by Pamela Crane
‘Can we not speak ill of the dead, please? He was my husband, Mom, the father of my kids and your son-in-law.’
‘Well, he was no son to me, leaving you and the kids with no security. At least you should be getting your insurance payout soon, I hope. Have they found any leads yet on who killed him? It worries me that his killer is still out there, running free.’
‘No, they haven’t given me any names yet.’ And I knew there would never be any. I wanted to tell her everything. She was my mother; it wasn’t like she’d ever turn me in. I felt it in my bones. It was time to come clean. ‘I need to be honest with you. I’ve done something bad.’
She dabbed her napkin to the corners of her mouth, tinting it with pink lipstick. My mother, so prim and proper, even amidst a scandal.
‘We’ve all done bad things, dear.’
‘No, this is really bad. I might end up arrested over it.’
She dropped the napkin and aimed a sharp gaze at me. ‘What are you talking about? What could you have possibly done?’
I leaned across the table and whispered, ‘Ben wasn’t murdered. He killed himself.’
Mom gasped and her eyes lit like the neon lights stretching across the ceiling.
She shook her head. ‘No, not possible. What makes you think that?’
‘A suicide note he wrote. It mentioned something only Ben knew about, and it was definitely his handwriting.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the police that?’
‘Because I would have lost the insurance money, so I staged it to look like a murder. It’s only a matter of time before they figure that out and arrest me.’ I couldn’t tell her about Lane’s involvement. As far as she knew, it was only me … and it would stay that way, just in case the police questioned her. No way was I going to risk Lane’s freedom.
‘If the police haven’t turned up yet, there’s a chance they never will. It’s been almost two months. And besides, knowing what kind of man Ben was, murder isn’t out of the question.’
Her conspiratorial tone made me question everything I thought I knew. What kind of man did she think Ben was? I wanted to ask her the question that had been bugging me more and more as the police investigation unraveled. It was ludicrous to even consider, but my mother had a way of getting what she wanted. She had always wanted Ben out of my life, then one day poof, he was.
‘Do you know something I don’t?’ I wondered aloud.
Glancing away, she avoided my eyes, her fingers frantically fidgeting now. Avoidance – wasn’t that a sign of guilt? Then she sighed wearily. A weary, weighty sigh. What secret was she carrying?
‘Mom, did you have anything to do with Ben’s death?’
‘Are you asking if I murdered your husband?’ With a glare she dared me to answer. ‘Geez, Harper, what kind of person do you think I am?’
‘No, I’m not saying you killed him. But did you say something to him that might have shaken him up? Something that might have made him want to disappear?’
Raising her palms in surrender, she pursed her lips. ‘Fine, I might have threatened him a bit when I suspected him of cheating, but that’s all, dear. The man needed to know he wouldn’t get away with hurting my baby girl. I would make sure of that.’
Her explanation wasn’t good enough. There was more. I could feel it tearing its way out into the open.
‘Where were you that night, the night I found Ben? Because I know you weren’t home with your grandkids the whole time. They told me you left them with the neighbor, Miss Eileen. Which I’m pissed about, by the way. Don’t ever leave my kids with a stranger again.’
‘Eileen isn’t a stranger. She’s a dear friend. And I simply needed to run to the store for something. Don’t make such a fuss about it. Eileen loved the company and the kids loved the candy. No harm, no foul.’
Except I sensed a foulness that filled me with fear.
She waved the topic away, then waved the waitress over. The woman was Princess Di, ever decorous. ‘Let’s not talk about such dark things. How about dessert?’
‘I thought it was inappropriate to have dessert for breakfast.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, you’re already drinking sweet tea, so why not?’
‘Mom.’ My urgency held a force that crushed her smile. ‘If I end up in jail, promise me you’ll help Lane take care of the kids. I’m terrified about what’s going to happen.’
‘Honey.’ She grabbed my hands in a surprisingly fierce, wrinkled grip, as if her words weren’t enough to hold me. ‘You’ve always been the strong one. Even more so than your brother. You will get through this, your kids will be fine, and no matter what happens,’ she squeezed my hands for emphasis, ‘I will take care of my family. You have my word.’
