The Housewarming

by Kristin Offiler

“Just the usual garbage I’ve heard a million times. I promise I’m fine. He’s just a curmudgeon.”

But, to keep her process and leads confidential while she shopped her project, the identities of the people Patricia hoped to interview and write about were redacted.

The ache in her chest pressed hard against her ribs, and she blinked her eyes up at the ceiling to quell the tears.

“I might have to actually wear these forever.”

Everything’s coming together nicely. Can’t wait to watch their faces when they see you.

“It’s more nuanced than that.”

And if the photo was gone the next time she looked for it in that book, if someday Fred denied there had ever been a picture of Zoe Gilbert on his boat, Lindsey might not believe her own memory of its existence.

“The cushion, my mother imported that fabric from Italy. This picture was taken on my parents’ old boat.”

A minute refinement of her expression, almost imperceptible. But Callie caught it, having spent a lifetime learning to read and understand her mother.

“This isn’t his picture, though. It’s mine.”

The unnameable feeling’s shape finally materialized: shame.

“Stop!” Elizabeth’s face blanched. “You horrible girls, you’re driving him to say things he doesn’t mean. You’re putting thoughts in his head. Get out!”

Ben rubbed his forehead. He gave Callie an insistent look. “I need to tell her to stay off the bow of the boat. She went on there once, but it’s not safe.”

“You don’t have that boat anymore,” Callie said. “You haven’t had your boat in years.” He laughed but Callie saw faint confusion in his smile. “We were just on it.”

“It’s not too much—” he started. “I was just on it. Yes, with Zoe. We went out a few times and talked business. That grant we were going to award a small business, your mother and I had decided it would go to your friend, for her jewelry, but—” “She went missing,” Elizabeth finished for him.

“No,” Ben said, shaking his head persistently. “No, no. She’s not missing. I remember telling her the grant was hers. I remember—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Callie. Don’t be dim. You know him. You know why,” Elizabeth said.

“You always make mountains out of molehills,” Ben said. He pushed himself off the couch. Callie and Lindsey scrambled to their feet. “She’s looking for ways to grow her business. She said it’s not

doing well. Sales are down.

Nothing beyond that happened.”

“Why do you want her to stay off the bow of your boat?” she asked her father.

Her father blinked at this question. “It’s not safe; she might fall. It’s happened before.”

“With her?” Lindsey asked. “Ben, stop talking,” Elizabeth said. “Yes, with her,” Ben said, impatient.

“She’s gone,” Elizabeth said, her words barbed. “Did you pull her back on board, Ben? Jesus, tell me you did. Tell me you didn’t leave her out there in the water. Tell me she went missing for any other reason, but not because of you. Please.”

“It’s why you got rid of the boat,” Elizabeth said. “You thought if it was gone, you’d be able to forget about what you did. Is that it? Ben. The girl had a photo of herself on that boat.”

“Let’s call her. Clear this all up right now. Don’t accuse me of leaving someone to drown, Elizabeth. You’re my wife.” He took a few steps toward Callie. “You don’t believe this, do you? Talk to her. Talk to Zoe.”

“There’s no way to call her,” Callie said. “She fell? She really fell and you didn’t help her? And you never told anyone?”

Was it justice even if he wasn’t sure what he had done?

He showed her the expensive Leica he kept on board, as if he wanted her to 281know he wasn’t worried about the possibility of a three-thousand-dollar camera getting stolen or falling into the water. “Smile,” he’d said, holding it up.

She was buoyed by the confession and wanted that for herself—the ability to be vulnerable and open.