In the bathroom, I stuffed it into the wastebasket where it sat on a bed of used tissues, the corner poking awkwardly from the top. That didn’t seem right either, so I brought it downstairs. Leah was in her art studio. She spent a lot of time there lately, drinking tea and listening to music so softly that sometimes I didn’t even know she was there. She was working on a drawing of a walnut so intricately blown up that it looked more like the surface of Mars than something you might eat.

She put a cup of tea down beside me and I watched the steam move across the surface and disappear into the air. Leaning over, she took my journal in her hand and walked into her studio. I heard a drawer open and then close and when she came back, she was emptyhanded. She rubbed the back of my head softly, telling me without words that she knew exactly where it belonged.

Therese

Undertow.

Emerging from nowhere, leaving her disoriented and unsure of her footing.

She woke that morning, determined to put their friendship back together. Resigned to the fact that today, nothing would stop her from reconnecting with her friend and doing whatever it took to save Leah from the hurt she knew was coming. Leah was the only person she could truly trust, and she was not going to let her down.

Everything began as she pictured. Leah hesitated at first but then hugged her so tightly she could smell the shampoo in her hair. They sat on the couch holding onto one another just like they did in the beginning, and she quietly fell back into their rhythm, losing herself in Leah’s presence. She put her hand on Leah’s belly, smiling as each kick made Leah jump. It was so warm and perfect that she never even heard the doorbell ring and only mildly noticed when Leah left to answer it.

Something in the air made her breath quicken, and soon she realized that Leah was gone for too long. In the hallway, she found her with her arms crossed at her chest, precariously rocking back and forth as though at any moment she might lose her balance. There was a woman at the door. Behind her stood a young boy, and clinging to her leg was a little girl. The moment Therese laid eyes on them, she sensed it—prickling so sharp, she could feel it in her throat.

Desperation.

The woman and the little girl walked inside, but the boy leaned against the doorframe.

“So this is where you live.” The woman looked around, sliding her hands across the top of a wooden console as if she was checking for dust.

“You said you needed to tell me something? Something about Lionel?” Leah’s sway lessened until she wasn’t moving at all.