Page 65 of Count My Lies

“Absolutely!” Anne-Marie says. “The more the merrier! Claire and Rooney are ten times easier to manage when Harper’s around.”

“Great!” I say. “I’ll feed her lunch at home, then maybe Violet can bring her over after?”

“She’s welcome to eat with us. It’s supposed to be in the nineties today, so I was planning to head in early anyway to get out of the heat. I can make an extra grilled cheese for her.”

“Perfect.” I smile.

When Harper and I start back to our umbrella, I see Sloane, already sitting in a beach chair. She lifts a hand up and waves tentatively as we approach.

“Hey,” she calls out. She keeps her eyes on me as we reach the edge of the blanket, searching my face. Do I know?

I stare back for a moment, enjoying watching her sweat, then relax my face.Know what, Sloane?I smile broadly. “Hi! How was dinner last night?”

Sloane returns the smile uneasily. “Really nice,” she says carefully. “I think Harper had a good time, didn’t you, Harp?” She looks to Harper, who nods in agreement. “And the lobster was delicious. I’d never had one before.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “So good, huh? It’s my favorite lobster house. And did you get the molten chocolate cake?” I sigh wistfully. “The best I’ve ever had.”

Sloane nods. “We shared one. Jay was worried Harper would be up all night if she had her own.”

Oh, wow, what a good dad! Should I give him a standing ovation?The bar for men is unspeakably low. I smile tightly. Except that isn’t why they shared one. It’s funny, how well Sloane thinks she knows Jay, when in truth, she knows nothing about him except the lies we’ve both been feeding her.

“Are you feeling better?” Sloane asks, quickly changing the subject. She probably finds it uncomfortable talking about the date she had with my husband. A date that ended in a kiss. Well, more than one.

“Much,” I say. “Thanks. I took an ibuprofen eight hundred and it knocked me out. I slept like the dead. I didn’t even hear you guys come in.”

The relief on Sloane’s face is clear as day. I wonder if it kept her up, worrying if I’d heard them together in the hallway, if I lay in my bed, ears straining. Then her face tightens again. She chews on her lower lip, brow slightly furrowed.

Here it is. Here’s where she confronts me about Jay, about our divorce. I glance at Harper, digging a hole in the sand a few feet away.

Sloane clears her throat. “You told me you don’t drink.” She says it lightly, carefully, like she’s on tiptoe, stepping softly across a creaking floor, hoping not to make a sound.

I stare at her, surprised. What did Jay tell her? Did he tell her about the night things ended? About the shattered wineglass? The police officers on our doorstep?

I force my mouth into a placid smile.Play it cool.“I don’t.”

Sloane pauses, then, haltingly, “But Jay said…” she starts. She’s not sure how to finish that sentence without it sounding like an accusation.

“He said what exactly?” I raise an eyebrow wryly.Don’t be defensive, Violet.

Sloane shrugs. “Just that you drink sometimes. And I was confused because you told me you don’t.”

I lick my lips, exhale through my nose. Blink a few times, stalling, thinking. “Well,” I say. “I used to. It’s why I don’t anymore. It’s been a few months now, since I stopped. When we first moved, I was lonely, the days were long. I started drinking at five, having a glass of wine before dinner instead of with. Then five o’clock became four. Then three thirty. Then, before I knew it, I was pouring myself a drink at noon, drinking steadily until I put Harper to bed.”

This part isn’t a complete lie. It’s true that I was drinking more than I should have been. Anyone would have, if their husband did what mine had.

I sigh. “Anyway, eventually I realized something needed to change.” I don’t tell her why I’ve cut back, why I hide the bottle of vodka, why I only allow myself a glass or two every once in a while. It’s none of her business what happened that night.

“So I quit,” I say, shrugging. “One night I dumped all the bottles down the drain, like they do in the movies.” I smile at Sloane. “I didn’tsay anything to Jay because then I would have had to admit I’d had a problem. And who wants to do that? But”—I shrug—“I’m not surprised he hasn’t noticed. He’s been a little… preoccupied.”

I don’t look away when I say this, holding Sloane’s gaze. You, callingmea liar, Sloane? That’s fucking funny.

Sloane blinks, reddens, then shifts her gaze to the sand at her feet.

Then, abruptly, she says, “You know, I’m a little hungry. I didn’t eat anything before I came down. I’m going to head back up to the house and grab something. Want anything?”

I smile, shake my head. “No, thanks.”

I watch Sloane leave. She’s walking a bit more stiffly than usual, her shoulders held higher, back straighter.

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