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I couldn’t imagine happily living with a man who resented my children. Todd might’ve had his failings, but he adored our Liam and Bridget as much as I did.
“Anyway, it’s not like I have any interest in joining the local singles scene. Online dating and all that,” Kat continued. She gave an exaggerated shudder. “It’s always seemed easier to keep the status quo. Anyway, that’s enough about me.” She smiled. “What about you?”
“I don’t have any plans to get divorced in the foreseeable future, either,” I said lightly.
“I meant your career. You said you used to teach at the University of Miami, right?” Kat said. “Logic, but not the Mr. Spock kind.”
I laughed, flattered that she’d remembered. “That’s right.”
“Why did you give it up?”
I hesitated. It wasn’t that I wanted to conceal the truth from Kat, especially when she had just been so forthcoming with me. But sharing my past would cast a pall on what had been until now such a lovely day.
Kat seemed to sense my discomfort. “Am I being intrusive?” she asked, borrowing my earlier line.
“No, not at all.” I took a deep breath. It was never a good idea to start any relationship with lies. “It’s just... It’s a sad story. My daughter Bridget had a twin sister. They were both born prematurely. Bridget was fine—is fine—but my other daughter...she didn’t make it.”
I had told this story dozens of times over the past eight years. It had gotten easier in some ways. The dark, suffocating grief that had crippled me in the days and weeks following my daughter’s death had eventually receded. I could now talk about my lost baby without instantly dissolving into tears. But the heavy weight of her absence in the world was still there. In a way, I treasured this. If I ever stopped missing her, it would mean that my daughter, the one who left the world before she could ever make her mark on it, would be forgotten forever.
Usually when I did tell people about her death, this was the point when they would lean forward, face creased with horrified sympathy. They would pat my arm and tell me how sorry they were, how much it must comfort me that Bridget survived. This was true, of course. I was lucky in many ways—I had two healthy children, and that was something no parent should ever take for granted. But it was also true that no bereaved parent ever wanted to hear that her living children made up for a dead one. It didn’t work that way.
But here again, Kat surprised me. “What was her name?”
“Meghan.” My voice cracked a bit. I cleared my throat. “Her name was Meghan.”
“Meghan,” Kat repeated. “That’s a beautiful name. Were she and Bridget identical twins?”
I nodded. “We were so surprised when they did the ultrasound.”
“Do you know what caused you to deliver early?”
“Placental abruption, although my doctors didn’t know what caused it. Everything was fine, all my checkups were great...and then suddenly everything wasn’t fine, and I was in labor two months ahead of schedule. But even then, even after the delivery, both babies were doing well at first. They were small, of course, and we knew they’d have to spend some time in the NICU. But the doctors kept reassuring us that they were doing well, that they’d be able to come home soon, so I wasn’t worried.”
I stopped and took a sip of wine to steady myself. That lack of worry, that blind trust in the doctors’ feckless pronouncements, still haunted me on the nights when I lay awake. Kat was silent, still looking at me, her focus absolute.
I continued. “Then Meghan had a brain hemorrhage. And she just...died.”
My mouth was suddenly unbearably dry. I reached for my water glass and took a large gulp from it. I could feel the pricks of unshed tears gathering in my eyes. I willed them away. If there was one thing Meghan’s death had taught me, it was that crying didn’t fix anything. It certainly didn’t bring back the person who was gone forever.
“That,” Kat said, “is a fucking nightmare.”
The unexpected profanity made me laugh and then choke slightly on the water. I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin.
“Are you okay?” Kat exclaimed, reaching a hand out.
I waved her off. “No, you’re right. It was a fucking nightmare.”
Kat relaxed back in her seat. “I’ll say. You were not only experiencing one of the worst things that can happen to any mother but also taking care of a newborn.” Kat shook her head and drained the rest of her wine. She reached for the bottle and poured each of us another large glass. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. No wonder you left your job. It would have been too much for anyone to cope with. I can’t even imagine. I think I’d have a hard time just getting out of bed in the morning.”
