Page 32 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
“Please,” he says, his arm still draped casually around Georgina’s neck. “Let me introduce you to some of…”
He’s still speaking but Georgina is no longer listening. All she can focus on is the weight of his arm around her shoulders, the closeness of his body to hers. She feels herself begin to sweat, her dress sticking to her skin, her feet sliding in her heels.
And then Colin is there, his hand outstretched toward Principal Skinner.
“Colin Pembrook,” he says by way of greeting.
“Arnold Skinner.” Principal Skinner takes Colin’s hand in his larger one, pumps it up and down in an exaggerated motion. “I was just thanking your wife for your family’s generosity this evening.”
Colin smiles in that handsome, charismatic way of his, but Georgina can see through it. She can see the frost in his blue eyes, the darkness behind his bright white teeth.
“Of course,” Colin replies coolly. “You’re very welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, might I steal my wife for a moment?”
Principal Skinner laughs affably as he steps away from Georgina. “Of course, of course. Y’all enjoy the rest of the evening now.”
As Principal Skinner disappears back into the crowd, Colin leans close to Georgina’s ear. “Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?” He laces his fingers through hers.
Georgina knows how it looks to everyone else. She knows thattomorrow all the other mothers will be talking about how lucky she is. How her handsome, successful husband took time out of his busy schedule to join her at a school event when so many of theirs hadn’t, how sweet and romantic Colin is, the way he still holds Georgina’s hand in a crowd. But they don’t see how he squeezes her fingers so tightly that the band of her wedding ring digs into her skin, how, more than anything, she wishes he’d just let her go.
22
Hannah
Hawthorne Lane
“Did you win?” Mark asks.
Hannah blinks. “Huh?”
“I asked if you won the raffle.” He nods toward the ticket in her hand, and Hannah realizes she’s been staring at it.
“No,” she says with a small shake of her head. “I didn’t.”
Mark looks at her curiously, his brow furrowing slightly, as if Hannah is a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Are you all right?”
“Yup,” Hannah says a touch too brightly. “I’m fine.”
Mark opens his mouth as if to question her further, but then closes it again. They’ve been having a version of this same conversation for two weeks now, ever since Hannah opened the latest message—This isn’t over—and every time her answer has been the same: Everything is fine. Hannah is fine. There’s nothing bothering her at all. She knows Mark doesn’t believe her, but they seem to have reached something of a stalemate.
“I wonder what’s keeping Georgina,” Libby says, setting her phone aside for the first time all night.
Libby has been quiet for most of the evening. More so than usual, Hannah thinks. But then again, she doesn’t know the other woman that well. Maybe she’s always this connected to her phone. Hannah knows that Libby has a company to run, and perhaps it’s keeping her busy tonight, but she suspects it’s something else. Something that has her occasionally smiling down at the screen in her palm.
“Yeah,” Mark agrees. “She and Colin never did come back with those drinks.”
“Probably cornered by a pack of PTA moms,” Libby replies. “They can be pretty aggressive on their home turf.”
Mark laughs, that deep, open laugh of his, and Hannah is nearly broken with it. With the love she feels for her husband and the knowledge that she might soon lose him.
She closes her eyes, wincing at the unexpected stab of guilt. She sees herself then, so clearly it’s as if she’s back there: her hair fanning out behind her, caught in the wind, her shoes hitting the pavement so hard that she can feel the impact reverberating in her shins. And then there’s the blood. Always the blood. So much of it that she feels it sticky and warm between her fingers, the dark bloom of it soaking through her shirt.What have I done?she thinks.What have I done?
Hannah opens her eyes with a jolt, suddenly feeling lightheaded. These episodes have been happening more and more frequently, images of the past bursting into her mind when she least expects them, so vivid, so real, that they take her breath away.
She feels Mark’s eyes on her again, and she stands from the table, wobbling slightly in her heels.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his eyes searching Hannah’s for a truth he must know he won’t find.
“Fine,” she says again. “I’m fine.” She sees something dim in her husband’s eyes as he absorbs her latest lie, and it’s so painful that she has to turn away from it. “I’m just going to get some air.”
