Chapter 4: The Hargrove House
"Is it true?" the Father asked again.
Still quiet.
Still waiting.
Rosa pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders.
"Yes," she said.
"And no."
"Pick one," the Woman in Green said.
"I'm not talking to you." Rosa looked at the Father.
"The boy went missing.
That part is true.
His name was Elliot.
He was four years old and he loved trains and he had a habit of opening doors that he wasn't supposed to open." She stopped.
"Mrs.
Hargrove had told me he was napping.
She had checked on him herself.
She told me to start on the laundry downstairs.
I did."
"And you left a four-year-old child alone," the Woman in Green said.
"I left a four-year-old child who I was told was asleep, in a locked house, while I worked twenty feet away." Rosa's voice did not waver.
"The back door had a latch at the top.
He had never reached it before.
That day he dragged a chair."
The Father looked down at his son.
The Baby grabbed his collar.
"They found him safe," Rosa said.
"He was sitting on the curb looking at a dog through someone's fence.
He was completely fine.
Mrs.
Hargrove let me go because she was frightened and she needed someone to blame.
I understood that.
I didn't fight it."
"How convenient," the Woman in Green said.
"A very tidy explanation."
"Vivienne." The Father said the name like a door closing.
The Woman in Green — Vivienne — stopped.
"I'm going to take my son inside and get him dry and warm." He looked at her steadily.
"And then you and I are going to have a conversation that is long overdue."
Vivienne's chin lifted.
"I'm only trying to protect you, Daniel.
Someone has to."
"Rosa," he said, "please come inside."
Rosa followed him through the glass doors.
As she passed Vivienne, she felt the woman's eyes on her back like two fingers pressing between her shoulder blades.
Not hard enough to push.
Just hard enough to remind her they were there.
Inside, the house was cool and quiet.
The Father set the Baby down on the playmat in the sitting room and handed him a soft toy.
The Baby immediately put it in his mouth.
"Sit down," the Father said to Rosa.
"I'll get you something warm."
"I'm all right, sir."
"Sit down, Rosa."
She sat.
He came back with a towel and a mug of tea and set them both on the table in front of her without ceremony.
Then he sat across from her and looked at her directly.
"The Hargrove house," he said.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it wasn't on my record.
Because nothing was ever filed.
Because I was ashamed, even though I had done nothing wrong, and shame doesn't wait for the truth to catch up."
He was quiet for a moment.
"How did Vivienne know?"
Rosa wrapped her hands around the mug.
"Mrs.
Hargrove and Vivienne are friends.
Have been for years." She paused.
"I think Vivienne knew before she ever walked into this house."
The Father sat back.
Something moved across his face — not anger, not quite.
Something colder and more deliberate.
"How long has she been coming here?" Rosa asked carefully.
"Eight months," he said.
"Since my wife passed."
Rosa said nothing.
She had known about the wife.
She had never asked.
There were photographs on the mantelpiece — a woman with dark hair and a wide smile, always standing close to the Father, always with her hand near his arm.
"Vivienne was her friend," the Father said.
"Or I believed she was."
From the hallway came the sound of the front door opening.
Vivienne's heels on the tile.
She appeared in the doorway of the sitting room.
She had composed herself.
The smile was back — softer now, almost gentle.
"Daniel," she said.
"I think we should talk about what's best for the baby.
Just the two of us."
The Father looked at her for a long moment.
"I think," he said, "you should tell me why you were standing so close to the pool."
May you like
Vivienne's smile didn't move.
But her hand, resting on the doorframe, went very still.
