Page 56 of Such a Good Wife

She stares at me overdramatically, then she pulls her phone out of her raincoat on the bed.

“Here, lemme show you something,” she says, turning her phone around for me to see a video. It’s dark and hard to make out at first. Then I see it’s me. I’m holding my shoes and tiptoeing through the muddy terrain behind Luke’s house. When I hit the clearing, I run to my car. The camera moves, so I can tell she’s driving slowly behind, following me to get the whole thing, my license plate and all just in case my face can’t be recognized in the dark lighting. I feel sick. My chest is hot. My mouth goes dry. She’s not just someone who could tell the cops that she saw me there—that might be dismissed as the crazy ex-lover grasping at straws, my word against hers. She has me on a time-stamped video! I’m flush with anger.

“So sending me Luke’s locket, and following me and watching me when I’m with my kids... Why the hell did you need to do all of that shit if you have this?” I ask bitterly.

She doesn’t react to my increased volume; she just hunches over the envelope of money, counting the bills, and barely looks up when she says, “I like to know how you’ll react to things—helps me know who I’m dealing with. Plus, I wanted to make sure you knew who was in control.”

“I’m sure they’re looking at you. Who else has any motive? You don’t want them to know you were stalking around the house. You should be wanting to distance yourself as far as you can from any of this, not blackmailing someone.” I force myself not to scream this.

She smiles very calmly. She doesn’t look fazed.

“You’re cute.” She leans back in her chair, like she’s enjoying herself.

“I could go to them myself, you know, and say I’m being blackmailed. All I’m guilty of is knowing him. I wasn’t a beneficiary of anything.”

“You think I’d put myself at risk if I didn’t have a rock-solid alibi?” She finishes counting the bills and looks to me for a response, but I just stare at her with my mouth open, letting this sink in. I’m not versed at any of this. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I am starting to suffocate under the weight of all the cunning and dishonesty.

“If I wanted to turn in the video, I could do it anonymously,” she adds, giving me a sideways look like I’m the other woman. “I can write a note along with it that says I don’t want to get involved BUT I saw something suspicious outside his house.” She puts her hand to her mouth, making an O with her lips, a mocking “oh no” gesture.

“What could it be? A burglar. Of course I snapped a video. I was protecting him. But no, it was you. Anyway, I’d rather not release the video, but I will if you force me to.”

“It will be suspicious that you didn’t say something earlier.” The rain outside picks up. It thunders on the roof, and we have to nearly shout over it.

“I didn’t think much of it, but then I remembered and brought it to them of my own free will. I think they’d actually appreciate it.” She shoves the money in her parka pocket and stands, flipping the hood over her head and aiming toward the door.

“Okay,” she says, opening it. The mist from the heavy rain on the sidewalk pops and hisses. I understand the dismissal and go to the door.

“I’ll need half by next week. Meet me here. I’ll send a time by text. So, seventeen thousand. We’ll talk about the rest from there. You should probably have a plan by then.”

I look at her in stunned silence, really not knowing what else to say.

“Thank you,” she says impatiently, so I walk out into the downpour and run to my car. In the driver’s seat, I shake the water off my clothes, and I can see her lock the room door and disappear into the deluge. Why isn’t she getting into her car? Where could she possibly be going?

***

23

BEHIND GILLIAN’S HOUSE IS a mother-in-law unit that she’s turned into an art studio, even though she isn’t an artist. It’s still raining when I arrive for book club, after the meeting with Valerie Ellison. All the regular suspects sit in the gloomily lit space where Gill keeps fabric drops covering easels next to buckets of paint supplies in some strange attempt to appear more interesting than she is. The paint streaks staining the artist stool in front of a blank canvas are probably from her kids’ watercolors.

Since I’d voiced out loud that I was thinking of going back to the book club and I know it’s something Collin would like to see, I made myself go. I welcome any distraction from the bizarre turn my life has taken, even if for only a couple of uninspired hours. I even stopped at Fine Spirits for a couple bottles of wine to bring.

I watch the fingers of rainwater trickle and splinter off the great windowpane that spans the whole north wall of the room. Gillian has left the French doors open to listen to the tapping drizzle outside, and the earthy, damp scent drifting inside is a creature comfort that my mind immediately takes to a dark place: I wonder if I’ll miss this in prison.

“Sorry we’re stuck out here, girls. Robert insisted on watching some game with his buddies and I didn’t want to cancel. Men, am I right?” She says this like we all don’t know her house is big enough to host the two parties in separate wings, or that this room she’s apologizing for is actually lovely.

“Who wants cake?” She cuts the white cylinder, iced and covered with neat fall decor shaped from sugar.

We sit in a loose circle of white, wingback chairs and exchange the obligatory compliments on one another’s hair or outfit. Then, conversation shifts to the weather and morphs into Gillian’s humblebrags about her latest gifts from Robert. Karen brings up a couple movies she saw with the family on Netflix over the weekend.

“That movie was an absolute turkey,” Karen adds, but I haven’t heard which one they’re talking about. My gaze rests on the water rushing the gutters down the alley behind the house.

“I suffered through that Ben Affleck puke-bonanza twice. Just because the kids like it.” I catch Liz saying this and can’t help laughing. She’s always been the funniest in the group.

“We’re trying to keep it light around our house, so any mindless comedies are welcome, what with a murderer on the loose in town,” Tammy says. Now I’m alert, my attention back on the group.

“Yeah, we upped our security system,” Karen says. “There are cameras in just about every room and you can see all the rooms in your house from your phone.” She pauses. “It’s actually really creepy.”

“I’d say. How can you not be creeped out by that? Every horror movie now has cameras set up and something horrible caught in the footage in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to look at it,” Gill says.

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