Page 83 of Her Dark Lies
“That’s kind of you to say, but I fear I’m in over my head.”
“Oh, no. Signore Jackson would never bring home another woman who wasn’t perfect.”
What? What did she say?
“Another woman? He’s brought women here before?”
Fatima pales, then her face flushes bright red. “I did not mean that.”
Oh, yes, she did. Though she’s blushing and looking away, there is a small smile on her face, something quick and cruel. I feel slightly better that I haven’t confided too much in her.
“You can tell me. I hardly think Jack was a monk before we met. He is ten years older, after all. And I know he was married before. It’s not a secret. Was it his first wedding? I thought that was in California.”
But Fatima is done with true confession girl time. “I will check on things now. Let me unzip you. Hang the dress and I will be back soon to air it out.Mi scusi.”
She yanks the zipper down roughly, practically knocks me out of the dress, then leaves me standing alone in front of the floor-length mirror.
I hang the loaned gown carefully. The dressing room closet is dark and smells of cedar and the mustiness of the mothballs this dress was stored with.
My mind whirls while I slip on my jeans and a button-down, pour a cup of tea from the pot Fatima has brought. I take a sip, careful not to mess up the lipstick Fatima put on me. It is too strong; I abandon the cup on the table.
Who else did Jack bring home to Isle Isola? Is there someone else in his life Jack hasn’t told me about?
That note:Don’t you miss me, darling?
Damn it, I am missing something. Something major. Something important.
Stop it, Claire. You’re borrowing trouble. Just wait for Jack to come back, and you can talk to him about all of this.
But I can’t help myself. I start to obsess. The dark whirlpool of emotions that seized me earlier swirls into my mind, and I feel my breath coming short again.
Everything, the trip, the storm, the break-in, the fear in Will Compton’s voice, the horror of finding Henna in the hall—God, what are they going to do with her body? Oh yeah, the crypt, I bet they put her down there in that cold, cruel darkness. And now there is the specter of another faceless woman who once captured Jack’s heart enough that he brought her home to his parents.
A chill flows through my body, and tears begin to prick at the edges of my vision. My heart rate starts to climb, and I see spots. The strange nausea from earlier surges; I put a hand to my mouth and swallow hard, again, and again, choking back my sobs. I’m torn between hurt and fury. Jack never mentioned another serious girlfriend. Something like that would have been all over the news; Katie would have laid it at my feet like a Labrador with a tennis ball. But the way Fatima shut down so abruptly was troubling. She had overshared, and she knew it. So, there is something to her claims.
The Comptons and their damnable secrets. Do they not understand how impossible it is to lie to people in this world? To keep a life private? How am I supposed to live inside this gilded cage?
Come on, stop it. You can’t keep having panic attacks for no reason. And quit whining. Women would kill to be in your shoes. Quit it.
I breathe deeply, trying to hold on, trying so hard to keep it together.
Don’t think about this now, Claire. Don’t ruin everything. It’s all going to be okay.
Jack will handle things.
I catch my breath and start to calm. What a cop-outthatthought is. It disrespects Henna’s memory and my own nature to step aside and let the big strong man take care of everything. But what am I supposed to do? Jack does make me strong. I have to be strong for him now. I have to be strong for the family I am joining.
I cross the room to the French doors, unsteady on my feet, my steps oddly loose. The rain is lashing the panes, coming down in opaque sheets. There will be no sun today, but the view has lightened as an unseen orb mounts the sky. The fragrance of the lemons is subdued by the sharp scent of ozone. The worst of the severe weather is past for now; it’s just heavy rain with some occasional flashes of lightning. The thunder is distant. Watching is meditative, calming. After a few moments, I’m surprised by how warm and snug I feel inside.That’s it, Claire. Warm and snug. You’re safe. You’re safe, and nothing will happen to you. Or to Jack. Everything’s going to be okay.
As pretty as it is, I don’t want to wear a stranger’s dress. I want my own gorgeous gown. I want my glorious, fun-filled wedding weekend, not this drizzly, murderous mess.
My thoughts are jagged, disrupted, kaleidoscoping through my head. I can’t focus on anything for more than a second at a time. I think briefly about Henna again but shake the vision of her broken body away. The blood. The blood, everywhere. My mom. She’s going to have one hell of a hangover.
All I had was a cup of tea with that pinch-faced woman.
I cross the room unsteadily to the teapot. Fatima made me the tea, did she? Or did I make it?
I can’t remember. I lift the lid and sniff. It smells like English Breakfast with a hint of something floral.
