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Charity and Chas were in bed, Buckley had gone to the hospital on the mainland with Stu, and I was sitting on the velvet couch in Clarice’s hotel room with a large glass of rosé. She’d already drunk most of a bottle.
Her apology was welcome, but too little and too late. I couldn’t simply forgive and forget, not yet.
“I judge people on actions, not words. If you truly are sorry, you need to show it, not just say it.”
“How?”
“By not making me feel small every time we see each other. Even if you don’t stick up for me when Mom and Odette put me down, the least you could do is not join in. And how about accepting that wanting to stay childless is a perfectly valid life choice? Not being a mother doesn’t make me a lesser person, and nor does having a boyfriend instead of a husband. I enjoy my job. I’m comfortable in my apartment. And I love Hawk.”
“Hawk? Who’s Hawk?”
“Kellan. Who’s actually called Brendan, but that isn’t important right now. What matters is that I’m happy. The only thing that makes me unhappy is coming back to Maine and spending time around my family.”
“I wish I could be happy,” she whispered.
Clarice’s cheeks were streaked with tears, and her hair was a bird’s nest of crispy hairspray and loose bobby pins. She’d changed into silk pyjamas and a robe, which was as casual as she got. In Clarice-terms, she was a mess. She’d never normally be seen dead in sleepwear.
“You could be happy. If you don’t like the status quo, change it.”
“But I don’t have any money. There’s a prenup—Buckley’s parents insisted on it because he inherited the house from his grandfather.”
“Then get a job.”
“How? I have children.”
“So do millions of other employees. Start with part-time work during school hours, or get Buckley to step up on the weekends.”
Her uncharacteristic snort told me what she thought of that possibility.
“Buckley’s always busy on the weekends.”
“So I heard from Eddie. Who seems like a decent guy, by the way.”
Clarice had chosen the wrong partner. Sure, Eddie had been poor when they met, but he’d have stepped up—he’d said it himself. And real men weren’t born; they were made.
“He is. Thank you for not telling Buckley about him.”
“I didn’t do that for you; I did it for Chas. But you should tell Buckley yourself—lying isn’t fair to anyone.”
“He’d divorce me.”
“And that’s a bad thing? He’d also have to pay child support for Charity, and I’m sure Eddie would contribute toward Chas’s needs.”
“He puts the money into a separate bank account every month. It’s her college fund.”
“Well, there you go. If you want to spend the rest of your life running around after Buckley, carry on as you are. But if you’re as unhappy as you seem to be, then you need to learn that change comes from within. Only you can make the difference. Be true to yourself.”
I rose from the couch and headed to the door. Either Clarice would change or she wouldn’t—I was done caring. Hawk was waiting for me. My own personal therapist, and I definitely enjoyed his hands-on approach.
16
AGATHA
“Sure you don’t want to skip this?” Hawk asked.
Whenever there was a murder or a kidnapping or some other nasty crime, I always wanted to know the details. Call it a bad habit, but that curiosity was why I’d read true-crime books obsessively as a child, and it was why I’d become an FBI agent. It was also why I’d be going to Odette’s post-shitshow brunch instead of staying in bed for two extra hours. In all honesty, I was surprised Odette hadn’t cancelled, but Dad said that he’d paid for the food so we were damn well going to eat it. Plus the ferry service didn’t start until after church on Sundays, so we were stuck on the island anyway. At least the guided walk had been called off.
“It’s tempting to duck out, but I’m curious. Aren’t you curious?”