“Oh, I struggled. That’s the thing about grief. It’s just...suffocating. Like you’re being buried alive. And even the easiest tasks, like showering or eating or even brushing your teeth, suddenly seem insurmountable.” Then I shook my head and smiled regretfully at Kat. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a very cheerful topic of conversation. I’m putting a damper on our lunch.”
“No, you’re not, not one bit. I asked you a question and you answered it honestly. Frankly, it’s refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t feel the need to bullshit her way through life.” Kat patted my hand. “I’m glad I called you. I’m usually terrible about following through on things. But I have a feeling that you and I are going to be good friends.”
She raised her glass, and I clinked mine against hers.
“To new friendships,” I toasted.
* * *
“I am home and I have pizza,” I called out, using my foot to push open the back door that led into our house from the garage. My hands were filled with a grease-stained pizza box. Half cheese, half sausage and onion, with a side order of garlic knots.
“Mom’s home!” Liam hollered, not looking up from the Xbox game he was absorbed in.
“No, don’t get up,” I told him. “You don’t have to eat any pizza. There’ll be more for the rest of us.”
Liam rolled his eyes but grinned. He hopped up, gave me a quick hug and headed toward the kitchen. Bridget was there, sitting at the kitchen table, frowning down at her homework.
“Hi, honey,” I said, trying to remember if I’d even had homework in elementary school. I didn’t think so. Some in middle school. Both of my children came home from school every day with their backpacks full to bursting. “What are you working on?”
“Science,” she said moodily. “And it’s really hard.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Right here,” Todd said, coming into the kitchen. He kissed me on the cheek and plucked the pizza box out of my hands. “We’re all starving.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “Thanks for picking the kids up from school.”
Once I’d realized that lunch was extending into the late afternoon, I’d texted Todd from the restaurant and asked him to handle the school run. It meant that both kids had to wait in aftercare until Todd arrived.
“I hate staying late at school,” Bridget complained. “Where were you, anyway?”
“I was having lunch with a friend.”
“You’ve been at lunch all this time?” Liam asked. “It’s dark out!”
“After lunch, we went shopping, and then we had coffee.” I shrugged. “We started chatting and lost track of time.”
“Stop giving your mom a hard time,” Todd said. “She gets to have a day off every now and then.”
I smiled at my husband, feeling a surge of affection for him. “It was nice to do something out of the ordinary.”
“Lunch in Palm Beach compares favorably to laundry and the school run?” Todd teased.
I laughed. “Surprisingly, yes, it does.”
Todd grabbed plates and napkins while I poured glasses of water for everyone. Once we were seated at the table, I got reports from the children on their days. Liam shrugged and said his was okay, which was pretty much what he said every day, and then returned his attention to stuffing pizza in his mouth. Bridget launched into a very long story involving hurt feelings and drama over a game of four square played by her classmates that, in the end, had nothing to do with her at all, because she was on the opposite side of the playground when it happened.
“But if you weren’t participating in the game, why do you care that Annalise got so upset?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t even like Annalise.”
“I don’t like her. That’s the whole point,” Bridget said hotly.
I looked at Todd to see if he had any insight into these third-grade dramatics, but he just shrugged and shook his head. After dinner, the children cleared the plates and headed off to their nightly bedtime routines. Todd got a beer from the fridge.
“You had a nice time today?” he asked, sitting back down at the kitchen table.
I poured myself a glass of red wine and joined him.
“Yes, I did. Kat’s great. I’m glad she called me.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s smart and funny and really has her act together. She owns the most beautiful modern art gallery.”
“You’re smart and funny,” Todd said loyally.
I smiled and put my hand on his arm. “It was nice having someone different to talk to. Almost everyone I know here I’ve met through the kids in one way or another. Moms from school, women from the playgroups the kids were in when they were little. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice ladies. Or at least, most of them are. But every time I get together with any of them, the conversation revolves around the children. What the moms are doing at the PTA. Whom they’re friends with, whatever the latest drama is at school. It just gets so tedious.”
Todd’s eyebrows arched, but he didn’t speak.
