Page 28 of The Widow's Husband's Secret Lie
“How did you hit him on the head when I was standing over here?”
“Um, I just took the shovel and swung it as hard as I could. He went down pretty easily!”
“But…” I scrutinize the woman I thought was my best friend, from her yoga pants to her baggy T-shirt. She looks surprisinglyreal for a person I am hallucinating. I’m sort of impressed with my brain right now. “But you’re not real. You’re all in my head.”
“I’mwhat?”
“You’re a figment of my imagination,” I clarify. “I fabricated you as a way to deal with my husband and his obsession.”
“Um, excuse me?” She plants a hand on her hip. “I just saved your life by hitting your homicidal husband on the head with a shovel, and now you’re repaying me by telling me that I’m not real?”
“But you’re not,” I insist.
“So how did I hit Grant on the head with a shovel?”
I drop my gaze to my own palms. “I must’ve hit him on the head with that shovel. Somehow.”
Poppy rolls her eyes. “Okay, and what about those five casseroles I brought you?”
“I must have made them myself.”
“How about the times I drove you to the mall, and we went shopping together?”
“I must’ve been driving.”
“What about when I made that huge charcuterie platter for book club, with all those little prosciutto roses I spent hours shaping?”
“I guessImade the charcuterie tray and shaped all those roses myself.” Poppy gives me a look, and I shrug helplessly. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I genuinely wish you were real. But I went over to your house a few hours ago, and…” I gesture out the window at the colonial-style house where the old woman had turned me away. “There was somebody else living there. She told me that there had been a Poppy living there many years ago, but she died in a fire.”
Poppy gawks at me. “Alice, seriously? You know I live in the house on theleft, don’t you? That’s Mrs. Hubbard on the right, and she is completely confused half the time.”
“What?”
“Oh my God.” She blows out a breath between her teeth. “This is why it’s annoying that I am always the one coming over to your house. Maybe if you came over tomyplace a little more often, you would know where I freaking live, Alice.”
“Oh.” Now that she mentioned it, I do remember that Poppy’s house is the yellow one on the left. Oops, my mistake. “Sorry about that.”
Grant starts to stir on the carpet below us. He mumbles something, and his eyes crack open. He looks like he’s about to try to get up again, but honestly, I’m just ready to be done with this. I glance over at Poppy, and then without another word, I pick up the shovel that is still leaning against the wall. And I bring it down on Grant’s scalp. Then I do it again.
And again.
And again.
Poppy watches the whole thing, but she doesn’t stop me. When I’m done, there’s blood all over the carpet and the shovel. But Grant isn’t moving anymore.
“He’s dead.” I let the shovel drop out of my hand and clatter to the floor. “The nightmare is finally over.”
“Not yet.”
I raise my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“We still have to bury the body.”
28
Poppyand I spend the next two hours burying my husband in my backyard.
All I have to say is that I am super sure she is not imaginary, because there is no way I could have done it on my own. I find an extra shovel in the garage, and we dig a hole large enough to throw Grant’s body inside. We dig through the soil to a depth of about three feet, hoping it’s enough to keep the animals away.
