Page 44 of The Woman I’ve Become

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Rick is barely out the door, and Acacia’s already next to me, demanding an answer. Did she overhear Rick’s questions about Phillip? Does the timing of his arrival confirm the two of them are somehow in on this together? An urgency surges through me. Of course, Rick was a major player in the investigation. He knew everything—except how to solve the case.

Or so it seemed. Based on our conversation just minutes ago, I’m not sure which side of this he’s on, but it’s feeling more and more like the wrong one. Still, part of me can’t get entirely right with that assessment no matter that there are moments when I am utterly convinced this is the case.

All that said, he couldn’t have known about the necklace. Not unless one of two people told him—and Phillip isn’t one of them. Not to mention, I have long had the feeling Rick has a thing for me, which might not go along with him working against me at this level.

Unless the attraction he has allowed me to recognize is his way of maintaining his own mask.

I stare at Acacia. Is she why Rick has suddenly started popping around so often? It is absolutely possible the two of them are working together. With her.

Fuck.

At my delay in responding she crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin at me. “I at least deserve an answer. If you think I’m lying, tell me why.”

Deserve? Ha! My outrage rears its head once more. Does this woman think me a fool? A new thought occurs to me, and I go with it.

“Do you want to know why I never mentioned knowing Wendy Neely to the police?” Let’s just see how she’ll react to this part of the story. I’m sure she has heard an entirely different version.

Eagerness fairly radiates from her. “Can’t wait.”

“Let’s sit. This will take a minute.” She follows me to the living room, and we both sit, me on the sofa, her in a chair opposite me. “Turn off your phone and place it on the coffee table.”

A stare down follows, but she is the first to break away. She shuts off her phone and places it on the table between us. There will be no recording of what I’m about to share.

I take a breath and begin. “She was my best friend. The one person I trusted. And she betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you how?” Her eyes are wide.

I want to see her reaction when I say his name. “With Casey Duval.”

She frowns. “Who is Casey Duval?”

Interesting. I don’t want to believe she doesn’t recognize the name, but it is possible, I suppose. Maybe she has only been told certain parts of the story. No doubt it was edited to suit my enemy’s purposes.

“I was in love with him, and she did this awful thing knowing how I felt. The last time I saw her, she was in his bedroom, wearing his shirt. I had run away from home with the intent of staying with him.” I look away for a moment as if the memory pains me greatly—which it does, still. “To go wherever he chose. And there she was.”

“You must have been devastated,” Acacia says, her posture, her face rapt as if she can’t wait to hear more. She’s enjoying this.

I’m not sure devastated is an adequate description of how it felt, and it only worsened as time passed. The primary reason is not as cut and dried as I’ve said, but the wound is the same.

“Part of me died that day,” I admit. I hug my arms around myself. The cold, harsh reality the memories evoke seeps into my body. The hour is late, and I am so very tired of all this. I’m grateful Olivia is fast asleep in her room.

“What did you do?” Acacia prompts.

She sits forward in her chair, her anticipation spiking higher, while I sink more deeply into the sofa. Apparently I’m not the only one who has opted to delete certain aspects of my story. Acacia obviously hasn’t heard this part.

“I walked away.” I weigh how much to divulge. “But I didn’t go far. There was a house for sale just down the street, and I broke in. It wasn’t difficult. Whoever showed it last left a side door unlocked.” I shake my head. “It was foolish, but the only thing on my mind at that moment was watching Casey. I wanted to know if they left together. I needed to know.”

When I fall silent for a time, she asks, “And did they?”

I laugh softly. “Unfortunately, I was exhausted and fell asleep. Crying, of course. I was, as you say, devastated, and I couldn’t fight the sleep.”

Acacia waits, her eyes still wide with interest. She wants the rest of the story. To use as leverage, no doubt.

“When I woke up and pulled myself together, I saw that his car was gone, so I walked back to his house.” I picture the neighborhood and that day. It was raining. It rained a lot that spring. Well into May. “They were gone. But everything else was still there—furniture and other stuff, even his clothes. I convinced myself he was coming back. Really I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t. I thought maybe he only took her home.” I barely restrain a smirk. “Wishful thinking.”

“So you waited,” she suggests, to keep me talking.