Dead to Her

by Sarah Pinborough

  “I know how she is,” he growled, red cheeks flushing purple.

  “Should we call the police?” Marcie asked. “If you’re worried?” William wasn’t worried. He was annoyed. He was out of sorts. He was a man filled with feelings he didn’t understand about a woman he couldn’t control.

  “No,” he said. “Not yet. What kind of man would I seem calling the police because my wife’s been out all day? I know what they’d think. She’s running around on him already.”

  “Oh no,” Marcie said. “No one would think that. It’s great that you’re concerned about her. All women want to feel protected.” It was such bullshit. He wasn’t protecting Keisha. He was safe-guarding his own reputation. “Do you want a drink? I’ve just made a gin and tonic.” She was suddenly aware that it was only midafternoon and she was drinking alone at home.

  William shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I know how I must sound, worrying over nothing, but she’s been a little under the weather lately and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to manage it for the best.”

  Marcie said nothing as his frustration and anger seeped into a quiet despair. It was quite a thing seeing the great William Radford IV in this state and opening up to her, Marcie Maddox, the slightly trashy second wife.

  “Everything changed when I went to Europe, didn’t it?” He sounded exhausted.

  “Life’s all about change.”

  “That’s easy to say at your age. I want things back to normal. I’m too old for all this.” His eyes narrowed. “You heard from Jason today?”

  She shrugged. “I tend not to bother him when he’s working.” It was a blatant lie. Right from day one she’d often disturb him at work to go for lunch or to just say hi, especially back then when they wanted to inhale each other 24/7. How times had changed.

  “Working.” William grunted. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “He’ll be in a meeting somewhere for sure,” she said. “Do you want me to get him to call you?”

  He shook his head. “No. And if Keisha shows up here, don’t tell her I was looking for her. I’m sure it’s like you said, she’s just got caught up somewhere.”

  “I won’t say a word, but remember it’s a big party to plan for her and it’s the Fourth tomorrow and no one’s really going back to work before this weekend, so she knows everything needs to be ready today.” Marcie smiled. “I know she’s been nervous about it, so she’s probably with Julian and Pierre. I think the masks she chose were coming today or tomorrow?”

  For a moment a flash of something close to guilt passed across William’s face as if he had realized that perhaps he’d been hard on his new, young, foreign wife. It didn’t last long though. Nothing was ever William Radford IV’s fault.

  Clouds hung heavy and damp over the late afternoon and the humidity crept into the house through the narrow gaps around doors and windows, clinging to Marcie’s skin like her dark mood. Jason got home at dusk, tired and uncommunicative.

  “How was your day?” she asked perfunctorily.

  “Tiring.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge, one silent, judging eye on her gin glass. “Been sorting shit out at the office all day making sure everything is on track to be back online. Most are taking a half-week vacation from tomorrow.”

  Sorting shit out at the office. Her blood boiled. She was trying so hard to make it work between them and still he was lying. “William came by,” she said coolly. “He told me you hadn’t been in the office. All day.”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t in the office, Jason.” Her heart raced as her face burned. She couldn’t make this marriage work all by herself. “So where the fuck were you?”

  “Don’t curse at me, Marcie.” He headed for the sitting room, and she followed. This time she wasn’t letting him off the hook. She’d given up Keisha for their future.

  “And don’t walk away from me, Jason. Where were you?”

  “What did William want?”

  “Why won’t you answer my question?”

  He spun around. “Get off my back, Marcie! Sorting shit out at work doesn’t necessarily mean being in the office. I meant for the office, not in the office. Jesus, what are you turning into now, some kind of nagging paranoid housewife? I’ve had a hard enough day without coming home to whatever this is!”

  Marcie shrunk slightly against the wall as he shouted but her anger didn’t fade. Nagging paranoid housewife. Screw him.

