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This is all starting to feel like a therapy session where I’m expected to unpack any childhood trauma I experienced that might’ve made me this way. Only I have three therapists instead of just one and—like something out of a recurring nightmare—the woman I most care about impressing has a front row seat to the process.
“Look,” I say, attempting to keep my voice even and in control, “this really isn’t the time or the place to psychoanalyze me. Our focus now is on making sure Nora doesn’t go to prison for an act of self-defense.”
“That’s called deflection,” Mel stage-whispers. “But we’ll allow it,” she adds at a normal volume, “seeing as we really do need to figure out how to help Nora.”
“Exactly.” I nod definitively, then finally allow myself to peek over at Nora. She has a thoughtful expression on her face as she studies me, but when my eyes meet hers she snaps to attention, then quickly busies herself fiddling with her seatbelt.
“I have something to say too,” Lucy announces, looking distinctly uncomfortable as we all shift our attention over to her.
“Go ahead,” I prompt when she doesn’t speak for a full minute.
“Yeah, okay.” She nods, dragging in a breath, then lifts her purse and starts to rummage through it as she speaks. “I did something. Ouch.” She winces as her hand meets something in her bag, but then pulls the offending item out. Next to me Nora gasps.
“That’s my knitting needle,” she squeaks, grabbing her own purse and searching frantically through it. Her green eyes widen as her searching comes to an abrupt stop. “You took that from my purse,” she says softly.
Lucy wrinkles her nose, but then nods. “Yes, I did. But, I swear, it’s not what you think. I wasn’t going to show it to anyone. I saw the skein of yarn it was stuck in poking out of your purse back at Reynolds’ house, and I wondered if you’d even thought about getting rid of the needle. So I took it. I was going to hide it, you know, so that they couldn’t match the knitting needle used to this one and figure out that you were the one that, er, stabbed Ian Wharfman.” She grimaces, then presses on.
“But this discussion we’ve been having made me realize that this might have been a bit rash of me. I don’t want Nate to get in trouble for what I did, and it would also be bad if I got in trouble…” She rubs her belly. “I’m not looking to give birth in prison,” she says with a weak chuckle. “So now I’m thinking that the best thing to do would be to ask Reynolds what he thinks we should do with the needle.” She holds it out expectantly to me. “What do you think?”
What do I think? I think that was a huge misstep on my part not to think of getting rid of the needle first. A better man would admit they messed up, but I’m going to brush past it in the hopes of Nora not losing all faith in me.
“Yeah, we really should get rid of the needle,” I say gruffly. “Here, pass it over.” Lucy gives me the needle and I make sure to touch it all over so that it’s not just Lucy and Nora’s prints on the thing. I’m toying with the idea of putting it in Connie Wharfman’s trash can, but decide this would be too mean. She may be a little crazy, but she didn’t kill him, so I shouldn’t be trying to point the finger at her. Anyway, better to put the needle somewhere it’s unlikely to ever be found, like in the trash can at some random fast food store. Though we’ll have to wrap it in something so it doesn’t poke a hole in the bag.
“Let’s get out of here,” I tell them as I set the needle in the door panel. I’d hold onto it, but the thing really is sharp.
“Where are we headed?” Lucy asks as she pulls away from the curb.
Next to me Nora’s stomach grumbles and just like that I have a next step. Taking care of Nora is always priority number one for me.
“Time for lunch,” I reply.
Chapter 18
Nora
I’M HALFWAY THROUGH my burrito bowl when my phone rings. All eyes turn to me as I remove it from my purse, but I only look at Jack as I identify the caller.
“It’s Stella,” I tell him. “From work. Should I answer?”
He nods. “But maybe outside?”
We both stand, the other three look like they want to come as well, but Jack shakes his head at them. This is a relief, since I have no idea how this conversation with Stella is going to go. The last thing I need is an audience.
As we head out of the restaurant, Jack’s hand finds the small of my back, sending a zing of pleasure zipping through me. He pushes the door open for me and I lament the loss of contact between us as I step outside ahead of him. There’s no time to think about this, though, since I need to answer this call before it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Stella,” I say into the phone, surprised when my voice comes out breathy rather than nervous. I suppose that’s the Jack effect.
“Norrraa,” she stretches out my name. In my periphery Jack motions for me to put the call on speaker. “Thank goodness you answered. Do you have any idea what’s been going on here? You picked a heckuva day to play hooky and get marr-ied,” she sings the last word. “Still can’t believe that. Who even is this Jack guy?”
I try not to wince at this question, oddly worried that it might hurt Jack’s feelings and really wishing that I hadn’t listened to his request to put this call on speaker. Stella didn’t work at the pharmaceutical company when Jack and I were dating. She only started eight or nine months ago. So, since I have always made a point of not talking about Jack, there’s no way she could ever have heard of him. But still, his friends’ wives knew about me, and now Jack is finding out my friends don’t know about him. It feels…off.
Especially since the reason I never talked about him was because it was too painful to revisit those happy times in my life all the while knowing I’d never have that with him again.
I’m nowhere near ready to admit any of that to Jack, though.
“Um, he’s Jack,” I say out loud. “My husband.” I trip over the words as Jack steps closer to me. I wonder if my use of those two words has the same effect on him as his use of the words my wife. Is he now playing his own game of romantic-feelings whack-a-mole?
It would serve him right.
