“Even your mom and dad?”
Especially. “Yeah. I know I told you I was in foster care for a bit. I don’t want to—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He hugs me, then pulls back to smile at me. “Well, my buddy Evan is on vacation for the long weekend. My parents are in Florida. I don’t want to tell anyone at work. But we’ll need a witness. Any ideas? Maybe Pablo from room service can run to the courthouse with us. We’ve gotten to know him pretty well the last week or so.” He says it with a chuckle, but he probably means it.
I don’t even have to rack my brain. “I know exactly who to call.”
When Hobart pulls up to the front of the courthouse, he parks the cab and ambles toward James and me, happy and holding hands. He looks exactly as I remember him, and he grins as he walks toward us.
“Miss Tessa. I’m so glad you called.” He extends his arms, inviting me in for a hug, which I give him. “Marriage, huh? You sure this isn’t too fast?” His face is amused and concerned at the same time.
I grab James’s hand again. “Hobart, I’d like you to meet James Montgomery. He’s the most amazing man in the world. Next to you, of course,” I say with a wink, then look up at James adoringly. “My knight in shining armor, if there ever was one.”
James and Hobart smile as they shake hands. “You got yourself a good woman here, Mr. Montgomery.”
James’s arm is around me and he kisses my head. “I know. She won’t tell me how you two know each other.”
Hobart glances at me quickly and keeps my secret. “Tessa and I go way back,” he says with a chuckle.
The application process is swift. My hands visibly shake as I hand over my fake ID, but people do this all the time. We all sign on the dotted line and we’re told we can return on Friday. Hobart promises to come and give me away, as much as one can do that at a courthouse wedding.
The days pass quickly, and I don’t get cold feet. A little apprehension about the ID, but I know I’m doing the right thing. It’s just like a fairy tale.
On my wedding day, I wear a flowy off-white dress that I got in town, another cheap find but it’s perfect for the day. The last of the rings around my neck don’t need too much concealer, and when we get to the courthouse, I’m beaming. Hobart is already there, and he’s wearing a sports jacket over a T-shirt. It’s a bit battered and has suede on the elbows, but he looks proud and handsome. There is an older Black woman next to him, clutching his arm, her gray hair half pulled away from her face.
“Tessa, this is my wife, Pearl,” Hobart says as we approach. “She knows all about you.”
“Come here, darling,” Pearl says and pulls me in for a hug, then whispers in my ear. “Thank you for asking him to do this.”
I introduce them to James, and off we go.
Me, with my family.
I feel complete. The puzzle is finished. All four of us are each a corner piece that will hold my new world together.
After I’m married (MARRIED!) the four of us go to dinner near the shore, since the beach season is officially opened, being the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. James tries to pay, but Hobart and Pearl insist that dinner is a wedding present for us. They also tell us their daughter Sasha does appraisal work for a realtor and she’ll put us in touch with someone who can find us a home quickly. We certainly can’t live in the hotel forever.
After dinner, Hobart and Pearl go home, and James and I go to a packed Jersey Shore bar and dance the night away. Just him and me. That’s my honeymoon.
It beats the week in the Bahamas that Drew and I went on four years ago. By a longshot.
I feel it so deep in my bones, so sure of my life, for the first time. Nothing else in my life mattered until this point. In fact, it got me here. I’m so grateful I’d take another beating from Drew, just to end up here again.
I love James Montgomery, and I’m going to grow old with him.
24
James
A shiver ran down the length of James’s body as he stared at the wall of drawers. The room was dank, the lights low and bluish, and the air smelled of rot and antiseptic, cigarette smoke wafting off the detective. The silence bothered him, as Detective Solomon stood quietly and judged. He hadn’t said another word to James after his greeting and a quick follow me.
Minutes had passed when the autopsy technician walked into the room, introduced himself as George, and put on gloves. James listened to the way the rubber gloves smacked onto his wrists as he tugged them on, and afterward George looked at a clipboard and made a note.
“Ready?” he asked.
James nodded and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall. He didn’t know if it was the bluish lights in the room, but he looked absolutely yellow. Jaundiced.
Daffodil.
He didn’t realize his eyes were closed until the creak of the drawer opening made his eyes go wide as the toe tag became visible. Then the plastic that was wrapped around the body. There was no way this could be Tessa! She’s not dead, in a bag. She’s at a design convention that he forgot about. That’s it! That had to be it. Please, let that be it. He relaxed as the drawer came closer to his body. It’s not her. Without warning, George yanked the cover open to reveal the person’s face. He understood why they needed an identification. The woman was cut up beyond belief.
At first sight, James almost fainted. His fingers gripped the edge of the slab with white-knuckled rage.
He hadn’t seen rings around a woman’s neck that dark since the night he met Tessa. Were they dark because her face was so, so pale? Lifeless? Expressionless? Dead.
But—it wasn’t Tessa.
James felt so guilty when he was glad that the tortured and bloody woman in front of him on the table wasn’t her. He almost cried and hugged the strange dead body to apologize, and to thank her for not being Tessa. He couldn’t stand the thought of this being her. At that moment, the rage came back. He was going to find her, no matter what he had to do. She’d never end up wrapped in plastic and stuffed in a drawer.
