Chapter 6: What Linda Kept Back
I texted Linda the next morning from the school parking lot after dropping Emma off.
*You said there was more.
I need to see it.*
Three minutes passed.
Then:
*I wasn't sure you were ready.
Are you sure?*
*Yes.*
*There's someone else you need to talk to.
Not me.
Her name is Carrie Walsh.
She works at the Meridian Group.
Mark's old firm.*
I stared at the name.
Mark had left the Meridian Group two years ago.
He'd told me it was his decision.
A better opportunity.
He'd come home one evening and said he'd put in his notice and I had believed him completely because there had been no reason not to.
*What does she know?* I typed.
*Call her.
She's expecting to hear from you.
I already told her you might reach out.*
Linda sent a phone number.
I sat in the parking lot for a moment.
A woman walked past with a stroller.
Two kids on bikes.
An ordinary Tuesday morning.
I called the number.
It rang twice.
"Mrs.
Parker?" The voice was careful.
Measured.
"Yes.
You're Carrie?"
"I am.
Thank you for calling." A pause.
"I wasn't sure you would."
"Linda said you worked with my husband."
"I did.
For about eight months, before he left the firm." Another pause.
"Mrs.
Parker, I want to be careful about how I say this.
I don't want to cause you more pain than is necessary.
But I think you need to know that Linda is not the first."
The parking lot went very quiet.
"What do you mean?"
"Before Linda.
There was a woman named Diane at the firm.
And before Diane—" She stopped.
"I'm sorry.
I know this is hard to hear."
"Keep going."
"There were complaints made internally.
About Mark's behavior.
The way he pursued women who worked near him, or who were connected to people he knew.
When things ended — when the women tried to end things — he didn't respond well." Her voice was careful and precise, like someone who had rehearsed this.
"Diane left the firm because of it.
I stayed, but I transferred departments.
When Mark left two years ago, it wasn't his decision.
He was asked to go."
I closed my eyes.
"He told me he resigned."
"I know.
I'm sorry."
I pressed my hand flat against the steering wheel.
"Is Diane willing to talk to me?"
"I already asked her.
She said yes.
She said she's been waiting two years for someone to ask."
I wrote down Diane's number on the back of a receipt from my purse.
My handwriting looked strange.
Smaller than usual.
"Carrie." I stopped.
"Why are you telling me this?
Why now?"
A long pause.
"Because Linda called me last week and told me what happened to Sophie.
What he said to that girl." Her voice shifted.
Something harder underneath it.
"I have a daughter.
She's twelve.
And when Linda told me what he said to Sophie — *tell your mother she doesn't get to decide* — I thought about my daughter answering the door." She stopped.
"I couldn't stay quiet after that."
I thanked her.
I don't remember exactly what I said.
I sat in that parking lot for a long time after I hung up.
Then I called Diane.
She answered on the first ring, as if she'd been holding the phone.
"Mrs.
May you like
Parker," she said.
"I have been hoping someone would call me for two years."
