Page 73 of The Wife

“‘Turned up’? I don’t think an NYPD detective would show up at your door if they thought she was off on a romantic sojourn.”

I had filled Susanna in on Detective Duncan’s visit to the house, as well as the alibi I ended up offering for Jason. Jason was back at the house with me now, and he, Colin, and I had gotten our stories straight. We even printed out evidence of Spencer’s call to my phone and the receipt from my movie rental for Olivia.

Susanna sounded like a prosecutor, laying out Jason’s motive to kill Kerry Lynch. His criminal case was only paused for a month. The woman had filed a civil suit seeking millions of dollars in damages. His career, reputation, and future hung in the balance.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. We’re talking about Jason. He didn’tkillanyone.”

“People get pushed to the brink and do things you never expect. I mean, I never thought you’d lie to the police. You not onlyliedfor him, you dragged Spencer into it. And you tripled down on it by giving all those documents to Jason’s lawyer. It’s one thing to stand by his side, Angela, but that’s obstruction of justice. You’re affirmatively doing something wrong to cover up for him.”

“It’s not ‘covering up for him’ if he was at Colin’s house. Whether he was at our place or Colin’s is irrelevant. The point is, he wasn’t anywhere near Kerry Lynch’s.”

“Why are you so certain of that? You know Colin. He’s convinced Jason is innocent. If he thinks vouching for him will put your mind at ease, he would totally lie for him.”

If I had to bet money, I’d say Colin was telling the truth about being with Jason. But if I had to bet my arm? I wouldn’t take that wager. I didn’tknowwhere Jason was Wednesday night, in that sense of the word.

“I can’t explain it, Susanna. When you’ve got a cop standing right there, asking ‘Where was your husband?,’ you just start talking. I’m actually sort of proud of myself that I managed to lie so strategically. I could’ve screwed it up royally.”

“Well, that’s comforting. If this all goes south, maybe you can run a flimflam racket from prison.”

“I’m not going to prison.”

“You lied to a detective. How many times do I have to say that before it sinks in?”

“Maybe you should have bought less hooch if you wanted me to pay attention to reality.” I refilled my flute, even though it wasn’t empty yet.

“I’m not kidding, Angela. The last time we talked, it sounded like you were starting to realize Jason might have another side to him, including the way he treats you. Now you’re back to being his biggest defender.”

I put my glass down and looked her directly in the eye. “Trust me. I am not a fan of his right now. What he did to me was bad. Really bad. And he’s no angel. But I’m not willing to use the word you want me to use for what happened between us that night. And he’s definitely not a murderer. Just the thought of it is ridiculous. Are you telling me that you can picture Jason—ourJason—driving out to that woman’s house, killing her somehow, and hiding her body in the woods somewhere?” I heard my own voice shake. I didn’t want to let my mind picture the scene.

She held my gaze and then looked away and shook her head.

“Okay, good. We at least agree on that. My husband’s not a murderer. Cheers!”

“I’m only looking out for you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Susanna, I know that!”

She flinched. I had never snapped at her like that before. I reached over and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m so sorry. I just want this to be over.”

“Well, what if it’s not?”

“It will be at some point.”

“You need to protect yourself before then. Just tell me this: If the DA pulls you into a grand jury and asks you where Jason was, what are you going to do?”

She kept pressing me until I finally answered. “I wouldn’t lie under oath.”

“You’re sure? You promise?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t cross that line. But they’re not going to do that. Stop worrying. That girl—woman, Kerry, whatever—she’ll turn up any second.”

I was doing my best to sound confident, and the alcohol was helping. But inside, I knew my entire life was about to change. It had to.

After two cups of coffee and a cleaning frenzy, I was feeling nearly sober by the time Jason got home. The entire contents of the pantry were emptied on our kitchen table, countertops, and floor. I had purged a garbage bag full of half-eaten packages of nuts, chips, crackers, spaghetti, hot cocoa, oatmeal—everything that needed to go—and had a plan to organize what was left. Two boxes of Nicorette were set aside near the doorway.

“Are we having a food drive?”

“You didn’t get my message?”

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