  “So do I need to call William?” Jason asked her. “Was he looking for me?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “He was looking for Keisha.” She turned and headed for the stairs. “I’m getting in the shower. If you want dinner, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

  A long day sorting shit out at the office. That’s what he’d said. Not out at meetings or at the club or wherever else he schmoozed clients. At the office. He’d lied to her and if he thought she was stupid enough to buy that explanation, then he didn’t know her at all.

  Later, in bed, Marcie stared into the gloom, trying to make sense of the thoughts knotting in her head as her anger bubbled under the surface. William’s face when he’d asked if Marcie had heard from Jason. The suspicion there. Keisha had been out all day in a terrible state, God only knew where and with who. Jason had been out of contact apart from one text and he’d lied about where he’d been. Maybe Keisha had gone to Jason after her? Had Jason been the manly shoulder to cry on? Or, of course, maybe Jason had been with Jacquie?

  Outside, thunder rumbled but no rain fell. A storm was brewing somewhere, perhaps slowly moving toward the city, but for now there was no respite in the crackling tension, either in the house or beyond. She looked over at Jason’s back and for the first time since she’d known him, despite her own ambitions, despite how she needed him, she felt a small shiver of revulsion in her own spine.

  38.

  The storm hadn’t broken and the tension in the air was almost unbearable. The sky over the city was the color of a dust cloud, a grainy yellow-gray filter that made you squint even though there was no hint of a bright sun, and as evening fell into a hot gloom there was no relief.

  Marcie didn’t envy those who’d spent the afternoon at the Magnolia Park parade or the various other outdoor celebrations to mark the Fourth of July holiday. At least here, at Iris and Noah’s place, there was the slight breeze from the creek even if the proximity of the water also made her a feast for the midges and mosquitoes that seemed to favor her out-of-state blood.

  “We should be able to see the Tybee Island fireworks from here, even with these awful clouds,” Iris said and everyone nodded and feigned excitement. The atmosphere in the room was as palpable as the humidity outside, even as they smiled and chinked glasses of perfectly chilled wine and nibbled at their meals. It was a strange reunion and Marcie wondered if their hosts, Iris and Noah, could sense the shifts that had occurred while they’d been away. Maybe. Iris hadn’t mentioned the Magnolia invite to Marcie. Perhaps she didn’t know yet. That gave Marcie some unease. Would Iris speak against her to the group? No. Iris wasn’t like that. She’d give her a chance at least.

  Marcie swallowed the last of her wine, for once glad her glass hadn’t been refilled. The room was a forest fire of hidden resentments waiting to flare up and it would take only one spark in a comment to get it started and she didn’t have the energy for a fight tonight. Instead, she sat back as the coffee arrived, stirred in some cream and sugar, and tried for once to be invisible, an observer of their staid circle rather than trapped within it.

  Jason was doing a fine impersonation of joviality now that the systems at work were apparently mended again, but Marcie knew that in truth his mood was as sour as it had been before. He was starting to drain her. Maybe she’d wait until the takeover was all done and dusted in a year’s time, and she was firmly in the bosom of a group of well-connected women, and then file for divorce. See how he liked them apples. It was an empty threat and she knew it. She w
ouldn’t give him or any of the rest of them the satisfaction of their marriage not working and the prenup would limit what she walked away with. If he wanted to leave her, he’d have to do it himself.

  She glanced over at Keisha, the cause of all Marcie’s discomfort. She was surprisingly together, if demure, sitting beside William and holding his hand as he talked with Noah. Looking at her made Marcie’s heart race and her stomach knot.

  Marcie had followed her to the bathroom earlier and told her she’d get her a Valium prescription, but the younger woman hadn’t wanted it. Said she was fine without even meeting Marcie’s eyes. She’d stiffened when Marcie had touched her arm, in a way that screamed heartache, and it made Marcie feel bad. It had made her want to push the crazy Englishwoman up against the wall and kiss her, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d muttered, “Have it your way,” and gone back to her seat next to her husband, where she belonged, and told herself it was for the best. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t have her cake and eat it too. Not with someone as unstable as Keisha.

  “Isn’t it, Marcie?”