“No.” It was all he could say.
Solomon looked at him, his forehead crinkled. “You’re saying this isn’t your wife, Mr. Montgomery?”
Was someone holding Tessa, doing this to her? Was there a serial slayer out there, kidnapping women and cutting them up? Did someone have Tessa, and were they inflicting pain? He’d give anything to trade places if that were the case. She’d been through enough and he couldn’t deal with the images swirling in his head. James’s mouth opened again, but this time the bile that had been storming in his stomach came rushing out in an instant, half on the plastic all over the floor. He didn’t care when it splattered on his pullover and his shoes. He wished it landed on Solomon. That jerk-off wasn’t doing a goddamn thing to help Tessa.
George grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby minifridge and handed it to James, whose face was drenched with sweat; it dripped into his eyes.
“No,” he said again quietly. “It’s not Tessa.”
Solomon raised his eyebrows. “She was found at the edge of town, by that park near Huntsville. A woman was jogging the long trail with their dog, and the dog went crazy. Pulled his owner right into the woods. There she was. Shot,” Solomon finished, matter-of-factly, almost disappointed it wasn’t Tessa.
Solomon had to know it wasn’t her before he called. The woman’s hair, matted and bloodied as it was, wasn’t even the same color or length. He brought James here to look at this body to fuck with him. Tell us where you hid your wife’s body, murderer!
The bag was zipped back up and the drawer was closed. Back to the refrigerator, Jane Doe. Just like that. Someone else’s problem. Solomon addressed him again. “Wait, Montgomery, didn’t you say you don’t own a firearm? But the neighbor still says you do?”
Solomon was trying to trip him up. Fucking Gwen. “I don’t have a firearm. This isn’t Tessa. Can you please tell me what you’re doing to find my wife?”
This
woman wasn’t Tessa, but someone still had her. He tried to remember the last time he saw her. The morning he left for work, she was still in bed, not feeling well. She wore a ribbed tank top and yoga pants. Wait—was her robe on? Or was she just snuggled up under the comforter?
He couldn’t remember. And that killed him. The fact that he had to identify a body made this become all too real.
He internally berated himself for never pressing Tessa for details of her life—how could he go about finding her now? He had no idea where she grew up, who her siblings were, who her foster parents were. He didn’t know what her favorite subject was or why she didn’t drive.
All he knew was that he loved her, and he was going to find her. No matter what it cost him.
He’d saved her once. He was her knight in shining armor, so she always said. He’d failed her in the worst way. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was screaming for him to save her as someone took her, and if he didn’t find her soon, that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.
At least, until he made someone pay for taking her away from him.
25
Tessa
Walking down the block with two days’ worth of groceries, I treasure the end of the cul-de-sac where our new house is located. The house isn’t huge; it’s a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath colonial, and it’s rather old. Built in the eighties, Sasha had said. But the location is perfect, less than two miles to the main part of town, and the changes we need to make are cosmetic. With my new design business, I can do it all. I’m almost finished with my project at Jupiter’s, so I can dedicate the entire next month to updating our space.
At the top of the driveway, I punch the code into the garage door opener—our anniversary, naturally—and load the groceries through the laundry room, whose opening is attached directly to the kitchen. I place the bags on the counter and put the vegetables and meats into our refrigerator. The kitchen is decent but will eventually need an update. The appliances are black and there’s a beige-and-black granite countertop with a black porcelain sink. The floor and backsplash tiles are a matching peach hue. I bet this was a dream kitchen in the nineties, which is when the last family moved in. They raised their kids here, grew old here, and finally sold it once they empty-nested and realized they’d be happier in a senior adult community where they didn’t have to worry about shoveling show or mowing lawns. They were motivated, accepted our initial offer, and we closed two weeks later.
I note the time, and I have at least an hour to start dinner. James wants me to learn how to drive and get a car, and eventually I’ll have to tell him why I can’t do that. I should’ve come clean in the beginning, when we got married. About my fake ID and how I procured it. But that would’ve opened up a whole other can of worms, one that I was happy was still closed and sealed.
That being said, I haven’t heard from Maribel at all. I haven’t even googled Drew. It’s because I’m moving forward and I’m happy. But the sick part of me that’s been abused not only for the last four years but for the last fifteen needs closure.
I google him. Nothing.
The burner phone I use to communicate with Maribel is hidden in a knee-high winter boot in the back of my closet. After dusting it off, I try to turn it on, but it doesn’t go on—likely out of juice, since it’s been sitting here for a month. I plug it into the charger, the lights blink, and I wait for voicemail or text notifications from her. She must be wondering what happened to me.
I wait.
Nothing.
After ten minutes, the phone is at almost fifty percent charge, so I know I don’t have any notifications. She’s not looking for me.
Or. Or Drew did something to her. I text her.
Hey! I haven’t heard from you. Is everything ok?
I wait anxiously for a reply, hugging my knees into my chest while I lean against the bed. Then, I rush downstairs to the office and google Maribel Lopez. The regular stuff pops up. Her LinkedIn, her private Facebook, her private Instagram handle. Nothing about a murder or a domestic disturbance.
