by Dianne Dixon
Matt was dying—and at the same time he was proud. He was finally the protector he’d never been. “In addition to the money, the job with Aidan comes with amazing health insurance. I’ve never seen anything like it. Sofie’s going to need that coverage, somewhere down the line. Her adoption will be final soon. Sofie’s our daughter, and I have to make sure she’s safe. That’s my real job. The rest of it’s only a way to earn a living.”
Ali didn’t appear to understand what he was telling her. Matt was worried he’d taken too long to step up and make things right—afraid Ali didn’t love him anymore. Worried that in addition to the other women he’d lost, now he’d lost Ali, too.
It seemed like her response took forever.
But when, at last, Ali came into Matt’s arms, it was with relief and joy.
• • •
After he took Ali upstairs and she was sleeping the first untroubled sleep she’d had in weeks, Matt returned to the garage.
The first thing he did was pick up the For Sale sign and place it flat against the garage’s back wall. Then he pulled his PhD out of the cardboard box and held on to it for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t easy, saying good-bye to a dream he knew he’d never return to.
Matt put his diploma facedown on a dusty ledge above an overflowing trash bin.
His final act was to move the cardboard box containing his books and the nameplate that documented the existence of Professor Matthew Easton—the only man Matt had ever wanted to be. The man he had executed tonight.
Matt pushed the box into a corner dark with shadows—and he kept pushing it deeper and deeper into the shadows until the box was completely out of sight.
Then he went into the house and locked the door.
In the morning, Matt would be gone.
Ali
“How have you been coping since Matt left?” Quinn asked.
“I guess I’m trying to deal with it by focusing on being a good mother to Sofie…and on making a success of the restaurant,” Ali said.
Quinn gave Ali a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know what I’d do if Peter ever left me.”
It was midmorning on Monday, Ali’s day off from the restaurant, and Ali and Quinn were in Ali’s living room, sitting side by side, sharing a plate of homemade peanut butter cookies. “It’s been tough, being on my own for the last six months,” Ali said. “But it’s not like Matt’s left me in the ‘I’m out of here and I’ll never see you again’ way. He’ll be back…as soon as they finish shooting the movie in Australia.”
“Still, you must miss him like crazy.” Quinn reached for another cookie, and Ali let the distraction cover the fact she hadn’t automatically agreed with Quinn’s comment.
Since the day Matt left, Ali had been in constant contact with him—Skyping and emailing. Strangely, although they were thousands of miles apart, Ali felt closer to Matt than she’d been in years, as if their love was being reborn. Yet Ali was thinking, I don’t even know if it’s real. What if when he comes home, everything changes, and we end up where we were before, when I wasn’t sure he was there for me in that protective, take-no-prisoners way you want your husband to be? What if it goes back to how it was…my feelings about him flickering on and off, ready to burn out?
“Oh my God. Look what time it is. Almost eleven. Time to run.” Quinn grabbed her purse, rummaging through it. “Did I get everything I need?” She was planning a surprise thirty-fifth birthday party for Peter and was putting together a tribute video. She’d stopped by to borrow photos—pictures from when Ali, Matt, and Peter lived in the apartment complex.
“I have a few more you might want.” Ali had already given Quinn six or seven photographs, which Quinn had put in her purse. Now Ali was sliding two additional photos across the coffee table. They’d been taken at a poolside barbecue, and Quinn asked, “Who’s the pretty blond?”
“My friend Jessica. The guy next to her is her husband.”
“I know him! Well, I don’t really know him. I’ve run into him a few times. His company does consulting work for the hospital. He—” Quinn stopped. “Hey, what’s going on?” She’d caught Ali tucking a photograph into her pocket, trying to hide it.
Ali blushed. “I just thought you might not want to see this one. It’s of Peter and Liz…the girl he was dating back when Matt and I first met him.”
“Oh, I know all about Liz. She was on the nursing staff for a while. I was her boss. Talk about somebody with anger issues. The fights she had with Peter were epic.” Quinn leaned in, peering at the photograph. “This is the first time I’ve seen her in a bathing suit though. Very dynamic.” Quinn dropped the picture into her purse.
“You’re actually going to show that at Peter’s party? Doesn’t it make you even the least bit jealous?”
“It definitely would have when Peter and I first got together. But now? No. We’re married. We’re solid.” Quinn flashed a self-confident grin. “So what? She’s hot in a bikini. That means whatever I have must be even hotter. After all, I’m the one he decided to marry.” Her laugh was light, relaxed. “It’s me he calls three times a day just to say ‘I love you.’”
Quinn’s expression turned serious as she said, “I trust my husband with all my heart. After seeing the way Matt is with you, and with Sofie, I have to believe you feel the same way.” She looked into Ali’s eyes, searching for something. “Can you tell that I want the whole world to be just like Peter and me…happy, happy, happy?”
Almost before Quinn finished her thought, a delighted little voice called out, “Happy! Happy!”
Sofie ran into the room ahead of Ali’s mother, making a beeline for Ali, climbing into her lap, announcing, “Happy is birthday and kitties!”
