One year later
Erika
I’ve got two eggs in the frying pan that I’m cooking up for breakfast. Low and slow. That’s the trick.
I set up a radio on the counter in the kitchen. Liam and Hannah both listen to music on their phones using some crazy app, but I’m old school and like listening to the radio. I like hearing the new pop songs, the insipid DJ banter, and even the commercials. Right now, there’s a Bruno Mars song on the radio, and I’m singing along to myself.
“Mo-om,” Hannah groans as she looks up from her bowl of Cheerios. “You’re getting all the words wrong. If you’re going to sing along, don’t say all the wrong words.”
“I’m getting some of them right.” “You think you are, but you’re not.” “Yes, I am.”
“You’re not. It’s really cringe-y.”
“Well, I don’t care.” And just to make a point, I belt out the wrong lyrics on purpose: “I’ll slap a grenade in ya!”
“Oh my God, Mom.”
Hannah stands up with her bowl of cereal, unable to tolerate another moment of my singing. She plunks the bowl down on the counter and lets out one more monstrous sigh before she heads upstairs.
I smile to myself as I stir the eggs. One year ago, I never would have imagined we’d be in this same kitchen, making eggs like everything was normal again. Hannah has improved her grades in school, and Liam just got back last night from the state-wide debate competition in Albany, which his team won. Things are back to normal and going as well as they could be, given all the revelations that have come out in the last year.
For example, that my husband was a serial killer.
Yes, that one came as a huge shock. It was bad enough finding out he was responsible for taking Olivia. But Detective Rivera has kept me in the loop, and Jason Cass has now been linked by DNA evidence to twelve murders over the last twenty-five years. And those are only the ones where he left evidence behind. God only knows how many others there were. But because he’s dead, we’ll never know for sure.
The animosity we experienced when the truth first emerged was overwhelming. I thought we were going to have to leave town and change our names to escape the death threats. But then I was offered a spot on a national news show to tell my story. When I shared the tale of how I discovered my husband’s secret, killed him in self-defense, and rescued the girl he kidnapped, I became a national hero. Brian offered me back my spot at the Nassau Nutshell, but I turned it down because I got a book deal for quite a lot of money.
Wife of a Serial Killer. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?
As I stir the eggs, Liam sprints through the back door, wearing a damp T-shirt and gym shorts. He was out running early this morning. I don’t know how he has the energy after getting back from Albany with the rest of the team late last night. His face is pink and he’s grinning ear to ear. “Eggs!” he exclaims when he sees what I’ve got in the frying pan. “You’re making me some, right?”
“Of course.”
“They smell amazing,” he says. “I’m starving.”
He’s still smiling as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He’s in a really good mood this morning, but he’s been in a good mood a lot lately. He types a message into his phone with his thumbs, then grins wider when his phone buzzes in response. He’s probably texting Olivia.
Amazingly, Liam and Olivia are still together. He’s crazy about her. They go out several nights a week and talk on the phone every night. She’s at his track team practice cheering him on every time he runs. They’re coordinating which colleges they’re applying to, so they can stay together after graduation in June. I’m not sure if it’s a great idea— they’re only seventeen and have so many new experiences ahead of them. And to be completely frank, Liam is a much more competitive college applicant than Olivia. I don’t want him to give up an opportunity on her behalf.
But I can’t deny she’s good for him. And I certainly can’t deny that he loves her. I can tell by the way he looks at her and wants to spend every minute with her.
As for me, I doubt I’ll ever date again.
“I’m going to go take a shower now.” Liam wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “But when I get out, you’re going to have eggs for me, right, Mom? Five eggs.” He holds up one hand and wiggles his fingers. “Five. I’m hungry.”
“You got it, kid.”
“You’re the best, Mom.” He kisses me quickly on the cheek and dashes up the stairs to his bedroom, whistling in the hallway. He’s in an exceptionally good mood. He must be happy about winning the debate yesterday.
The Bruno Mars song has ended, and the DJ is reading off news stories. I listen idly when I cook the eggs. JLo is dating somebody new. New York City was determined to be the most expensive city in the country to live. And a girl was reported missing in a town called Troy in upstate New York.
Troy in upstate New York…
I wonder if that’s anywhere near Albany.
I lay down my spatula and turn up the volume on the radio. The DJs voice fills the room: “Eighteen-year-old Kayla Rogers went out with her friends on Saturday night. Her friends stayed at a bar, but Kayla left alone. Police say she never returned to the apartment she shared with two other girls…”
My hands won’t stop shaking as I pick up my phone from the kitchen counter. I type Troy, NY into the map app. Then I calculate the time it would take for someone to get from Albany to Troy by car.
Sixteen minutes.
My eyes raise upward to the ceiling. I hear the shower running, and even over the droplets of water, I can hear Liam singing to himself.
It couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t. He’s not like that. He’s not like Jason. Not really. It’s a coincidence. It’s got to be a coincidence.
I lean against the counter, my knees weak. I can still hear Liam singing in the bathroom above us, as the stench of burning eggs fills the kitchen.
The End
