Chapter 4 - The Things Amanda Should Not Have Known
The next morning, Daniel made a list.
He hated himself for needing one.
He wrote down every moment from the past year that had once made Amanda seem unusually thoughtful.
The lullaby.
The exact brand of lavender soap Laura had used for Sophie.
The way Amanda knew Sophie hated bananas mashed too smooth.
Her suggestion that Daniel move the rocking chair closer to the nursery window because “that’s where babies sleep better.”
Laura had kept the chair there.
Daniel had moved it after her death.
Amanda had moved it back.
There were dozens of details.
None had seemed suspicious alone.
Together they felt different.
Eric read the list and said what Daniel did not want to hear.
“You liked that she understood without making you explain.”
Daniel knew he was right.
Dating after Laura had been miserable.
Women became uncomfortable when Daniel mentioned his dead wife.
Some tried too hard with Sophie.
Some withdrew the moment they realized how much of Daniel’s life still revolved around grief and diapers.
Amanda had been different.
She knew when to change the subject.
She knew when Daniel needed to talk.
She never seemed threatened by Laura.
At least not in the beginning.
Daniel had mistaken familiarity for emotional intelligence.
Now he wondered how much of Amanda’s “intuition” came from knowing Laura.
He finally returned Amanda’s call.
She answered immediately.
“Daniel, please.”
“Did you know Laura?”
Silence.
“That’s what you’re asking me after what happened?”
“Yes.”
Amanda exhaled.
“We went to college together.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“You told me you’d never met her.”
“I was scared you’d misunderstand.”
“You carried her photograph.”
“That pendant is twenty years old.”
“You hit my daughter because she found it.”
Amanda started crying.
Daniel did not soften.
She claimed the pendant meant nothing except an old friendship.
She said she had hidden their history because she feared Daniel would believe she had pursued him because of Laura.
“Did you?”
“No.”
Daniel waited.
Amanda added, “Not like that.”
The wording lodged in him.
Not like that.
He asked how she had known the lullaby.
Amanda said Laura taught it to her in college.
The soap?
Coincidence.
The rocking chair?
Common sense.
The food preferences?
Daniel must have mentioned them.
Each answer worked by itself.
Taken together, they sounded rehearsed.
Then Daniel asked one question Amanda did not answer.
“How did you know which pediatric cardiologist Laura used?”
Amanda went quiet.
Daniel had mentioned once that Laura’s surgery had been cardiac.
He had never named the doctor.
Amanda had.
Six months into their relationship.
He remembered because he had been surprised.
Amanda finally whispered, “Laura told me.”
“When?”
Another silence.
May you like
“Before she died.”
The story had just changed again.
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