Page 11 of The Widow's Husband's Secret Lie
“That’s Michaela on the sofa—always on her phone.” Marnie gives me a conspiratorial look as if I’m intimately familiar with the relationship between the teenage progeny of my husband and their phones. “Then that’s Deacon eating the ice cream. Ember is the one making snow angels on the carpet. Royce is the one spinning around in a circle. Ayah is the one who is—Ayah, stop writing on the wall! And then over on the dining table are Shyleigh and Skyla. And then this one on my hip is little Arlo.” She beams at the baby. “Say hi to the nice lady, Arlo.”
Arlo sucks on his thumb.
I’m at a loss for words. I accepted that there was a tiny possibility my husband could have had a child or two with this woman. But there are enough children in this room to become a pop band of siblings that tours around the country in a psychedelic school bus. How could these children all be the spawn of my late husband?
Yet they undeniably look like him. They all have his blond hair and his eyes and his facial structure. Not only that, but the walls are littered with framed photographs of Marnie and Grantwith their children. If this is a hoax, it is an extremely elaborate one.
Deacon eats the last spoonful of his chocolate ice cream and runs over to his mother. He tugs on her dress and looks up at her with his chocolate-smeared face. “Mommy, is Daddy coming home soon?”
Marnie glances over at me and then gives her son a crooked smile. “He’s been very busy traveling, honey. It might be a while before he comes home again.”
“Mommy,” he says again, “will we get to eat dinner tonight? My tummy was so empty at bedtime last night.”
How could he be so hungry when he was literally just eating ice cream? But the kid does look almost skeletal. In fact, the entire family appears a bit malnourished, including Marnie.
“I hope so, Deacon,” Marnie replies. “It’s up to Auntie Alice over here.”
“Mommy,” he continues.
Oh God, what now?
“Do you think we’ll be able to watch television tonight, or will the power get shut off again?”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “Even if the lights go out, we can have another sleepover with flashlights. Wasn’t that fun?”
This kid is going to make me burst into tears. If Marnie’s goal was to pull my heartstrings, she has successfully achieved it. I can’t leave this house without helping these poor children.
“Fine,” I finally say. “I’ll make sure you get a piece of Grant’s inheritance.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
“We would need to do a DNA test, though. You know that, right?”
“Of course, of course…”
“If it comes back as a match,” I say, “I will arrange to give you half of the insurance and inheritance money.”
Her face fills with fury, pink circles appearing on her cheeks. “Half?” she bursts out. “Do youseehow many children are in this room? It costs me a week’s salary just to pay for one night of dinner! And you…” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s justyou. All you have to worry about is yourself.”
“Actually…” I lay one hand on my abdomen protectively. “I’m pregnant.”
It’s the first time I have uttered those words out loud. Marnie might not be my friend, like Poppy is, but we are connected. After all, when I have a child, that child will be a half-sibling to her children. Marnie and I are family now.
“So what?” Marnie shoots back. “So am I!”
Seriously? How many children was my husband planning to have with this woman before I found out about it?
But I can’t blame Marnie. She was in the dark, just like me. I can’t let her family starve just because my husband was a shit.
“Let me see what I can do,” I tell her.
11
While I’m driving home,I notice the dark-green sedan. I’m not the sort of person who would ordinarily notice a car trailing me. For all I know, every time I have left the house for the last decade, there has been someone following me. But lately, I am on high alert. Plus, the car has a pair of dice hanging from the rearview mirror, which makes it recognizable even from a few car lengths back.
For the first fifteen minutes of the drive, I try to convince myself it’s all a coincidence. Yes, a green car with dice hanging from the rearview mirror is riding my bumper at every turn. But that doesn’t mean they’re following me. Maybe they’re just coincidentally going to the exact same place that I’m going.
Then I get creative. I’m only about five minutes away from my house, but instead of swinging left at the light to get home, I turn right. I check my rearview mirror, blessedly dice free, to see if the green car is still there or if they have turned in a different direction. But there it is—the green car, still behind me.
