling to remember.
She seemed annoyed that we weren't understanding something she considered perfectly ordinary.
I turned toward Diane.
“You said you always bring her home after school.””
“I do.””
“Every Friday?””
“Every Friday for the last three months.””
Diane's voice sharpened slightly.
“I pick her up at school, take her home, and make sure she's safely inside. Sometimes Robert helps if I need him to.””
She looked at Michael.
“Why are you asking me questions about something we all agreed on?””
Michael ran a hand through his hair.
“I'm not asking you anything.””
“You're acting as though Harper's saying something impossible.””
“Because she's confused!””
The words exploded out of him.
Harper flinched.
I immediately put an arm around her shoulders.
“Don't shout at her.””
Michael stared at me.
“I wasn't shouting.””
“You were.””
He looked away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Harper tugged at my sleeve.
“Mommy?””
“Yes, baby?””
“Are you mad at Taylor?””
The question struck me harder than it should have.
“No, sweetheart. I'm not mad at Taylor.””
“Then why can't I go with her?””
I felt my throat tighten.
“What do you mean, go with her?””
“To Daddy's office.””
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
I heard the refrigerator humming.
I heard a car pass outside.
I heard Diane whisper, “What?””
But all I could see was Michael.
His face had lost nearly all its color.
I turned toward him slowly.
“Your office?””
He shook his head immediately.
“No. Absolutely not.””
Harper looked confused.
“Yes, Daddy.””
“No, Harper.””
“You take me there.””
“I do not take you to my office.””
“But you do!””
Michael's hands pressed flat against the table.
I had never seen him look so frightened by a conversation involving his own child.
“Harper, sweetheart,” I said carefully, “tell me what happens when you go to Daddy's office.””
She brightened, grateful that someone was finally asking her a question she could answer.
“Grandpa takes me there sometimes when he has to do something. Daddy says I can wait in his office until Taylor comes.””
Diane stared at her granddaughter.
“Robert takes you to Michael's office?””
“Sometimes.””
“Since when?””
Harper thought about it.
“Lots of Fridays.””
My mouth went dry.
Michael suddenly reached for his phone.
“I'm calling Dad.””
“Why?”” I demanded.
“To clear up this ridiculous misunderstanding.””
He stood and walked toward the counter, but I caught his wrist before he could leave the table.
“Sit down.””
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
“Let go.””
“Not until you explain why our daughter is going to your office.””
“She isn't!””
Harper's lower lip trembled.
“But I am, Daddy.””
His expression flickered.
For a moment, I saw something naked and ugly beneath his practiced confidence.
Not confusion.
Not frustration.
Fear.
He looked at our daughter as though she had just destroyed something he had spent months building.
Then he turned to me.
“I think you're overreacting to a child's imagination.””
I slowly released his wrist.
“Fine.””
The word surprised him.
He seemed to expect me to keep arguing.
Instead, I turned back to Harper.
“Sweetheart, when you get to Daddy's office, who is there?””
“Daddy.””
“Anyone else?””
“Sometimes his work friends.””
“And Taylor?””
Harper nodded.
“She waits with me.””
“Where?””
“In Daddy's office.””
Diane covered her mouth.
I could barely breathe.
Michael shook his head repeatedly.
“This is insane. She's making things up.””
Harper's eyes filled with tears.
“I'm not making it up!””
I pulled her against me.
“It's okay, sweetheart. You're not in trouble.””
Michael stepped toward us.
“Of course she's not in trouble. Nobody said she was.””
“You just accused her of lying.””
“I said she was confused.””
“Then explain why she keeps describing the same thing.””
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked toward the hallway.
Then toward the front door.
That last glance was so deliberate that I followed it with my eyes.
Nothing was happening outside.
No car pulled into the driveway.
No footsteps crossed the porch.
Yet Michael looked as though he were waiting for someone to arrive.
Diane noticed it too.
“Michael,” she said slowly, “is there something you need to tell us?””
He laughed.
It was a short, brittle sound that didn't resemble his usual laugh at all.
“No.””
“Then why are you acting like this?””
“Because you're all making something out of nothing!””
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
“I have a meeting. This conversation is over.””
He headed for the hallway.
I stood.
“Michael.””
He stopped but didn't turn around.
“You haven't answered a single question.””
“I told you. The payments are an error, and Harper is confused.””
“Then why won't you explain the office?””
He remained motionless.
For one long second, I thought he might finally turn around and tell me the truth.
Instead, he said, “Because there is no story here.””
Then he walked away.
A door slammed upstairs.
Harper pressed her face into my side.
Diane reached across the table and took my hand.
Neither of us spoke.
We didn't need to.
The man who had just stormed out of the kitchen was our husband and son.
But something about his reaction had changed everything.
If Taylor wasn't watching Harper, why did our daughter know where to find her?
If the payments were an accident, why had Michael become terrified when Harper mentioned his office?
And if nothing was happening, why had he looked at the front door as though he expected his secret to come knocking?
I looked at the laptop.
Twelve payments.
Twelve Fridays.
Three months.
Then I noticed something I had overlooked earlier.
The payments weren't merely scheduled for Fridays.
They were processed at 6:17 p.m.
Every single week.
I checked the time.
8:42 a.m.
My hands began to shake.
May you like
I didn't know what happened at 6:17 p.m. on those Fridays.
But I was beginning to suspect that Taylor's visits had never been about babysitting at all.