  “Marcie?”

  Dragged from her private thoughts back into the circle, Marcie brought her attention back to Virginia, who’d said something she hadn’t been listening to. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “It’s so sad to see so many homeless coming for the Fourth lunch. I was there this morning. I only wish we could feed them all.”

  “I’m pretty sure some of them have homes,” Marcie said, rolling the fine stem of her crystal wineglass between her fingers. As she spun it, her own face distorted in the reflection, creating a monster she barely recognized. “Some simply want free food. They take advantage of you.”

  She needn’t have said anything—she shouldn’t have said anything—but Virginia’s holier-than-thou routine combined with her smugness was wearing Marcie down. Also, Virginia could totally feed every tramp in town if she wanted to. From Nouvelle’s, if she so chose, and that place had two fancy Michelin stars. “Bless your heart, you’re too naïve,” she finished. It was a sugar-coated barb.

  Virginia’s shoulders stiffened as she smarted. “The good lord doesn’t turn anyone away.”

  Marcie sipped her coffee. “You must read a different Bible than I do, because as far as I can tell, the good lord is mighty picky about who gets to be on his team.”

  “Marcie, stop it.” Jason reached across and squeezed her hand just a little too tight. “This weather,” he smiled at Virginia. “I swear it’s making her crazy.”

  She gritted her teeth to stop from replying or maybe it’s my lying husband who’s making me crazy, but took some pleasure from the secret sly smile that crossed Emmett’s face at her words. Her own husband might find her behavior rude, but Virginia’s at least was finding her mildly entertaining.

  “Just saying it like it is.” Marcie’s accent slipped slightly, the words drawling in the wrong places. You could take the girl out of Boise, but you couldn’t take Boise out of the girl.

  “I have to ask.” Iris leaned forward, her straight thin back drawing a line across the snippy conversation as she smiled at Keisha. “What have you brought in those bags? I’m simply dying of curiosity.”

  “Yes, so am I,” Noah added.

  Marcie almost laughed at the desperation in the swift change of subject. Like Noah gave a shit about Keisha’s gifts. Anything to avoid harsh words at a dinner table.

  “They’re for Saturday’s party,” Keisha said. “I wanted to give you each something to thank you for making me feel so welcome.” She reached down and picked up the first box. “It took me ages to choose them, but I think I’ve got them right. Here.” She passed one across to Iris. “That’s yours. Don’t open it until everyone’s got theirs though, please.”

  “I think you’ll be impressed.” William beamed, proud, but Marcie saw the slight flinch in Keisha’s arm as he squeezed her hand. Keisha needed to be careful—it was always the small things that would give someone away.

  “Okay, you can open them!” Keisha clapped her hands together when each person finally had a box in front of them, her eyes darting at last to Marcie.

  There was nothing false about the exclamations from around the table as the lids came off, and even Marcie was left breathless. Venetian masquerade mask, beautifully designed and unique for each wearer. The men’s were relatively plain, Jason’s ebony black and cut straight across the eyes and nose, a devilish Zorro, and Emmett’s was almost Puck-esque—burnished silver with an arched impish expression across the eyebrows and an overlong gilt nose that Marcie thought suited his foppish inquisitive mannerisms perfectly. Noah’s was black and gold, understated but at the same time regal and clearly expensive. Whatever Keisha had chosen for William must have still been at home with her own, held back as a surprise, but if the other women’s masks were anything to go by they were all going to dazzle on Saturday night.

  “Oh my.” Iris held hers up to her face. It was a beautiful half mask with filigree, held on a stick rather than tied, and although not brightly colored or ornate, like Noah’s, it oozed sophisticated elegance. Although Iris, always charming and polite, must have privately thought the idea of a masked ball a tad vulgar, her smile now was genuine. “It’s quite stunning, dear. You have exquisite taste.”