“Don’t judge,” I said. I loved being a mother, but there were so many aspects of it, especially when my children were little, that I found mind-numbing. Singing the same cloying songs every week in the Mommy & Me class. Sitting on the cold tile floor during bath time. The hours spent at playgrounds being commanded over and over to “Watch me! Watch me!”
Having children was a wonderful, miraculous, soulful experience. Just not each and every moment of it. I found motherhood easier to cope with now that Liam and Bridget were older and more independent.
“It was nice to talk to someone about other things. About art and work and life,” I said.
Todd nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Does Kat have children?”
“Yes, a daughter, but she’s in college.”
“Kat’s older than you, then?”
“A bit, although she did say she had her daughter when she was young,” I explained. “I think she’s in her mid to late forties.”
“Do you think you’ll get together with her again?”
I rolled my wineglass in my fingers, the way I’d once been taught at a wine-tasting class, and watched the bloodred liquid stream down the inside of the glass.
“Yes,” I said. “I think I will.”
5
Present Day
“I’m curious about something,” Sergeant Oliver said. “Why did you think Howard Grant was suicidal? I thought you said you weren’t close.”
“We weren’t. And I never told you I thought he was suicidal. I thought that’s what Detective Demer was suggesting.”
“I don’t think he suggested that at all,” Oliver said, fixing her eyes on me. They were dark and flat, like a shark. I wondered again why she was being so hostile. Had she met Kat, not liked her and extended her dislike to me? Kat could be charming and funny, but I had also seen her turn suddenly cold and imperious, especially when she was challenged. It was not hard to imagine Oliver affecting her that way.
“I have a question,” I said. Oliver just stared at me, but Demer nodded, so I addressed him. “You said you were brought in from Tallahassee. Why was that?”
Demer glanced at Oliver. “It’s not uncommon for a small police department not to have any detectives on staff. Sometimes when there is a situation that requires a more in-depth investigation, they’ll request a detective on loan.”
“So, I’m not sure how this works. Are you and Oliver partners in this investigation?” I asked. “Or are you in charge, and she’s reporting to you?”
I knew instantly from the sour expression on Oliver’s face that they were not, in fact, partners. Demer was the lead, Oliver his unhappy subordinate.
“I’m taking point on the investigation for the time being,” Demer said mildly. “Let’s go back to your friendship with Katherine Grant. How long have you known each other?”
“Three years.”
“And you’re close friends?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very close.”
“How would you describe Katherine Grant?” Demer asked.
It was odd hearing Kat constantly referred to by her full name. She had always been Kat to me.
“How would I describe Kat?” I repeated. How did you distill someone you loved down to a few words? “She’s funny. Smart. Thoughtful. Loyal. Generous... Solid.”
Solid? Was that really Kat? I wasn’t so sure. Kat was more like quicksilver, shimmering and changing. You’d think you knew her, were sure you could predict absolutely what she’d do, and she’d still somehow find a way to surprise you. Oh, well, I had already said it. I couldn’t exactly take it back now, could I?
Oliver didn’t actually roll her eyes at my description, but I think it took all her willpower to avoid doing so. I sensed that she was not the sort of woman who’d ever had a best friend. Certainly not the kind of best friend who rubbed her pricked finger against yours to become your blood sister. I actually could relate. I had never been that sort of a woman before, either.
“Would you say that Howard and Katherine Grant had a happy marriage?” Demer asked.
I hesitated. The truthful answer would be no, they certainly did not. But I also didn’t see any benefit in telling the police that.
“I don’t think anyone on the outside ever truly knows what goes on inside a marriage,” I said carefully.
Demer smiled patiently. “No, probably not. I’m just asking for any impressions you might have formed from being around them.”
“That’s just it. Whenever I saw the two of them together, well, I was there, wasn’t I? Most married people behave differently when there are other people around. I know my husband and I do.”
It was a nonanswer, but if it frustrated Demer, he hid it well. Oliver, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to slap me.
“Fair enough,” Demer said. “Did Katherine ever complain about her husband?”
“Kat,” I corrected him.