Thank God.
I text her again.
I’m afraid Drew did something to you. Are you ok?
I wait for a few minutes and then decide it’s time to check out caterers online. We’re having people from the bank over on Friday night after work, just a couple of days from now, to celebrate James’s promotion to manager. It happened on Monday, and I beamed when he told me—like I need anything to be prouder of him. He wasn’t as happy as I thought he’d be, told me with a smile and then shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. I knew he was competing with that girl Rosita and it was a huge deal that he won.
We’re only having twelve people over, so I don’t go crazy ordering. Three different salads: One lettuce, one pasta, and one vegetable mix, two trays each of baked ziti and chicken francese, and a cookie platter for after. That will go along with the congratulatory sheet cake I ordered from the bakery, personalized for him.
The best part about all of it is that I paid for it with my own money. The job at Jupiter’s got me a three-thousand-dollar consulting fee, which I’m not sure is good or bad, but I earned it myself. I had a thirty-thousand-dollar budget to make the space industrial and clean. I opted for black and gold linear pendant lights hanging from the ceiling, and picked a rich red for the walls, speckled with gold. I suggested new furniture, and no linen tablecloths, but made the room look richly elegant with sleek black tables and black metal chairs with red cushions, red dinnerware, and gold cloth napkins. It came out warm. Sexy.
And because I met my wonderful husband, I was able to get the job, because he believes in me. And I believe in him, and I want to show my gratitude in every way possible.
My thoughts are interrupted by a buzz. From the burner phone. Like an athlete, I hurdle to the other side of the kitchen where I’d placed it on the counter near the stove.
Can I see you?
It’s from Maribel. My first thought is thank God she’s alive, and my second is immediately no. I write back.
Maribel! I was worried about you. Why do you need to see me? I’m hundreds of miles away
I wait.
Can you talk?
I call her, and she answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Tessa. I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she says.
“I know. I’ve been getting my life together.”
“How’s that going?”
“So far, so good!” I pause, still guarded, even though it’s her. “Just doing my thing. What’s going on over there? With Drew?”
She scoffs. “You know him. He has everyone in his back pocket. He’s called in favors from local law enforcement around here. It’s pretty much dropped, as far as the cops are concerned. No one cared about the affair when I told the police. Everyone thinks you left him.”
“But what about the article? The blood?”
“They questioned him. He had an alibi. A hundred people saw him at that gala. Without a body, there’s nothing to go on.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I say it, concerned, but I get over it quickly—Drew is my past. I can’t let my need for revenge bleed into my current life. I no longer care, and I won’t get dragged into it anymore. “All’s well that ends well.”
“You seem better,” she says. “What have you been doing?”
I can’t give away too much. I just need to let her know that I’m okay, and she will be too. “I got a job. I’ve been hanging out at the shore. Made some friends. Met some neighbors. It’s all good. A new beginning. One I never thought possible.” My voice lowers, out of the shame of my past. “For someone like me.”
Someone like me. What a loaded statement. According to the mold, I’m supposed to be on welfare and pregnant with my fourth kid, from a third baby daddy. Addicted to drugs, working at the checkout at the grocery store, and constantly trying to make ends meet.
Still, I want something just for myself, so I don’t tell her about James.
“Thanks for y
our help, Maribel. And as long as you’re free of him, you’ve won too.”
“I know. I guess this is goodbye?” Her voice cracks.
I feel like we’re in a movie, and this is the dramatic ending. But this is a happy ending. “It is. I wish you well. Maybe someday, our lives will cross paths again.”
“I’d like that,” she says. “Take care, Tessa.”
“You too.”
I hang up.
In the garage, I ruffle through some boxes—we’re not entirely unpacked yet. When I find James’s tools, I take out the hammer. And I obliterate the phone.
26
James
James drove straight from the morgue to the shore to clear his head. And to replay every damn second of the past four months—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Except there wasn’t any bad, and definitely no ugly. Their life was good. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have anything that good ever again.
He parked the car in an empty lot. While the weather at this point in the season could either be eighty or fifty, the “beach season” was over, and the place was a ghost town even though it was pleasant today, with temps in the upper sixties. Opening the door, the smell of salt and seaweed hit his nostrils and instantly calmed him. With the thunderous crash of waves in the background, James removed his shoes and socks and left them in the car, then rolled up his pant legs to his midcalves. He balanced on the edges of his feet as he walked across the rocky parking lot and finally, his toes were in the cool sand.
Then he fell to his knees and pounded his fists on the beach in front of him, the same place he took Tessa to watch her first sunrise. With the thought of someone torturing her like that poor woman he just saw, it became too much to bear and his eyes opened to the ocean in front of him. He stood and took a step. Then another. Before he knew it, his feet were wet, and then the coolness spread to his upper thighs.
He walked into the ocean. His eyes closed, the water now chest high, soaking into his clothes. He kept his hands glued to the insides of his pockets. A wave crashed over his head, and for a few seconds, he held his breath—survival instinct. The wave retreated, but he stood his ground like a statue. Another wave. Every time the waves retreated, they buried his feet farther into the earth. The sand barreled him in above his ankles, and he couldn’t move.
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