by Holly Hart
“I hate that you’d win that bet.” She roots around in her purse, doesn’t find what she’s looking for, and drops it between her feet. “I mean, the avocado’s turning brown. Is it possible to take so long eating your food, it hits its expiry date between bites?”
Carson tears his bagel in two. Drops half of it on his plate. Still doesn’t take a bite.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“I remember one time in kindergarten, I gave him a bag of chips. Know what he did with them?”
“Do I want to?”
No—no, she does not. “He crushed them up into dandruff-sized pieces, which he spent the rest of the day eating one by one.”
“So what you’re saying is...we could be here a while.”
“Mm-hm.” I stifle a yawn. It really is like watching paint dry. Yesterday, he worked a morning shift at McDonald’s and spent the afternoon washing his car. The day before, he went to physiotherapy for four hours, emerged limping, and got a Dairy Queen chicken strip lunch, which he washed down with half a bottle of Pepto Bismol. Day before that, he put in his hours at McDonald’s and met up with Wes.
Today’s shaping up to be more of the same: another morning shift—at Jiffy Lube, this time—and now he’s two hours into his lunch break, engrossed in a paperback copy of The Short-Timers.
“Feels kind of weird, watching someone like this.” Kate toys with her purse strap. “I mean, he’s out in public, doing public stuff, but...it’s like there’s a threshold where it starts to add up to something, uh....”
“Uncomfortably personal?” I’m getting the same feeling.
“Yeah.”
That’s not the only thing making me uncomfortable. His life’s so ordinary. Exactly what I’d have expected from him. No grandiose flourishes, no erratic detours, just...life. Hard to reconcile that with blackmail and murder. Unless it’s always been an act, a careful veneer to keep his darkness from the world. Out of all of us, he kept his cool best, after Matt Danbury. Powered on through like we didn’t just take a life.
Maybe he was prepared. Maybe he knew what was going to happen—maybe....
I open my mouth to say something to Kate. Carson dogears his page and tucks his book in his pocket. He regards his bagel for a moment, scowls, and dumps it in the trash.
“See, that I don’t get.” Kate wags her finger. “He’s obviously working minimum wage, but he buys a six-dollar avocado bagel, and not even a nibble.”
“Maybe he’s still sick from the Dairy Queen.”
“Or he’s going to drive around eating gross glove box candy again.”
I duck down instinctively as he heads for his car, but he doesn’t so much as glance our way. He folds himself into the driver’s seat and pulls out without checking his mirror. Kate unlocks my phone and taps on the tracker app, watching the red dot inch across the screen as his taillights disappear.
“Okay—go straight three blocks, then right at Tremont Park.”
I wait till he’s completely out of sight, and nose into the street. The rental car handles like shit, lurching and grinding as I shift gears. But my Tesla would give us away in an instant. I grin and bear it as Carson leads us to a residential neighborhood, kind of run-down, but quiet and green.
“This where he lives?” Kate’s looking around curiously.
“Nah—he’s in Queens. Not sure what’s here for him.” I slow down for a school crossing. Two kids dawdle through, both toting bright red backpacks. They’re around the age I would’ve been when Kate first moved onto my block—fourth grade, maybe fifth. We used to mosey home the same way, like we had all the time in the world.
“He’s stopped up ahead.” Kate holds up my phone, tapping her nail on the screen. “Take the next right and look out for his car.”
I spot a house with flyers spilling out of the mailbox a couple of doors from where Carson’s parked his Corolla, and pull into the driveway. He’s still in his car, slumped over the steering wheel.
“What’s he doing?”
I pull out my binoculars for a better look. “Don’t know. Nothing, as far as I can see.”
“Wait—who’s that?”
My breath catches in my throat. The woman coming down the garden path—I’ve seen her before, and recently. “Isn’t that—?”
“Kyle’s mistress! That’s her, from the picture!”
Finally, something we can use. It is her, same bouncy blond curls, same generous curves. She taps on Carson’s window and stands back, hands on her hips. Kate’s already got her phone out, recording the encounter.