“Excuse me?”
“She goes by Kat, not Katherine.”
“Okay. Kat, then. So, did she?”
“Complain about her husband?” I repeated. He nodded. “Sure, from time to time. I hate to break it to you, Detective, but most women complain about their husbands to their friends.”
The wonderful thing about this statement was that it had the benefit of being the absolute truth.
“Let’s get back to Howard Grant,” Demer said.
My patience was starting to fray. “I’ve already told you, I wasn’t close with Howard. I was friends with Kat. I suggest you talk to her if you want to know about her husband.”
“Oh, we’ve already talked to Katherine Grant,” Oliver inserted.
Something about this bald statement caused a flicker of concern at the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t sure what exactly about it bothered me. Of course, it only made sense that they would interview Kat as part of their investigation, even if she was out of the country at the time of Howard’s death. But then, suddenly, I realized what the problem was. Kat hadn’t told me the police had been to see her. And we told each other everything, or almost everything. I knew when her insomnia was acting up, and when the dry cleaner ruined her favorite dress, and usually what she’d had for dinner the night before. So why didn’t she call to tell me the police had questioned her about her husband’s death?
“When did you speak with Kat?” I asked.
Demer shot Oliver a glance. She shrugged but didn’t say anything more. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that there was something more going on here. That the police had not asked me to come in simply to give them background information.
“What is this all about, anyway? Why are you asking me about Kat and Howard’s marriage?” I pressed.
“Like I said, we’re looking for background,” Demer said. “We’re just trying to make sure we’ve covered everything.”
“And they brought you all the way down here from Tallahassee to do that?” I asked.
Demer looked at me steadily but didn’t answer my question. It was clear there was something going on, some reason they had for questioning me, and I didn’t know what that was.
“Why don’t you tell us about when you first met Howard Grant?” Demer suggested.
“I’m not sure if I remember,” I said, thinking back. “It would have been three years ago.”
“Try,” the detective said. “Take your time.”
6
Three Years Earlier
“What are you doing in here?” Todd asked.
I started violently but managed not to scream. I was sitting in our home office, working on the computer with my back to the door that led off the front hallway. Our garage was on the opposite side of our one-story house, so I hadn’t heard Todd come home. I had always hated being startled. Horror movies, haunted houses, practical jokes—these were not among my favorite things. I also didn’t like the idea of someone entering my house without my being aware of it, even if that someone was my husband.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said, willing my heart rate to return to normal.
“Sorry,” Todd said mildly. He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and I could smell the scent of sweat still clinging to his body.
“How was your match?” I asked.
“First, ask me this... Who is the king of tennis?”
“Who is the king of tennis?”
“Me! I am the king of tennis. I just pulled out the win in a third set tiebreaker.” Todd raised two triumphant fists over his head. “I ended the match with an ace. It was so sweet. Maybe the best match of my life.”
“Good job,” I dutifully supplied.
“Good job? Is that all you can say?”
“What else do you need from me?” I asked. “Congratulations on your win? Yay you?”
“A little enthusiasm would be nice. That’s the first time I’ve ever beaten Joe Hammond. He’s owned me until now.”
Todd was a tennis fanatic and competed weekly in a local league. It was basically a bunch of middle-aged men playing at night after work, but they took it so seriously that you might have thought they were training for Wimbledon. Still, I was glad Todd had an outlet. When work started to overwhelm him and he wasn’t able to play, my husband became tense and moody. Far better he took his stress out on a little yellow ball. However, there were some downsides to his hobby.
“Speaking of tennis,” I said, “I was going over the bills, and I wanted to ask you about something. Did you really spend $224 at an online tennis store? I was hoping that was a mistake on the bill.”
I could see from my husband’s sheepish expression that it was not. My spirits plummeted.
“I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “It was an impulse purchase.”
“What was?”
“A new racquet. But it’s the racquet Federer plays with. I was just going to try it out—they let you take it out on a test run and then return it if you don’t like it—but I couldn’t not keep it. It’s the best racquet I’ve ever played with. It’s the racquet that helped me finally beat Joe Hammond! Anyway, it was on sale.”