While Matt was away, Ali’s mother was staying with Ali, helping with Sofie. Ali was grateful. She loved being with her mother. It was also good not to be alone at night, when every creak in the dark was a reason to panic because her attacker was still on the loose.
Ali pushed away the dark thoughts, tickled Sofie’s tummy, and told Quinn, “Miss Sofie went to a birthday party last weekend. She still hasn’t gotten over it. When you’re two and a half, birthday parties are major excitement.”
“You should’ve seen what a production it was,” Ali’s mother said. “The birthday girl’s parents hired a petting zoo. Puppies and kittens and lambs. That’s not counting the clown and the pony.”
Quinn laughed. “I can’t wait till Peter and I are into babies and birthday parties and all that stuff.”
“The babies are wonderful,” Ali’s mother agreed. “But their parties are outrageous.” She took the empty cookie plate from the coffee table and headed toward the kitchen. “Some people spend more on a toddler’s birthday than I did on my wedding. It’s unbelievable, Quinn.” Ali’s mother stopped and turned to Ali. “That reminds me. Luci Quindley called. I forgot to tell you.”
“Luci? From high school? Luci from across the street who was always peeking out her front window at people? Creepy Luci?”
“Oh, she wasn’t that creepy, Ali. She was a little different.”
Ali looked at Quinn. “This girl was unbelievably weird. She could’ve been voted most likely to become a stalker.”
“Don’t be silly.” Ali’s mother was trying not to smile. “She’s a hairdresser living in San Diego now, and she’d like you to call her. She’s excited about you being married to a film writer and having your own restaurant, and—”
“How does she know all of that? How did she even get my number after all these years?”
“Aren’t you on that Facebook thing?”
“Not lately.” Since her attack, Ali had no desire to be on social media.
“Well,” her mother was saying, “apparently Morgan’s been posting lots of news on Facebook. She talks about you and Matt and—”
“Well, tell her to stop,” Ali said. “Morg
an’s got a life now. Let her go out and make her own news.”
Even as the words were coming out of her mouth, Ali wasn’t completely sure that Morgan was ready to be out in the world on her own.
Morgan
It was a sunlit Saturday afternoon, and Morgan was on black silk sheets. With a cool breeze wafting through an open porthole above her head, sending a delicious chill across her breasts, raising goose bumps along the top of her thighs.
The boat was elegant. Gently rolling from side to side, thumping against the edges of the slip. While the riggings made swaying, tinkling music.
“I feel like I’m in heaven,” Morgan murmured.
“Lucky thing we ran into each other today.” He was entering Morgan with force and speed, leaving her barely enough breath to whisper his name—“Logan.”
Morgan’s sexual history included only a few brief encounters with a couple of guys back in Rhode Island. She’d never experienced anything like this. It was as if every soft, hidden place in her was being discovered, and awakened.
She wasn’t noticing the way Logan had grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the silk sheets—almost hard enough to leave bruises.
Morgan was drifting between this moment and the blur that brought her here. A few hours ago, she’d been in Santa Monica, at Pacifica, an exclusive private club where members enjoyed beachfront tennis courts, a state-of-the-art gym, and a world-class spa.
Morgan was there to pick up a gift certificate—Pacifica’s generous donation to the museum’s upcoming fund-raiser. When she entered the lobby, she bumped into Logan. And experienced the little gut jump, the jolt of attraction Logan always triggered in her.
He explained he had a membership at Pacifica because he spent time in the area; he kept a boat in Marina del Rey.
“Want to have lunch?” Logan was looking at her from head to toe, smiling.
This was still new to Morgan, and it felt good to be looked at by a man who looked as good as Logan. There was a brief thought of Ben, and Jessica. But Morgan realized there wasn’t anything to worry about. She wasn’t planning to do anything wrong. She was simply accepting an invitation to spend a little time being admired.
“Just lunch,” she told him. “That’s all.”
Logan laughed. “If you say so.”
A top-down ride in his Porsche whisked them to a seafood grill with a panoramic view of the ocean and a free-flowing martini bar. Morgan and Logan chatted their way through two enormous lobsters and enough martinis to make Morgan giddy.
Another Porsche ride had brought them here, to Logan’s boat. Mellow jazz on the sound system and Logan’s guiding hand on Morgan’s unsteady back had brought them onto the black silk sheets.
And now she’d had sex with someone else’s husband.
Morgan felt sick.
• • •
Ten minutes later, Logan was dressed and on the deck of his boat, checking his phone.
Morgan was still down in the cabin, putting on lipstick, stepping into her shoes—and hearing Logan’s impatient shout: “Hurry up. I need to take you back to your car. I have someplace to be.”
The boat rocked a little. She lost her balance and grabbed the handle of one of the highly polished wooden drawers built into the cabin wall.
The drawer immediately slid open—showing Morgan that she wasn’t the only extra woman in Logan’s world. Neatly tucked in among Logan’s T-shirts was a pair of panties. Zebra-striped, with a heart-shaped charm on the waistband. The panties were too small to be Jessica’s.
And they weren’t the only ones in the drawer. But before Morgan could take a closer look, Logan was calling to her again, shouting that he had to hit the road.
• • •
Seconds later, Morgan was in the marina parking lot, heading toward Logan’s black Porsche.
