A White Picket Fence

by Laura Branchflower

  A White Picket Fence

  Laura Branchflower

  Copyright © 2017 Laura Branchflower

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 9780999175200

  ISBN: 0999175203

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No Part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages or reproduce illustrations in a review with appropriate credits; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other – without written permission from the publisher.

  For Joanne

  Content

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Also by Laura Branchflower

  Prologue

  “Lina!” Phil Hunter sat up in his bed, looking frantically around the darkened room, his seventeen-year-old body drenched in sweat. “Lina!”

  He scrambled from the bed to his desk, his hands feeling around blindly in the dark for his car keys. He grabbed for the small chain to turn on the lamp but pulled too hard, and the light fell onto its side. He quickly righted it and turned it on with shaky fingers before his eyes searched wildly for his keys.

  Yanking his jacket off the back of the desk chair, he dug his hands into the pockets, swirling them around in vain before throwing the jacket angrily to the floor. “Where are my keys?” he shouted to the empty room.

  His bedroom door banged open. “Phil?” His father’s face was etched with concern. “What—”

  “Where are my keys? Did you take my keys?” Pushing past him, Phil stepped out into the hall.

  “What’s going on?” His older brother, Mike, his eyes puffy from sleep, came out of the bedroom across the hall.

  “I need your keys.” Phil shouldered his brother out of the way and stormed into his room.

  “Is he okay?” His mother joined the others in the hallway.

  “I think he’s sleepwalking,” his father said.

  They watched in stunned silence as Phil reappeared, sprinting towards the stairs with Mike’s keys gripped in his hand. “Phil! Stop!” his father shouted. “Stop!” He bounded after him down the stairs, catching him at the front door as Phil frantically undid the locks. “Stop!” He pushed his body against the door as Phil attempted to pull it open.

  “Get out of my way!” Phil gripped his father’s arm and roughly pushed him aside.

  His father lost his balance, falling hard on his side. “Mike, stop him!” he yelled as he struggled to his feet.

  Phil wrenched open the door, but was engulfed in his brother’s powerful arms before he made it outside. “Calm down!” Mike, who outweighed Phil by thirty pounds, dragged him backwards.

  “Let me go!” Phil elbowed him hard in the stomach, causing Mike to fall back against the stairs, and then he was lunging for the door and his escape.

  He was halfway out when his father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and he was again dragged backwards. Before he could fight his way free, Mike was lifting him by his legs and dropping him to the floor, then following, trapping Phil’s flailing body beneath his own.

  “Get the fuck off me! Get off! Lina needs me! I need to go to Lina!”

  “Phil, wake up!” His father was kneeling beside his head, holding down his shoulders as Mike struggled to keep the rest of his body pinned. “Son, you’re dreaming.”

  “I’m not fucking dreaming! Lina is in trouble.” His face was bright red.

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning. Lina’s home in bed.”

  “No—God! Let me go!” Phil fought to free himself, managing to roll onto his side, but he was no match for the combined weight of his brother and father and was quickly subdued, his face pushed hard against the floor.

  “Honey, what’s her phone number?” his mother asked, rushing up with a cordless phone. She quickly dialed the number Phil recited. “No answer,” she said after several seconds. “Did you talk to her on the phone? Did she call you?”

  “No, Mom, please.” Phil was crying. “I need to go to Lina. Lina needs me. I know she needs me. Mom, please,” he cried. “Please.”

  “Take him,” his mother said. “Take him, Bruce.”

  “Faster!” Phil yelled less than a minute later. “There’s something wrong.” He stared out the window, unfocused, clenching and unclenching his hands as he endured the longest five minutes of his life.

  As soon as their car turned up Lina’s lane, Phil’s eyes focused on a white van in her driveway, and his heart began to pound. He was out of the car and running towards her front door before his father had the car in park, Mike on his heels.

  Mr. Hunter slammed the driver’s door and was jogging towards the house when he heard Phil’s heart-wrenching scream. “Lina!” And then, seconds later, his older son’s, “Call 911!”