Tension tightened my shoulders, and acid roiled in my stomach. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the anxiety, not to lose my temper.
“We can’t afford a purchase like that right now.” I pointed to the Visa statement I had pulled up on the computer. “Have you seen this lately? Our balance is over ten thousand dollars. That’s the limit. We’re now officially maxed out.”
I could have continued with a full accounting of our current financial struggles. We were a few weeks late paying the mortgage because the majority of Todd’s last paycheck had been swallowed up by an expensive car repair. The school tuition bill was due. Liam’s birthday was in two weeks and he had been begging for a laser tag party, which we couldn’t afford at the moment.
It was times like these, the nights when I was poring over the bills, trying to figure out where I could cut our already tight budget, that I tried to remember why I had ever given up my job. But almost as soon as the question floated up into my consciousness, I would remember anew, with a fresh jolt of pain. It hadn’t been a choice to stop working but a necessity. The grief I experienced after losing Meghan was a dark, smothering force that robbed me of my will to do just about anything. Eating, sleeping and showering were all equally unappealing options. But I had a three-year-old and a newborn to take care of. Falling off a cliff wasn’t a luxury I could indulge in.
I had arranged for a three-month maternity leave before I gave birth to the twins. When that time was up and I was still struggling, I went to see the dean of the math department. He suggested I take the rest of the semester off. But even when the grief started to recede and I slowly rejoined the world, going back to work still seemed like an impossible task. Then Todd was offered a job in West Palm Beach, which at the time seemed to offer a fresh start for our family.
But it also meant that we suddenly went from enjoying a comfortable two-income existence to living on one. We learned to make do while we waited for the raises and bonuses Todd had been promised when he was hired. We made up the difference with a series of credit cards we were paying only the minimum on each month to cover the unexpected expenses. A repair to the air-conditioning unit at our house. A cavity that needed filling. Tennis club memberships.
“It was only $200,” Todd said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, how much have you been spending on all of those lunches out with Kat?”
“I don’t spend $200 on lunch,” I retorted.
“No, but $30 a couple times a week adds up.”
“So it’s okay for you to burn through money on your tennis hobby, but I’m not allowed to have a social life?” I hated how thin and brittle I sounded. But I resented more that we couldn’t have the simplest conversation about our finances without it turning into a fight.
“I didn’t say that. Jesus, why do you have to be such a...” Todd struggled to find the proper word to describe just how awful a person I was.
“Bitch?”
“I did not say that,” Todd said, pointing at me. “I would never call you that.”
Bridget appeared at the door to the office, looking anxious. She was wearing ladybug-print pajamas, and her hair was tousled. She was clutching Leo, her well-loved plush lion, to her chest.
“Are you fighting?” she asked in a small voice.
“No, we’re just talking,” I said at the same time Todd was saying, “No, honey, everything’s fine.”
“You were shouting,” Bridget said. “It woke me up.”
“We weren’t shouting. We were just talking a little...loudly,” Todd said.
Bridget’s lower lip trembled. “It scared me.”
“We’ll keep our voices down,” I said, hoping the smile I gave her looked more genuine than it felt.
“Come on, Monkey, I’ll tuck you in,” Todd said, holding out his hand.
“Good night, sweetheart,” I called after them.
Todd didn’t return to the office to continue our fight after getting Bridget settled. I found him in the kitchen, a beer in his hand while he flipped through the mail on the kitchen counter. I rubbed a tired hand across my face and decided to leave the argument about the Visa bill for another day.
“Don’t forget Kat invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right. To celebrate your book,” Todd said. His face relaxed. “That’s some good news, for a change.”
I had gotten the word a few days earlier. My book of logic puzzles would be published by a small university press. The advance I was getting was nominal—certainly not enough to make much of a dent in our current financial woes—but it was still an exciting development. Even this small success—or at least, small compared to the publishing I’d hoped to accomplish in the course of my academic career—made me feel a little more like the Alice I’d been before Meghan’s death.