Carson gets out of the car. Everything about his body language screams defeat. He’s hanging his head, looking off to one side, shifting from foot to foot. She’s saying something—snapping at him, from the looks of it. Whatever response she gets, it’s not to her liking: the slap’s hard enough to turn his head.
“Whoa...drama!” Kate’s practically pressed to the window, taking it all in.
Carson rubs his cheek. Says something that seems to go over better. This time, he gets a kiss—and not a platonic one.
“Wait—so she’s Carson’s mistress?”
I lower my binoculars, mouth agape. “That’s—I mean, I guess so, but....”
A little kid comes bounding down the steps, no older than four, and wraps his arms around Carson’s leg. His delighted shouts carry down the street—Daddy! Daddy!
“Oh!” Kate lowers her phone. “A whole secret family! Shady....”
“You can say that again.”
Carson picks up the boy, a tiny, blond version of himself, and bounces him in the air. He kisses him on both cheeks, setting him giggling.
“Got to say, he doesn’t seem like a horrible father.”
He doesn’t. A horrible husband, for sure, but the way he grins as the kid starts digging through his pockets—that’s real affection. Still—a double life. Using the mother of his child to frame Kyle. That’s some next-level cloak-and-dagger, right there.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
I follow her gaze. An older boy’s hanging over the gate, maybe seven or eight. Carson hugs that one, too, and musses up his hair. The two of them start shadowboxing, dancing on their toes. Before long, the little one joins in.
“I’ll give him this: he’s an amazing liar.” I shake my head, disbelieving. “He must’ve been—I mean, he married pretty young, but, shit. He must’ve started cheating, like...the day after his wedding.”
“You seriously had no idea?”
“Not a clue. And Dev didn’t, either. Something this big, he’d have told me.”
The three of them head up the path. The woman still looks pissed, but the kids are ecstatic, buzzing around Carson’s legs. They vanish into the house, leaving us gawking at the door.
“Don’t suppose we can do much with this.” Kate takes my binoculars and tries to peer in the window. “I mean, so he has a couple of kids with this woman—he’s already getting divorced. His wife probably knows. Or if she doesn’t, she, uh...hates him for other reasons, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“Ugh. I can’t see a thing.” She lowers the binoculars. “Still, if he can keep something like this hidden, there’s got to be more skeletons in his closet.”
“If there are, we’ll find them.” I squeeze her knee reassuringly. “We’ve only been doing this, what, a week? And we’ve already figured out how he set up Kyle.”
“Kyle must’ve known about...that.” She gestures at the house. “Maybe that’s why he had to die. So he wouldn’t start thinking, hey, Carson’s a fucking liar—maybe he has something to do with this.”
The same thought had crossed my mind. “We should get out of here, anyway. For all we know, he’s spending the night.”
“Right.” A stormy look darkens her brow. “You know what I don’t get? His life isn’t even that bad. Sure, his marriage didn’t work out, but someone loves him, and his kids obviously worship the ground he walks on. So what if he’s working fast food inst
ead of living the American dream? He’s got at least half of what I wanted, right there in that house, and this is what he does?”
It’s pissing me off, too. And we’ll have to be careful now, knowing he’s got a family depending on him. However we deal with him, it can’t splash back on them.
Kate’s quiet on the drive back to Manhattan, probably thinking the same thing. I drop her off at the Plaza with a kiss and a promise to text in the morning. It’d be nice to stay, but if Carson’ll be out all night, I want to use the opportunity to rummage through the few bags he’s storing at my place. Doubt he’d keep anything incriminating under my nose, but who knows? From what I’ve seen today, he’s pretty brazen.
Chapter 34
Kate
* * *
He’s taking it all for granted—the best parts of the life I thought I’d have with Max. Fucking Carson: two beautiful kids, a nice place to lay his head, a woman who’d forgive him whatever earned him that slap...and he’s ready to throw it all over for what? Petty jealousy?