  1

  Twenty-four Years Later

  Lina Hunter heard the sound of the shower running when she entered her bedroom. It was Phil. She’d seen his car in the garage when she arrived home from the grocery store moments earlier. She crossed to the garment bag splayed out on their bed and began unpacking his clothes, hanging his suits in the wardrobe and tossing his dirty shirts and underwear into a hamper. She frowned when she saw a pink tie looped around a hanger with one of his suits. He didn’t wear pink. She recalled the time early in their marriage when he refused to wear a salmon-colored shirt she bought him, claiming real men didn’t wear pink and yet, as she studied a small stain marring the silk material, it was obvious he had worn it. Where had it come from? She knew it wasn’t in his bag when he left for his business trip four days earlier because she had packed for him.

  A buzzing sound caught her attention as she left the wardrobe. She crossed to Phil’s cell phone, which was lying on his dresser beside his wallet.

  Any chance you can get away for a few hours tomorrow? Monday’s too far away.

  Lina’s hand shook slightly as she reread the text. It was from someone named Kim. She wracked her brains but couldn’t recall him ever mentioning a Kim. She typed in his passcode to see if there were any other messages from the woman, but the phone vibrated and displayed a message indicating the cod
e she attempted was incorrect. She carefully typed it again with the same results. He’d changed his passcode. There were only three passcodes they used: The anniversaries of the day and month they met, the day and month they bought their first house, and the day and month he was promoted to partner at his law firm. She attempted each without success.

  She replaced the phone before lowering herself onto the edge of the mattress, staring unfocused out the window as she contemplated the significance of both the text and the fact that her husband had changed his passcode without telling her. She couldn’t shake the unease in her stomach. The wording of the text seemed off for work, but what else could it be? He wouldn’t be having an affair. He would never do that to her, not after twenty-five years, not after everything they’d been through together. But who was Kim, and why was she texting him?

  The opening of the bathroom door had her shifting her gaze as Phil emerged naked, a towel hanging loosely around his neck, his dark hair tousled. Her eyes traveled over his chest and perfectly toned stomach. He looked as good—no, better—than he had on the day they met. The kids, in particular their oldest daughter, Megan, often complained that his triathlon training kept him out of the house too much, but there was no denying the benefit to his physique. At forty-one, he was in the best shape of his life.

  “I thought you weren’t going to be home until late.” She was surprised how normal her voice sounded when her heart was jumping so hard she could hear the beat in her head.

  “Things wrapped up earlier than I expected.” He met her lips for a brief kiss before crossing to his bureau. “Where are the kids?”

  “Where did this come from?”

  He glanced back over his shoulder at the pink tie she was holding. “I spilled a drink on my tie yesterday and one of the paralegals ran out and got me that one.”

  “It’s from Neiman Marcus,” she said, fingering the label on the underside of the tie. “I don’t recall a Neiman Marcus in New York City.”

  “I have no idea where she got it.” He stepped into a pair of boxer briefs. “She could have taken it from another attorney. Why do you care?”

  “It just isn’t your normal style.”

  “That’s probably because you didn’t pick it out.” He lifted his phone, his eyes scanning the display, and then he was darkening the screen and setting it back down. “What time is Logan’s game tomorrow?”

  “Ten.” She watched him cross to his wardrobe, trying to recall the last time they had sex. Too long ago, she decided when she couldn’t immediately recall. “We have dinner at Wayne and Diane’s tomorrow night,” she said when he reappeared in khaki shorts and a faded Georgetown Law School T-shirt.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said, frowning.

  “What?”

  “Make plans without consulting me.”

  “When have I ever consulted you before making plans with Wayne and Diane?” His annoyance surprised her.

  “Exactly, but I’d like you to start. I was looking forward to a work-free weekend, but that’s clearly not going to happen now.”

  “Phil?” She followed him back to his wardrobe, watching as he began to slip on a pair of running shoes. “What’s going on?” Wayne was one of the senior partners at his law firm, but also his best friend.

  “Nothing. It’s been a long week and I wanted to stay in and relax, not socialize.” He walked back out into the bedroom, his arm brushing hers as he passed by.

  “I could cancel.”

  “No.” He slipped his cell phone into his pocket before heading towards the door. “You’ve already made the plans.”

  She stared after him, a tingling of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

  Hours later, Lina glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was after midnight, and Phil still hadn’t come to bed. When she left him an hour and a half earlier watching television with Logan, she assumed he would follow, but that clearly wasn’t the case. She was considering going back downstairs when the bedroom door opened.

  “I expected you to be asleep,” he said after closing the door.

