Page 58 of When the Smoke Clears

If he can’t be bothered to do it here, why is he so proactive elsewhere?

Alan’s phone glows, perched atop our dresser and plugged into the charger. My heartbeat picks up. I’ve never gone through his phone. Just thinking about it feels dangerous. Not because of what I may find, but because of what would happen if he discovered me.

Like a summoning beacon, a notification illuminates the screen. On silent feet, I inch closer. His preview setting is off, but the name is clear.Kathryn.

Like a geyser, repressed feelings from the years burst through me.Who the hell is Kathryn?

The fury cascading through me isn’t jealousy over another woman sleeping with my husband. Though it should be. It’s the realization that while I’ve been here playing Suzy Fucking Homemaker, killing myself to be perfect and poised, to avoid more mistakes and shame, and keep my husband happy in every way, that bastard thought he could humiliate me.

Kathryn could be a work associate. Except that I’ve seen calls and notifications come in on occasion, and the company name always follows the contact name. Alan’s extremely detailed in that aspect.

The shower cuts off and I exit the closet, shutting the door completely so it’s as I found it.

A shrill beep echoes through the downstairs as the timer for my lasagna rings. It’s the perfect excuse to make myself busy in the kitchen. Alan’s going to have something to say about the frozen Texas Toast, but it’s a comfort I’m indulging in this evening.

His clipped footsteps approach from behind, the flat soles of his house shoes warning of his arrival.

“Feel better?” It’s an effort to keep my voice pleasant as I set the salad and plates on the dining table.

Alan seats himself at the head of the table. “Much.”

Sitting next to him, I focus on the salad on my plate, applying the perfect amount of dressing to avoid looking too curious. “How was your trip? Productive?”

His eyes raise to my face while I feign distraction over a large piece of lettuce. Hot fear creeps up from my chest into my neck, and I force it back, worried mostly about the possibility of a telling rouge on my skin. After a moment of silent observation, he says, “It was. Did you keep yourself busy while I was away?”

“Mainly laundry and finding homes for the items I brought from Mother’s house.” Those things are true, which allows me to look him in the eye.

He lifts his chin in acknowledgement.

We eat quietly for a few minutes, until a question from him cuts through the tension. “Will you be visiting again soon?”

The muscles in my torso tighten, as if bracing for impact. “I don’t think so.”

“Have you made a decision about contesting the will like we discussed?” This question comes faster, as if it was on the tip of his tongue.

“I haven’t.” My eyes scan the dining room. “I like our life here in Dallas, don’t you? I don’t see a reason to worry about the house.” I try to keep my face soft when I look back at him.

He doesn’t return the attempt. His mouth is tight and he’s gripping his fork with enough force that I’m convinced he’ll have indentions on his fingers. “You’re the eldest daughter, Stephanie. It stands to reason you would be included in the will.”

I don’t argue that I am. It’s him that’s the problem. “Randi will work with me.” My words do little to calm him.

His jaw ticks. Something flashes in his eyes and he scoops another bite of lasagna into his mouth. After swallowing, he has a new question. “Have you heard from Maci since we left?”

My eyes dart to him. “I saw her for lunch right after you left for your work trip.” It hits me like a freight train that it was the same day of the attack. An event that risked both of our children, but only mine made it through.

He waits, but I offer nothing else. Finally he grits out, “She always seems to be causing trouble. I was sure you would have heard from her by now.”

I coat my face in boredom and blink at him. “We don’t talk that frequently.”

He studies me slowly, and I manage to hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking back to my plate as if it’s more interesting than this conversation which has my blood pressure through the roof.

What will he do if he finds out the truth? And how the hell am I getting out of here without him doing just that?

Chapter 21

Maci

Afaintvibrationwakesme. My eyes are heavy and swollen, and my brain is muddled. I roll over in the bed, confused. It’s brighter than usual, but I can’t figure out the time. The vibrating continues.

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