‘Thank you, Mom.’ Despite all our differences, Mom knew how to fight, knew how to get back up, and she had taught me that same resilience. ‘Speaking of Lane, I wanted to talk to you about him.’
‘What’s going on with your brother? Is everything okay?’
‘Not really, no. You know how I suspected something wasn’t right with Candace?’
Of course she did. We were of like mind when it came to Candy.
‘Well, it turns out I was right. She’s on the run from an ex-husband named Noah, and the baby she’s carrying is his, not Lane’s.’
‘No!’ Mom puffed, covering her gaping mouth with her hand. Blue veins coursed between the jutting knuckles. ‘Are we living in some kind of soap opera? Where did you hear all this?’
‘She told me.’
‘Does Lane know?’
‘Yes, she told him and they had a big fight about it and he left. But this morning they’re all lovey-dovey, so I guess he forgave her.’
‘But … why? Why would he want to yoke himself to a liar? Or to a child that isn’t his?’
‘I don’t know, but there’s more. She lied about her name too. She’s using some alias that she found in an obituary. Honestly, Mom, I don’t know what’s true anymore. And I don’t trust her not to hurt Lane. He’s in love, and we all know how irrational love can be.’
Love had caused me to stay with a husband who was cheating on me. It had caused my mother to suffer the continuous neglect of my father. Mom and I both knew just how treacherous love was. We sat across from each other, her brown eyes burrowing into me, flickering with a dark mischief that sparked the hairs on the back of my neck.
‘I’ll tell you what I know about love. Love is a dangerous weapon, and it robs us blind. It makes us weak because when we’re in love, we live in glass houses where everything feels open and shiny and clean. But all it takes is a tiny crack and the whole house shatters.’
‘So how do we crack Candace’s glass house?’ I asked.
‘All you have to do is find the right stone and throw it.’
Chapter 24
Candace
Life with you is a risky, exciting game where we’re both winning.
I don’t particularly like kids. As a child I never cradled baby dolls while pretending to be a mother. As a teenager I never took babysitting jobs. In fact, children downright annoyed me. My own, however, the arms and legs poking around inside of me like a tiny alien, I already adored. It’s an unexplainable connection when you have something so precious growing inside you, a love so deep and pure it’s beyond words. Harper’s children, on the other hand, I found not just unlikable, but downright evil.
Thirty minutes into it I regretted my offer to watch Elise and Jackson while Harper joined Monica for brunch. I didn’t let it show that the lack of an invitation hurt. I was Monica’s daughter-in-law, after all. And let’s not forget that my darling sister-in-law stabbed me in the back with her betrayal, so an apology meal would have been appreciated. The sharp prick of my humiliation was that I had actually thought Harper and I had made the shift into friendship. Sisterhood. Instead, I swallowed my embarrassment, smiled, and nodded as Harper left me instructions for handling lunch for her kids, reminding me three times before walking out the door that
they weren’t to vegetate in front of the television all afternoon.
Of course, these rules didn’t apply to Harper, as I caught her children spending many an afternoon comatose in front of their various screens. Yet I was required to entertain the brats, unpaid, mind you, which had turned into the fiasco I was dealing with now.
I had suggested playing the game of Life to kill some time. I didn’t expect it to turn into Risk or Battleship. The kids couldn’t go a minute without fighting. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat on the corner of the coffee table, with red Solo cups of Dr. Pepper – which the kids also weren’t allowed, but I had sworn them to secrecy – in front of each of us. Jackson and I sat on the sofa, and Elise knelt on the floor. The game board was open in the middle of the table. We had spent a solid forty-five minutes playing, and we hadn’t even completed the career-choosing opening of the game! Every occupation card one of them complained about, every salary card the other contested. If ever anyone needed a hefty dose of birth control, these two kids incentivized it in the flesh.
