Page 73 of The Villa

“When?” I bark, and she flutters her hands.

“Right now, if you’ll sit down and—”

“No, when did it start?”

I’m already racing back through the last few years, trying to find the moment. There was that visit Chess made to us two years ago. There was the trip we took to see her in Charleston, then the week in Kiawah. But other than that, she and Matt hardly ever saw each other. How thefuckdid this happen?

“There was nostart, Em, Jesus. It wasn’t an affair, it was a one-time thing. That week you two came to Kiawah. When I took him golfing.”

After I’d gotten sick. Four months before Matt had walked out. Chess had just learned that Nigel was engaged and she was devastated. She called me, begging me to visit. She’d known about the baby stuff, but the rest of it—the doctors, the brain fog, the nights curled up on the floor of the bathroom—I’d kept a secret. The time never seemed right to tell her, and there was something about it that felt embarrassing.

Weak.

If I’d known what was wrong, if I’d had a clear diagnosis to share, it would’ve been easier. But “I can’t think straight and I throw up for no real reason” felt too pathetic to say outloud—not to mention, impossible to explain—so I’d never mentioned it.

Instead, I’d agreed to come because she needed me, and then Matt had just assumed he was invited, too, and I hadn’t been able to figure out how to tell him no.

It had been fine, though. Chess’s house was big and airy, and I’d started feeling better the moment I arrived. Matt had seemed better, too—lighter, less stressed—and when he’d asked Chess to take him golfing, I hadn’t thought twice about it. I’d spent that afternoon sitting by Chess’s pool, working a little on the ninth Petal book, content and happy, thinking how nice it was that my best friend and my husband could easily spend time together without me.

“What, did you fuck him in the back of a golf cart, Chess? At least tell me there was some kind of ‘ninth hole’ joke. You know, to set the mood, keep everything classy.”

“Don’t be crude,” she snaps back, and I almost laugh at that.

“Right, you’re fucking your best friend’s husband on thegolf course, but I’m the crude one.”

“It wasn’t at the golf course, Jesus Christ, Em.” Chess throws up her hands. “It was in my car, okay? In my car, by the beach. Are you happy now? Do you want any other details? We had too many cocktails at lunch, and then we were driving back to the house, I told him there was this really pretty spot closer to the water where I was thinking of building, I drove him there, and then…it…just happened.”

I rise to my feet, hands shaking, a metallic taste in my mouth. “Why?” I ask, because what other question is there?

Chess bites her lower lip, looking away. “It was after I found out Nigel was getting married, you remember that,” she says. “I was so crazy about him, Em. I actually thoughtthat prick would be my husband, and then not only does he dump me, he finds someone else, like, five seconds later, and…” She blows out a long breath.

“I’m sorry, Em, but Matt was flirting with me, and I was sitting there thinking, ‘See? Marriage is total bullshit. Even Emily’s marriage is bullshit.’ And I think… I think I just wanted to know if he would. IfIwould.” She pauses. “And besides, you’ve always had everything.”

That startles a horrified laugh out of me. “Chess, I’m pretty sure that by the time you were fucking my husband, you were also fuckingfamous. We were staying at your fancy beach house on anisland, and you decided that the only thing you couldn’t live without was an accountant from Asheville?”

“I didn’t say it made sense!” Chess shouts in reply, throwing up her hands. “And I didn’t mean it like that. I mean when we were kids. You had this gorgeous house, and parents who called you ‘Pumpkin’ even after you turned thirty. When college was over, you went running back to this perfect enclave where you never had to worry about anything while I busted my ass to wait tables where people ate two-hundred-dollar meals and left five-dollar tips. I had to live in a shitty apartment withStefaniewhile you probably had Deborah still making your bed for you.”

I gape at her, almost madder about this bullshit than I am about Matt. “I was miserable! I was a loser living with my parents, whileyouwere reinventing yourself with new friends in a new city. Sorry, I didn’t realize that came across as ‘having everything.’ Maybe I should’ve put sadder pictures on my Facebook or something. That’s the one language you really speak, right?”

I’m so angry I’m practically spitting, and I point at her, adding, “And even if my mother was bringing me fuckingfilet mignon on a gold-plated tray, that’s no excuse to have an affair with my husband.”

“It wasn’t an affair,” she objects, holding up both hands. “I swear, Em. It was one time.”

“Then why was he giving you jewelry? Why were you obviously on the phone with himtoday, Jessica?”

Her shoulders sag. “After Kiawah, he kept calling. You know, that’s how I first found out you’d been sick. I had to fake surprise when you told me after he left you. And that hurt, Em. Knowing you were going through this big, scary thing and didn’t want to tell me.”

“If you think I’m going to apologize to you for anything right now, you are out of your goddamn mind.”

She holds up her hands. “I know, okay? I’m just… I’m trying to make you understand. Matt tells me you’ve been sick, that the baby stuff is on hold, that he wasn’t living the life he wanted.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “He started reading my fuckingbooks. Telling me he knew I ‘got it’ because this was the kind of thing I was always telling my readers, how to find their ‘authentic life.’”

I absorb those words like a blow, but don’t say anything, and Chess sighs.

“So that’s when he started sending things, and I… I don’t know. I couldn’ttellyou obviously, but I also couldn’t let you stay with someone who’d fuck your best friend, either. I mean, I cover a lot of shit in my books, but even I had to admit that I was out of my depth. So, I kept talking to him, stringing him along, because I was afraid if I shut him down, he’d get angry and then he’d tell you what I’d done. And then you’d never speak to me again. I couldn’t have lived with that, Em.”

“Really? Because it sure sounds like you don’t evenlikeme, Chess.”

She blinks, as surprised as I’ve ever seen her. “What? Emmy, I love you. You’re my best friend. More than that. You’re… you’re my sister, basically. Of course, I don’t always like you. Sometimes I hate you, but that’s only because I love you. Don’t you get that? Don’t you feel that way, too?”

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