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“An ordeal?” I clinked my glass against hers and took a sip. “I thought it went smoothly, considering the circumstances.”
“I realize it could have been worse, but it was still tense.”
Had she forgotten about our previous conversation entirely? I’d expected her to be scared and cowering, trying to figure out new ways to avoid giving me a straight answer—Was she having an affair with the dead guy? And the second question, still waiting in the wings, filling my brain with white noise—Did she know why he’d been murdered?
I took another sip of my drink to fortify myself.
“Even though it was painfully tense,” she said, “I think we took a big step toward getting things back to normal.”
“Normal?”
“It just takes a little time, like it does with any kind of healing—physical or emotional. And we definitely need healing in our relationships, our trust, our willingness to let the others have their own opinions. I’m sure Patrick will come around at some point, even though it looks impossible right now.” She took a sip of her drink and placed the glass on the table. She stood and went to the railing, leaning over slightly, looking for a glimpse of the lake. “The sky looks spectacular. We should have gone to the beach to watch the sun go down. All of us.” She turned to face me.
“We need to talk.”
“Uh oh!” She laughed and took a sip of her drink.
“Have you forgotten what we were talking about?”
“Just now?” She let out another burst of laughter.
“Last night.”
“Sadly, I can barely remember this morning. Last night seems like a distant memory.”
It pissed me off that she was playing this game. She knew what we’d talked about. “I saw you with that dead guy in the pool. I saw you at Hunan Garden. I saw you at The Main Street Roasting Company. The two of you.”
“You’ve been following me?”
“No. I would never do that.”
“It sounds like you have.”
“Please don’t dodge the question with flimsy accusations. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of asking these questions and getting non-answers. Can you give me the respect of telling me the truth?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I was losing my patience. She was implying I wasn’t as clever as she was. Why else did she expect me to believe her flimsy stories? Didn’t she know me better than that?
“You need to tell me the truth about that guy. I know it was him because I saw you several times and I got a very good look. The minute I saw him in the pool, I knew it was him. I’ll be suspect number one if his body is ever found and your relationship is revealed, so I want a straight answer.”
“I told you—I’ve never cheated on you. It makes me sad that you don’t trust me.”
“Then who is he?”
She picked up her drink and took a long swallow, holding my gaze. I knew she was about to finally answer my question.
FIFTY
EMILY
I studied my husband’s face. It was a contorted blend of anger, hurt, and undisguised fear. I wasn’t sure if he still didn’t believe me and the fear came from anticipating hearing about a years-long love affair. I knew why he was angry. He hadn’t believed the excuses for a few minor changes in my behavior.
If Todd hadn’t died, none of this would have happened. Or maybe it would have. Long before that, Keith had been asking me why it sometimes took hours for me to respond to his text messages. He’d already asked why I’d turned off access to my location. So maybe it still would have come to this.
I really did not want to explain my relationship with Todd. I wasn’t sure Keith would even believe me. No one believes it when men and women have a platonic relationship. It’s like their brains are programmed by DNA that’s been established through centuries of human experience in reading signals, making sex their first thought when they see a man and woman together having a deep conversation. I might have thought the same if Keith’s and my positions were reversed.
Once I told him why I’d been meeting with Todd, he would ask even more questions, and he still might conclude there was something else between me and Todd.