‘It’s not fair that Jackson gets the higher salary when he’s got a crappier job,’ Elise whined, tossing her salary card on the floor where she had dropped a mound of popcorn kernels.
‘I hate this game,’ Jackson grumbled, throwing himself back against the sofa. ‘It’s not like life is really like this.’
I had a foreboding feeling we weren’t playing a game anymore.
Shifting closer to him, I rested my hand on his bony shoulder in a wooden effort to comfort him. ‘True, life isn’t as easy as spinning a wheel and finding bliss. But, much like this game, life can throw you some pretty fun curveballs.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jackson asked.
‘Well, like how I met your Uncle Lane when I least expected it. And we fell in love so quickly and now I have a baby in my belly. Life is unpredictable.’
‘What about when life is always horrible? And scary?’ Jackson met my eyes, something he never did. In them I watched a memory flicker to life, sparking, stiff gears turning. This was where Jackson and I understood each other. Death haunted us both. ‘Are you talking about losing your dad?’
‘Yeah, and about when I killed my sister.’
‘Jackson!’ Elise yelled, thrusting her fist into his ribcage. ‘You’re not allowed to talk about that! That’s a secret. We don’t tell secrets, remember?’
Jackson shot Elise a glare, rubbing the spot where she had hit him. ‘But Aunt Candace is family. I thought family was safe.’
‘Not her,’ Elise whispered just loud enough.
‘What’s he talking about?’ I wanted to know, and yet I didn’t. Since the moment I met him, Jackson had struck me as an odd kid, a little too quiet, and mostly creepy. Lately, the weird factor had gotten worse, his black eyes rimmed in sleepless circles, his unwashed hair hanging over his ears. His pale skin gave him a ghostly appearance that reminded me of Children of the Corn.
‘Nothing.’ Elise stood, hauling Jackson up off the couch with her. ‘Let’s go outside. I need to talk to you,’ she shot me a look, ‘in private.’
Excluded from the family yet again. It was probably something I should get used to. My phone dinged with a text while I scooped up the popcorn bowl:
I’m coming for a visit. I think it’s time we had a chat.
The text came from a blocked number. So I replied:
Who is this? How did you get this number?
No reply. I debated texting again, then thought better of it. Don’t engage.
I cleaned up the board game and drained evidence of the soda while the kids shuffled outside. While they conspired – or whatever it was they were doing – I decided I’d get some swimming in. Heading upstairs to change into my swimsuit, I passed Harper’s open bedroom door, stopped mid-stride, took a step back. A peek wouldn’t hurt.
Everything was in obsessively neat order, not a single item of clothing out, as if the room was only intended to be photographed, never lived in. Bed wrinkle-free, pillows perfectly fluffed, floor swept clean, even her nightstand dusted and sparse, with only a lamp, a hardcover copy of All You Ever Needed to Know about Plants, and a small, leather-bound book centered on the table. A journal, perhaps? A glance inside could give me insight into what crazy rattled around in her brain.
I picked it up. Checked behind me. Clear. I heard the kids chatting outside below the open window. Just a quick look.
The scribble wasn’t that of an adult but of a child. So it was Elise’s journal. I wondered why Harper had it. I flipped through pages of idle musings from a little girl’s perspective. The boys she liked. The bully she hated. The friend who betrayed her. Common themes that draped over all our lives from childhood into adulthood. I paused to read an entry about her brother, chuckling as she recounted how he’d farted in her face. Where was this version of playful Jackson? When had he turned so withdrawn and bleak? I continued leafing through the pages, pausing at a drawing of a black broken heart. Beneath it were the stains of teardrops, tiny circles of discolored paper dotting the page:
I feel so empty inside. I hate my brother. He took my sister away, and Mom said she’s in heaven, but I don’t want her in heaven. I want her here, beside me, so I can give her belly kisses and braids and paint her nails. Then she can paint my nails, even though she never did it right. She always ended up painting my entire finger. I’d let her paint my whole hand if she would just come back. It’s Jackson’s fault. I saw him, but Mom says I don’t know what I saw. I know what I saw. I saw him kill her, and I can never forgive him.