  “She sure does,” Virginia chimed in as she examined her own—a blue-and-gold bird mask with feathers at either side and a small golden beak over the nose—and Marcie wanted to laugh as William said it suited her features. What it suited was the way Virginia was always peck-pecking at people with her superior attitudes.

  Marcie took hers out of its box, and there was a fresh gasp from around the table.

  “I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to me,” Keisha said. The barb was slight, just there enough for Marcie to pick up on it while it passed the rest by. Heartache always defended itself by attacking. Marcie only hoped that these little remarks would be the worst of it. Still, she ached with regret as she took in the beauty of the mask. It looked pure, for want of a better word. Jason had never bought her anything like this, so perfect for her.

  She held it up against her face and knew even without the reassurance of a mirror that she looked magnificent. It was crafted in white gold, burnished, and hued with candy floss pink as it turned in the light. That should have made it look saccharine and babyish but instead it was aloofly ethereal against her ice-blond hair. Where the metal edge around one eye curved up catlike, around the other a butterfly wing emerged, glittering, inlaid with what Marcie was sure were hundreds of tiny sparkling diamonds. It was magical. There was no other word for it. Even the ribbons that went to tie it at the back of her head had glittering stones in them. “And I thought it would suit you,” Keisha finished.

  Marcie said nothing, still staring in delight at the mask.

  “She hasn’t been that good a friend,” Jason said, his smile as thin as his joke.

  “Well, I for one can’t wait for this Saturday’s extravaganza!” Emmett said, raising his brandy. “It’s going to be a night to remember!”

  39.

  Marcie didn’t want to go to the party. She wanted to curl up in bed, pull the covers over her head, and stay there until she died. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be anywhere but here. But once it was all over, the story told, Jason had said nothing for a long time and then growled at her that they were leaving in twenty. He had to see William. They couldn’t miss the party. He was insistent, and she was pretty sure that if she’d protested he would have wrapped his hands around her throat and let all that pent-up anger out until her tongue was thick and blue and her eyes bulged lifeless from her head.

  She glanced over as they approached the drive, and his handsome face was once again cold, like that of a stranger, but this time it was her fault. What was he thinking? What was he going to do?

  Fire lamps glittered along the road, dramatically lighting the route, and Marcie’s hands shook as she tied the ornate ribbon
s of her mask behind her head. Thank God for the mask. No one would be able to see how pale and broken and afraid she was.

  Her secrets had unraveled.

  The thick white envelope had come addressed to Jason, his name printed large and in capitals. No stamp. Hand delivered to the mailbox. She vaguely remembered him bringing it in with the rest of the letters, his face already like thunder. Bad day at the office, dear? she’d wanted to snip at him as he poured a whiskey and then disappeared into his office, but decided against it. She was in a good mood despite him, despite his working on a Saturday, enjoying getting ready for the Radfords’ party. Her hair was styled in a glamorous updo and her makeup had been set and she knew she looked beautiful already, even without her silver dress and masquerade mask on. As music quietly played on her iPod, she looked this way and that at herself in the mirror, enamored. Her mind had drifted to what Keisha would think when she saw her and then what Keisha would be wearing, and whether they’d speak, and then to Iris and the Magnolias and whether they’d be happy to have her glamour added to their number.

  “Marcie! Come in here now!” Even then, when he’d called for her to join him, she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn’t hear the edge in his voice—the quiet, terrible suspicion.

  At first, when she’d breezed into his study, annoyed at being distracted from her preparations, she didn’t really see what he was showing her. That battered old yearbook. Then she saw the note with that one printed sentence on it—What happened to Jonny?—and, in an instant, the book made sense and her world crumbled.

  She’d had to tell him everything. She had no choice. How hard her life had been. Her mom. The trailer park. How she found Jonny. The scandal of it all. How she’d had to get away after. To run somewhere she could start over. As his questions came like bullets, she’d had to show him everything, bring down her box of secrets—her old driver’s license, birth certificate, photos—hidden away in the dressing room ceiling and empty it in front of him as her perfect makeup ran in tracks down her cheeks and her voice choked on snot.