It doesn’t make sense. He must’ve known Dev’s fame wasn’t making him happy, to be able to push him over the edge so easily. Same with Kyle and Rachel—and he’d already shit all over me and Max.
Guess for some people, nothing’s ever enough. I step off the elevator, already fishing in my purse for my keycard. My head’s pounding from sitting in Max’s car all day, AC blasting in my face. I just want to sink into a hot bath and let it all slip away. I’m sick of thinking about Carson, about Dev and Kyle, about all the ugliness in the world. Literally sick: that niggling nausea’s back, from the other day.
Wes comes crashing out of his room just as I’m about to take shelter in mine. His suitcase tumbles to the floor and bursts open, spilling crumpled shirts and toiletries everywhere. Fuck. I can’t pretend I didn’t see that.
“Need some help?”
Wes looks up, eyes dark and hollow. “Oh, uh...yeah, actually. If you wouldn’t mind.”
I kneel down beside him and start folding shirts. There’s something oily on most of them—shower gel, I think. Teach him to steal hotel toiletries. “You headed home? You didn’t say....”
He shakes his head rapidly. “Back to Lake George. Dad—he’s not doing well. Need to be there, in case...in case....” He gulps and sniffles. A pair of shorts tumbles out of his suitcase, and he stuffs it back in with an angry grunt. “Damn it—can’t one thing go right?”
I take his hand and settle it on his knee, stroking his knuckles till he calms down. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” It’s the work of a few minutes to rearrange his clothes so his case will close properly. By the time I’m snapping the catches, he’s got his breathing under control.
“Thanks. Guess I’d better....”
“Wait.”
“Hm?” Wes drags his sleeve across his face. “I really need to—”
“I’ll come with you.” So much for my date with a tub full of bubbles. But he looks terrible: he must’ve dropped ten pounds since we left London. And he’s pale, disheveled—there’s an actual stain on his shirt, soy sauce, from the looks of it. He’s breaking my heart with that look on his face, lost, scared, vaguely hopeful. “Come on. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you have—aren’t you and Max... I mean, you have the whole wedding thing to worry about, and your show....”
“Don’t think about that right now.” I’d rather not dwell on it, either. “Sonia’s got the show handled, for now, and the wedding... Iit’s not going to come to that.” I flash him my best confident smile. “You’ll see. We’re going to work this out. All you need to worry about is getting home to your dad.”
“Thanks.”
I pull him into a tight hug. A trip home might be just what he needs: time away from Carson, the chance to see his dad. I can’t resist the urge to fuss over him when I let him go, straightening his collar and smoothing down his hair. “There. Much better. Give me a second to grab a few things, and we’ll go.”
Wes leans against the wall to wait. His eyelids start to droop the second he’s not moving. Looks like I’ll be driving.
I can barely see the outlines of the mountains against the darkening sky, but I know they’re there, insulating our little patch from the rest of the world, as they always have. Birch trees gleam white along the rocky embankments, giving way to pines, then telephone poles, as I turn off on Canada Street.
I remember last time I drove this stretch, pulling over at a rest stop to cut the tin cans off my bumper, squeegee the JUST MARRIED off my window. Never thought I’d be back—never thought I could come back, after what I did—but here I am, and nothing’s changed.
Wes stirs as the first lights appear along the roadside: not many of them, this time of year. In a couple of months, the town’ll swell with summer people, resorts and campsites burgeoning with activity, but the beast’s still asleep, this early in spring.
I slow down, closing in on the town center. “Where am I going?”
“My place.” Wes yawns. “Still know the way?”
‘Course I do. Right at the park, along the shore to the backwoods; right again at the mailbox. “You kept the cabin?”
He nods. “Couldn’t let it go. Too many memories.”
Cabin’s a charitable word for Wes’s place: it’s more of a prefab abomination, vinyl-sided, single-glazed, with a woodburning stove and a porch with raccoons living under it. Time hasn’t done it any favors. The railing’s come off the balcony since I saw it last, and a tree’s fallen over the bare patch of dirt that served as a driveway. I pull up on the lawn instead. “Your dad still at that retirement village?”