Jackson killed his sister? I dropped the journal on the bed, my stomach churning. Harper had secrets darker than mine, and that was quite an achievement. Either Lane was protecting them for her, or he didn’t know. But this … this was a big one. Harper was raising a budding murderer.
I had to keep her and her deranged kids away. I had my own child to think of. What if Jackson hurt my baby? If there was one thing I carried with me from my childhood, it was a tactical method of survival. Kill or be killed. Everyone had a weakness, and now I knew Harper’s and exactly how to destroy her.
Chapter 25
Candace
I could swim in your depths forever.
But forever isn’t long enough.
Some days it felt like I watched my life happen around me. I paddled and paddled, but I couldn’t break through. Monica loathed me; it was evident in the way she greeted me with a harsh, insincere ‘Candy’. Harper was jealous of me, as evidenced in her aloof demeanor toward me. Lane was her possession, and God forbid anyone threaten that. I saw the hate in the way she examined me, as if she was inspecting a bug squished between her fingers, but hate suited me. It inspired me to win. As for Lane, well, he was the only good thing going in my life, but he was hiding something big. A secret for his sister. For himself, maybe. Whatever had happened, whatever mysteries he harbored, he’d locked them up tight.
When I mentioned offhandedly in bed the night before about my conversation with the kids, he was quick to slam the door on it.
‘Why would Jackson say that he killed his sister? What was he talking about?’ I had asked.
The worried look he gave me, guilt mingled with alarm, got filed in a place I couldn’t access.
‘Jackson’s been … obsessed with death since his father passed,’ he had tried to explain. ‘He makes things up. It’s become a problem. He hasn’t been dealing well.’ But I noted the lies between the truths.
‘Why isn’t he in therapy? He should be seeing a doctor if it’s that bad. You should have heard what he said … and how he said it.’
‘It’s not our place to judge. The kid has been through a lot. Just cut them some slack, okay? And don’t read into it.’
How could I not? The kid practically admitted to murder.
‘He’s not acting normal, Lane. He needs help.’
‘Can you please let it go?’
Slam! The door had become my enemy, locked and unbreakable. I had dropped the conversation
then, not for me but for Lane. I didn’t want to burn our love into ashes by lighting a fire I couldn’t put out. But I worried it was too late. We had sex that night, but it was dispassionate and friendly, like fuck buddies, not lovers. He couldn’t cross the chasm that had come between us. So I decided, after flopping on to my side of the bed, Lane curled up with his back to me, that to fix our relationship I would need to start by fixing myself.
Me time self-care was the perfect place to begin.
A nine o’clock prenatal massage followed by a hair appointment was just what I needed. Jet-lagged from drama, a makeover could cure just about any ailment. Harper would scoff at the $150 price tag of my Swedish massage, and the $120 haircut on Lane’s dime, but fixing the damage I had done to it was worth every penny. I admit, chopping it off in a panicked act of self-loathing wasn’t the best decision. But the new short, layered style was pretty cute, if I did say so myself. I had never had it chin-length before, but I could get used to it. If I could get used to the sister-in-law from hell, I could get used to anything.
Bella Trio Salon was a riot of color and chitchat. A splash of burgundy on one wall. A Tuscan yellow on another. A cucumber water station in one corner, and beyond the entrance a marbled staircase leading to a second story where the masseuses made their magic. With hairdryers blowing, brushes beautifying, and dye setting, you could walk in as one person and walk out as another.
Standing behind me, dusting the clippings from my shoulder, was Gisele, her arms rattling with jewelry and her lips puckered in entitlement. From her designer boots to her flawless makeup, I would have admired her if I didn’t hate her. Even her name was designer – Gisele. She looked like the type of woman who stole husbands. A football helmet of platinum hair and clothes tight like a second skin, she was about six inches short of the stereotypical home-wrecker. But men didn’t care how tall she was. They only cared where she came up to on her knees.
Gisele handed me a mirror, along with some advice.
