Page 47 of One Last Lie

“I’ll hold you to that.”

I walk into the dining room and smile at Cecilia. My smile vanishes when I see her. Her face is red and puffy, and her eyes are bloodshot. She attempts a smile at me, but it’s clear that she’s been crying.

I rush to her side. “Cecilia! What’s wrong?”

She laughs at that. “What’s not wrong? My husband’s dead, his former business partner is trying to steal his company, and oh yes, my kids hate me.”

“They do not hate you.”

“Yes, they do. They blame me for Johnathan’s death.”

I flinch when she says that, but thankfully, she mistakes the reason for my reaction. "I don't mean they literally think I killed him," she clarifies, "but it's the classic projection. They loved him more than me, and they hate that I survived and he didn't."

“That’s not true.”

"Yes, it is. You don't have to protect my feelings. I've known these kids their entire lives. I can tell what they're thinking. Isabella hates me because she only ever talked to him, and she thinks she can't talk to me. Elijah hates me because I'm not wearing black and taking a vow of celibacy, and Samuel… well, Samuel still loves me, but he's withdrawn into a shell, and he won't come out. If it weren't for you, they'd all be in therapy right now."

I open my mouth to suggest that therapy might not be a bad idea, but then I realize who their therapist will likely be and close my mouth without saying anything. Paolo arrives with the light roast, and Cecilia takes it without acknowledging him. She has an excuse for rudeness this morning, but if this is her typical behavior around the staff, then I understand Paolo’s desire to leave.

Still, it is better that he leaves. It allows Cecilia to talk freely.

“It just sucks. I never thought that Johnathan’s death would cause everyone to turn against me.”

I frown slightly. That’s an odd way to say that. She doesn’t express shock at Johnathan’s death, just shock at the fact that she still suffers from it. It’s also interesting that she doesn’t complain at losing him, just at the way she’s treated when he passes.

I probe gently. “It must be hard not having him here to support you.”

She chuckles. “Support me. Ha. That’s funny.”

“Was Johnathan not an attentive husband?”

“Oh, he was attentive, all right. He was very attentive. When I wanted a new dress, I got it. When I wanted a pearl necklace, it would be on my neck before I finished asking. I got the car I wanted, the vacations I wanted, hell, we watched the tv shows I wanted to watch.”

I probe a little further. “But you weren’t happy?”

She doesn’t answer right away. She looks down at her hands and her lips twist a number of odd ways before she finally says, “Happiness is a strange thing. You can convince yourself you’re happy if you try hard enough. You can smile in the mirror or rest in a hot tub or wrap your legs around your husband and tell yourself that you have it made, that you’re lucky, that anyone would want to be you. You can look at your kids and love them, really love them, love them so much that it hurts. You can do all of these things, and you can feel happy, but…” she lifts her hands and gestures in frustration, “but it’s not real. I mean, it is. I love my kids, and I did love Johnathan. That’s the thing that sucks about it is that I did love him. I thought I’d spend my life with him. But…”

She taps her fingers pensively on the table, and I dare to ask a dangerous question. “But you don’t miss him.”

She heaves a big sigh, and her shoulders slump in relief. No doubt hearing someone else put into words feelings she’s hidden from all others is a godsend, at least in her mind. “I don’t.”

Her lower lip trembles with the flood of pent-up emotions she’s released. She turns to me and smiles with naked self-contempt. “And now you know my big, dirty secret. The father of my child, the man I bore three children for, the man I gave every part of my body to almost every night for almost twenty years is dead, and I don’t miss him. Not a damned bit.”

The enthusiasm with which she speaks is unsettling. Strictly speaking, much of her behavior could be explained by shock or misplaced grief or simple jealousy at the fact that she isn’t enough to make up for the loss of Johnathan in the children’s minds.

But there’s a hint of triumph there, an almost flaunting attitude that unnerves me. Her eyes flash with the exultation of victory, and once more, I wonder if I’m looking into the eyes of a killer.

I don’t know what to say, but she waits for me to speak, so I have to say something. I offer, somewhat lamely, the same explanation I give Paolo. “You were young when you married him. You didn’t know what you wanted in life. You were caught in the blush of new romance, and you married a man you were infatuated with. Those aren’t feelings to be ashamed of.”

She laughs bitterly. "They wouldn't be. Except that, I knew on my wedding day that things would end the way they did. I looked into his eyes, smiled and said 'I do,' all the while knowing I would come to hate him."

I should be cautious now. I should sympathize with her. Or else, I should say something neutral. Hell, I should stay silent, rather than say what I do.

But the triumph in her voice, and the sneer she wears when she admits her hatred to Johnathan overcome me. I like Cecilia, but I care far more deeply for her children.

At the very least, I don’t accuse her directly. I simply say, “What if I told you I had reason to believe that he was murdered?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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