“No.” Wes toys with his seat belt, seemingly reluctant to get out of the car. “Had to move him to a nursing home. Figured I’d head over in the morning. Listen, uh—I haven’t been back in a while. You don’t have to stay here, if....” He gestures at the drooping porch, the duct-taped chimney. “As long as you don’t mind picking me up in the morning, it’s fine if you’d rather find a hotel. I won’t be insulted.”
“Don’t be silly. This is fine.” It isn’t, at all, but the thought of leaving Wes to his worries gives me a sick, hollow feeling. “Shit—I should go to the store, though. Grab us some food, toilet paper, the essentials.”
“I’ll go.” Wes passes me his keys—too quickly. He doesn’t want to be here, and I don’t blame him. This isn’t even my house, and already, I’m drowning in memories, mostly unpleasant ones. Right there, behind the woodpile—that’s where I found Wes the night his dad lost his leg. Me and Max had to kick dirt over the bloodstains in the driveway before he’d venture out. And there, where the patio set used to be—that’s where we plotted our revenge on Matt Danbury, all seven of us crowded around a table meant for two.
I blink away Dev’s long-ago laughter—and his house’ll be full of rats, and everyone’ll be screaming, and his parents’ll kill him—and get out of the car. Dried grass crunches under my feet.
I can feel the tragedy of Wes’s life closing in on me, just like the first time I came here—This is where you live? It wasn’t so bad then: the grass was still green, at least in patches, and the gutters weren’t hanging off the roof. But the look in his eyes, that shame, that fear of judgment—I wanted to save him and back away from him, in equal measure.
Nothing’s changed. Wes didn’t escape his past any more than the rest of us. He’s still struggling, still trapped in that cycle of failure and disappointment. It’s hard to take—the way he tries to hide it, and it’s never enough; he needs so much—
“Is there anything special you want?”
“Hm?” I jolt back to the present. “No. Whatever you want’s good with me.”
A prickle of panic raises my hackles as Wes drives away. The light from the nearest house barely filters through the trees, turning the cabin to a featureless hulk. Should’ve had him turn on the lights before he left—if there even are any. Wes never liked to let anyone inside: half the time, I
’d come over and find him doing homework by the light of a camping lantern.
I pick my way up the stairs and across the porch. The boards creak and sag under my feet; a strand of cobweb finds its way into my mouth. I spit and stumble, grossed out and creeped out. Forgot how scary the woods get at night. Carson and Kyle even shot a horror movie out here—Zombie Lumberjack Armageddon. We were all in it. Max chewed my face off on the balcony. Wes died in the woods, chased down by...Carson? Or was it Kyle?
The key sticks in the lock. I jiggle it hard and it breaks off. The door opens anyway: typical Wes, forgetting to lock up. Inside, it’s cold and dark, and of course the light switch doesn’t work, but it doesn’t matter. The lantern’s in plain view, and it hums to life with the push of a button.
“Christ....”
Nothing’s changed—nothing at all. How it ever seemed acceptable, Wes living here, living like this.... It was clean, at least, before his dad’s accident. Clean and cheerful, with that bright yellow wallpaper, now faded to a grim nicotine brown. I dust off one of the folding chairs and set my bag on it, wrinkling my nose against the urge to sneeze.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, glad of the distraction. Looks like Max has been texting a while—
shiiiiiiiiit, carson came back!!!!! almost caught me going thru his stuff
you there?
this is getting weird. txt when you get this.
I lean against the counter, not wanting to sit on anything that hasn’t been thoroughly wiped down. Sorry—was driving. Wes’s dad’s sick; we’re in Lake George. What’s up?
Max’s reply pops up right away: he’s taken over my study
went in there like an hr ago
think he’s cowering
*carving
goddammit
*c r y i n g
I raise a brow. That is weird. You sure?
no
should I go in there?
Normally, I’d say no. Carson isn’t the touchy-feely type. Can’t picture him taking kindly to being caught in a moment of naked grief. But if there was ever a time to break through his defenses....