  “I was just reading.” She closed her magazine and set it on the nightstand. Another five minutes passed before he emerged from the bathroom and then the mattress was shifting as he stretched out beside her. “I’m tired,” he sighed as he lay back against his pillows.

  Lina rolled onto her side to face him, stroking her hand over his bare chest. “Did you know it’s been three weeks?”

  He turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes. “No.”

  “I miss you.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips.

  “Do you?” He pulled his head back so he could meet her eyes.

  “Yes.” She saw the doubt in his eyes. “I was waiting for you to come to bed.”

  “Yeah?” He trailed his fingers down her cheek.

  “Yes.” She covered the back of his hand with her own, holding it against her face. “I love you.”

  He met her lips for a deep kiss. “I love you too, baby,” he said before kissing her again.

  When Lina awoke the following morning, after her first full night’s sleep in five days, Phil was still asleep beside her, sprawled out on his back with one arm over his head and the other resting on his stomach, the sheet barely covering the lower portion of his body. The distance she’d felt when he returned from his trip was gone. When he’d looked into her eyes while his body moved within hers and told her he loved her, she’d felt the invisible force pulsating between them, a force that had been missing lately, as if it had taken a hiatus, but it was back last night and, in the light of day, she could still feel it like a warm blanket.

  As if sensing her attention, his eyes opened. He pushed his arms against the headboard for an intense stretch. “Good morning.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She was lying on her side, propped up on her elbow, facing him.

  “It’s okay. I want to get in a run before I leave for the game.”

  “You’re not running with your group this weekend?” He’d joined a running group in Baltimore a few months earlier and usually ran with them on Saturday or Sunday.

  “No.”

  “What’s your plan for the day? Besides the game and Wayne and Diane’s, I mean.” Her thoughts were on the text from the previous evening.

  “I told your mom I’d put in a new garbage disposal. Hers is leaking. I’ll swing by with Logan after the game.”

  “There’s nothing else you have to do?”

  “Not that I know of. Why? Do you need me for something?”

  “I was hoping you could fix the frame around Katie’s door,” she said, relieved he wasn’t planning to see Kim. “She asked again the other day. You said you would.”

  “I said I would when I was sure it wouldn’t happen again. Do you think it’s safe to do that?”

  “Yes, I really do.” The Katie who slammed her door hard enough to break the wooden frame was thankfully a distant memory. “She watched television with us on Thursday night. Did I tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “Dr. Drayton said—.”

  “No.” He shook his head as he covered her lips with his fingertips. “I’ll fix her door, but in return, I’d like to go a day without discussing Katie or Dr. Drayton.”

  Lina stared at the picture of Kim Ryan on her computer screen. Of the seventy-five associates at Phil’s law firm there was only one named Kim. She’d almost convinced herself the text was innocent, but one look at the blonde who looked more like a model than an attorney ramped the apprehension she’d felt the evening before to new heights. She combed her fingers back through her hair, staring at the woman she was sure had authored the text to her husband. According to her bio, she’d graduated from law school five years prior, which meant if she’d gone straight from college to law school she was about thirty—ten years younger than Lina. She’d come to the firm six months earlier. Lina tried to recall her face at the holiday party without success. She closed her laptop and pus
hed it away from her as if trying to create distance between herself and the other woman.

  This was crazy. She was finding Phil guilty of having an affair because he’d received a text from an attractive associate. Lina conjured up an image of him the night before, his body over hers as he looked into her eyes and told her he loved her. She was being crazy. He wasn’t having an affair.

  Wayne Hurte, eight years Phil’s senior, was one of three founding partners at Hurte, Dunlop and Smith and a man Phil highly respected. Three inches shorter than Phil’s six-foot-three height, he was noticeably fit and despite his receding hairline and fifty-one years, still gave off a youthful energy. He’d hired Phil out of law school, served as his mentor, and promoted him to full partner before his thirtieth birthday, making him the youngest associate to ever obtain the status. His wife, Diane, was one of Lina’s closest friends, and the couples often socialized together.

  “Love the dress,” Diane said after greeting them in the foyer. “I can’t believe you’re old enough to have a daughter graduating from high school.”

  “Me either,” Lina laughed. At five foot six, Lina and Diane were the same height, but there the similarities ended. Diane was blonde and blue-eyed with a curvy figure prone to put on weight if she wasn’t careful, while Lina had dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes, with a slight figure that looked even smaller next to her broad husband.