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FIFTY-FOUR
NATALIE
“Natalie Merritt, please rise.”
Slowly, hesitantly, I stood up. My head bowed, I stared at the hideous orange jumpsuit I was wearing. It was itchy and ill-fitting, and I hated the color orange almost as much as I hated polyester. I wanted to rip it off along with the shackles on my hands and feet.
“We have a verdict.” Trembling, I met the judge’s fierce gaze. He was a dead ringer for the man I hated. And feared as much as the verdict.
His eyes were like knives, sharp and pointed at me. “What you did is a crime. How could you do that? The jury unanimously finds you guilty of reckless endangerment of a child. Two counts of involuntary manslaughter. And for killing your husband, one count of premeditated murder.”
“No!” I recognized the voice. Paige! She and Will had come every day to my trial, sitting in the courtroom behind me. “Leave my mom alone! She’s not a bad person! Please!” I heard her break out in heart-wrenching sobs. It hurt me too much to turn around and look at her.
The judge snarled. “The court is sentencing you to one hundred and thirty years in prison with no chance of parole.”
“Nooo!”
* * *
I heard myself scream as I bolted to an upright position, bathed in a cold sweat. My breathing was shallow, my body shaking. I breathed in and out from my nose, trying to calm myself.
My heartbeat slowed; my breathing quieted. It was only a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. To make sure, I pinched myself. It hurt. I was still alive! My husband hadn’t shot me. And he was still alive too. Conked out in the bed next to mine. I could hear his soft snores. What was he waiting for? Did he plan to shoot me in broad daylight?
I had no idea what time it was. The curtains were drawn, the room pitch black. I fumbled for my phone on the night table where I’d left it. It was going on midnight. I’d been passed out for hours in my now damp, perspiration-ridden clothes.
Tapping the flashlight button, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoed over to the dresser to put on some fresh pajamas. Having no idea which drawer I’d put them in, I randomly pulled one open. I reached my hand inside, rifling through it.
Beneath a folded sweater, my fingers brushed across a hard, cold metal surface. I picked up the object. My hand trembled. My heart galloped. I didn’t need the flashlight to tell me what it was.
Way heavier than I imagined, it was Matt’s Magnum. Tanya hadn’t been making things up. He’d brought it along. She was right. A terrifying reality hit me with the speed of a bullet. Any doubts I had evaporated like water. Before I could take him to the cleaners, he was going to take me out!
Shoot me!
I clung to the gun, my heart thudding, my body numb. What should I do? I could toss it outside, but that would wake up Matt. And my throw sucked. He’d find it in the morning. I could hide it somewhere, but that was too risky and potentially too noisy. Again the thought of calling 911 or hotel security crossed my mind, but what would I tell them? My husband has a gun and he’s going to kill me. But that was ridiculous. His gun was registered and legal. Plus, people hunted in these parts. And if it wasn’t loaded (something I wasn’t checking), what case did I have?
There was only one thing I could do for now. Keep myself safe from him.
Keep the gun in my possession.
Forgoing my pajamas, I returned to my bed and stuck the weapon under my pillow. I could feel it beneath me as I stared up at the ceiling. As if the gun was loaded with Xanax, shooting a round of oval white pills into my vessels, my mindset went from manic to tranquil.
I’d sleep on the gun. And sleep on how I’d deal with Matt tomorrow.
FIFTY-FIVE
MATT
We might have been on vacation, but my body was wired to get up at 6a.m. Plus, I wanted to get some skiing in before another storm hit this afternoon. A few good runs might instill me with a rush of endorphins. I badly needed some. A vacation was supposed to de-stress you, but I was anything but relaxed. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode was more like it.
There was no escaping this divorce. I just wanted to get it over with. At least I’d figured out a way to deal with Natalie. She wasn’t going to like what I had in store for her. But I had no choice. There was no way in hell I was going to let her take me to the cleaners. Or take away my kids.
A short ten minutes later, I was downstairs, dressed in my ski clothes, eating breakfast purchased from the hotel’s snack bar. The restaurant wasn’t open until seven, but I was fine with the paper cup of coffee and almond croissant, and sitting on a couch in the quiet, deserted lobby.
The first thing I did was text Will, who was also an early riser, to let him know I was heading up to Sugarloaf and that I’d be back by early afternoon. He could share my whereabouts with Paige and their mother. Natalie was the last person I wanted to talk to. Last night, to my relief, when I’d returned to the room, I’d found her conked out and this morning she was still sound asleep. Dead to the world.
And soon she’d be dead to me.
I took a few sips of my piping hot brew through the plastic lid flap and then bit into the sticky croissant. Bordering on a day old, it was hardly as good as the ones Nat bought from her favorite French pastry shop. Or the ones I’d grown up with.