With the image of the zebra-striped panties fresh in her mind, Morgan’s question was, “Do you ever think about leaving Jessica?”
Logan pressed his key remote, unlocking his car.
“Would I leave Jessica?” He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Not unless I met somebody who gave me a reason to. So far, nobody has.”
Logan was a narcissist and an asshole—the exact opposite of decent, caring Ben Tennoff.
Logan was a man who wore a wedding ring. And screwed around. And kept panties that he had tucked away in a drawer, like trophies.
And Morgan had just taken a martini-drunk sheet dive with him.
She was trying not to vomit.
Ali
It was a little after twelve o’clock. Quinn had gone home an hour ago to work on her video tribute. Ali and Sofie were on the grass in the backyard, under a tree. They’d just finished a picnic lunch—turkey sandwiches, apples, and a shared chocolate-chip cookie.
Snug in Ali’s lap, Sofie was drowsily watching a butterfly dance in the clear afternoon light. The feel of Sofie’s sleepy weight filled Ali with contentment. She leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes.
At first, the only sounds were the quiet rustle of the tree branches and, from down the block, the music of a piano being played in dreamy intervals.
And then, gradually, Ali became aware of a new sound—one so muted it was almost lost in the rustle of the trees and the melody of the faraway music.
She opened her eyes. Waited. Listened.
Nothing.
But after a second or two, there it was again, elusive and quiet. Cautious footsteps moving across freshly tilled earth.
Ali and Sofie were alone in the yard. Someone was coming toward them—from around the side of the house. Where Ali had dug a new garden bed but hadn’t planted the flowers yet.
It’s him…the man who hurt me.
Terrified, determined to protect Sofie, Ali scrambled to her feet, holding Sofie tight, planning to make a dash for the safety of the house.
There wasn’t time.
The side gate had already swung open. A man was in the yard, a shadow cast by the house obscuring his face.
Ali let out a scream.
And Sofie wailed, “Mommy! Scared!”
He was huge. His body didn’t have an ounce of fat—looked like it was chiseled out of stone. “Don’t run,” he told Ali. “It’s me.”
Still clutching Sofie, Ali collapsed onto the grass. Confused and relieved.
“Levi. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been wanting to see you. For a long time.” Levi stepped out of the shadows, the sunlight glinting off his ginger-colored hair. “I…um…I’ve been parked across the street all morning. Sometimes when I’m in town, I come by…and watch your house. Today, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see you, hear your voice. So a little while ago, after your mother and your visitor left, I rang the doorbell. But you didn’t answer.” He made a helpless gesture, indicating he’d run out of words.
Ali was whispering to Sofie, soothing her and kissing her. “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s okay.”
After she was sure Sofie was calm, Ali looked up at Levi. Her reaction was the same attraction that existed all those years ago, when she’d loved Levi and swore she’d never leave him—the same attraction that had lured her into the texting fling. The flirtation they’d shared. After Ali had moved to California, and Matt had disappeared into his work and made her feel abandoned.
Levi was slowly moving his gaze away from Ali, shifting it to Sofie with a look that was wildly unsettled.
What was that look? Anger? Jealousy? Ali instinctively held Sofie a little closer.
Levi’s attention returned to Ali. She could hear disappointment and frustration when he said, “After you and I started texting last year, I kinda got my hopes up. Then right before Christmas, you wanted to stop. I didn’t understand why you cut me off like that. Some of the things we said in the texts… I thought, even after all the ti
me that had gone by, you’d started to want me again.”
He wavered, seemed embarrassed. “That’s why, when I’m in LA, I come here, and watch your house, and wait. I’m waiting for you.”
Ali glanced at Sofie—she was fast asleep. Yet Ali kept her voice low. It was crushing, having to make these confessions with her daughter in her lap. “Levi, what I did was wrong. I’m sorry about the texting, the things I said, the things I let you say. Matt was working way too much, and I was lonely.” She was cringing. “I’m so ashamed of what we did.”
“I don’t like hearing you say that, Ali.” Levi crouched in the grass beside her, very close, as if he wanted to kiss her. There was a disturbing intensity in his whisper. “I haven’t ever stopped loving you. I’ve never stopped believing you belong to me.”
He took her hand. Ali quickly pulled away. That’s when she caught sight of the jagged scars on his knuckles.
Suddenly she remembered the high-school parking lot, the night of the senior dance. The fury of Levi’s attack on the school counselor’s son. The noise of the boy’s glasses shattering, the sound of bones in his face breaking under Levi’s iron-fisted blows. The boy had suspected Ali might be pregnant, and he’d called her a whore. Ali remembered the beating that Levi gave him, how savage and bloody it was.
And she remembered something else, too. While Levi’s influential father settled things with the police, Levi took Ali into a field of flowers. He’d opened a pack of gum and used the wrappers to weave a pair of delicate bands—putting one of them on Ali’s ring finger, and the other on his own—telling her, “The two of you will belong to me forever. You. And our baby.”
But their baby had ended where it began, as a secret. It ended in a miscarriage.
And Ali had continued on as the golden girl, while rumors ran wild about Levi’s taste for violence.
