“It was supposed to be a great thing.” She blinks a tear over the freckles on her cheek, rousing my curiosity. “Even though my parents hate him, I really thought he was the one. He’s such a gentleman and so handsome.”
“But?” I say, sipping my coffee.
Inhaling a calming breath, she gains control of her emotions and lowers her voice as if there are other people in the room. “But…his dingy was so small I barely noticed it was in there.”
Without warning, laughter erupts from my nose and spreads to my mouth. I begin choking, eyes watering. Setting my mug down, I grab a nearly empty water bottle and clear the clog. “Dingy?” I laugh some more. “Mary, you have the worst luck!”
“Tell me about it. Gerald was like a mighty redwood and Weaver is like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I feel like Goldilocks who can’t find a bed that is just right.”
I’m attacked by another round of giggles and it feels so good. Hugging her, I try to tell her everything will be alright but don’t know how. I can barely breathe. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Drawing apart, Mary looks down at the fingers she’s bending in her lap, knuckles white with tension. “I feel so shallow letting something like that get to me but it does.” She presses her lips together and avoids my eyes. “People stereotype me because I’m a librarian, but, the truth is, I like to let loose in the bedroom.”
Tucking a strand of flyaway hair behind an ear, I shift uneasily on the couch.
“I mean, I like to be destroyed.”
“Okay, Mary,” I say, trying not to smile. “I think I get it.”
Sighing, her chest falls. “I’m starting to think I’m going to be single for the rest of my life.”
My smile dies a horrible death on my lips. “Hey, listen to me, you are a beautiful girl and you deserve to be picky. You remember that.”
Refusing to meet my gaze, she toys with a heart-shaped ring. “I graduated from college a year ago and still work at the public library.” When she finally looks up, there’s no disguising the sorrow in her eyes. “My parents are so disappointed in me.”
“That is not true! Why would you say something like that?”
“Because I’m twenty-three now, Sienna, and still live with them! I don’t have the drive in me that Jack did,” she continues, swinging a heel faster through the air. “I don’t want to work for a living. I want to have kids and drink chardonnay at Chuck E. Cheese with other moms on a rainy Tuesday.”
“I don’t think they serve that there.”
“I want to make nice meals and clean the house with Days of Our Lives playing in the background because that’s how I’m wired.” She scrunches her face up. “Plus, I hate working for people. It’s like being a slave.” Her eyebrows rise. “Let’s face it, a boss is no different than a master.”
I realize my mouth is gaping, like I’m about to reply any second now but the words aren’t quick to come. “I’m not sure I would compare a career to slavery.”
Mary blows out a contradictive huff. “You have to be there by a certain time, five days a week. You can’t take naps or watch TV. You have to do all of this…work.” Sensing my distress, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward to take my hand again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Listen to me going on and on about my stupid problems when you have plenty of your own to worry about.”
“Mary, I love listening to your stories,” I reply. “They always take my mind off things. I mean, you can’t make that stuff up.”
She pats my hand and leans back into the sectional, crossing her legs and swinging a heel through the air again. Turning quiet, she examines the spacious room and I can tell by her wistful sigh she’s reliving some special memory here with Jack. Maybe last Thanksgiving or that one bowl game when somebody broke my new tripod lamp. “So,” she breathes out. “When do you want my help packing all this stuff up?”
My hearts drops like a rock into the pit of my stomach. “How do you…”
“Lincoln told me.”
“Of course, he did.” I swallow hard. “Please tell me he didn’t tell your parents I’m selling the house.”
“Just me.” She smiles back. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Thank God,” I lean back into the couch and cast my gaze about Jack’s antique globes, sundials, and telescopes. This house is one of the last bastions his poor parents can feel close to their dead son and if they knew I was selling it, they might try to stop me. Hell, they may even buy it just to keep it exactly as it is now. A shrine to ole holy Jack. “That is the last thing they need to hear.”
“So where will you go?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“But you’re staying here in town, right?”
It’s all I can do to lift a heavy shoulder to an ear, signaling my uncertainty.
“Oh my gosh,” Mary mutters. “You’re leaving Cottage Grove?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing yet, Mary. First, I have to sell this McMansion and everything in it.”
Tears slide over her creamy cheeks, catching me completely off guard.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, scooting to the edge of the couch. “You can come visit me wherever I go. I’ll always be there for you.”
She shakes her head, shaking more teardrops loose. “I just feel so bad this happened to you. Your whole life is turned upside-down and the thought of you leaving makes me so sad.”
I study her without knowing what to say. It hurts to see her like this but also warms my heart. Mary has become the sister I never had. The one I always wanted and for that, a part of me (albeit a small part) will never regret marrying Jack. Pushing off the couch and going into the kitchen, I come back and let a set of keys dangle from my fingertips. “I tried giving these to Lincoln but he wouldn’t take them.”
Staring confusedly at the silver teardrop keychain, Mary uncrosses her legs. “What are those?”
“The keys to the Vette. It’s all yours.”
Her eyes bulge. “Sienna, I can’t take that car!”
“Sure, you can,” I say, gesturing with the keys. “You deserve it, and I’ve got enough to deal with selling this house.”
Slack jawed, she stares at the keys, hypnotized by the sunlight winking off the metal.
“Please.” I shove them closer.
Hesitantly, as if they were burning hot, she reaches out and takes them. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Keep it or sell it. Jack was your brother and would want you to have it.”
Mary looks up. “Did you tell Lincoln the same thing?”
“What? No,” I reply, drinking more water only to find the bottle already empty.
Wrapping the keys in a fist, Mary bites back a smile. “Well, thank you. This is…way too much. I’ve always loved that car!”
My heart swells for her. She’s an old soul trapped in a young body and I know how much this means. Not just because it belonged to her older brother, but because she’s as vintage as the Vette. And I don’t mean hipster vintage; I mean classy vintage. From the vinyl record collection she’s been building since the third grade, to her persistent use of personalized stationary, she exudes old school. Hell, I’m surprised she even has a cellphone.
The doorbell startles me. Exchanging a worrisome look with Mary, I rise from the couch and cross the room. My bare feet slap against the floor, heart aquiver. I’m not expecting anyone and it can only be one person. The doorknob is cool in my hand and when I whip it back, my heart falls out of my chest and lands next to a tiny white box resting on the welcome mat.
Chapter Six
I Know
“You just got ding-dong ditched!” Mary exclaims from behind, nosily peeking around me to see through the open doorway.
Coming back up with the tiny white box, I stare at the gray ribbon curling around the lid. Looking up, I search the front yard. Mary’s blue Prius and my silver Land Rover sit alone in the double drive. It’s sunny and warm and – outside of two ladies walking
past with small weights in their hands – there’s no sign of anyone. The street is eerily quiet, raising the hairs on my arms. Stepping back inside, I shut the door and lock it. Then I just stare at the package in my hand, wondering who it could be from and what’s inside. Possibilities flicker through my head in a slideshow: A special thinking of you broach from Crazy Sally down the street. A key to Lincoln’s apartment. A Starbucks gift card from my boss at Stella’s Yoga and Kickboxing.
A key to Lincoln’s apartment.
I know it can’t be from my drunk-ass mother because there’s no mailing address and she didn’t even send a wedding gift, let alone attend. No, whoever rang the doorbell is the one who left whatever’s hiding inside. Blowing out an uneasy breath, I look up to find Mary’s curious eyes staring impatiently back.
“Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, studying the box like it’s some newly discovered species.
“Well, open it, for crying out loud,” she laughs.
I realize my hands are shaking so I push past her and return to the couch. Carefully, like the box is packed with sweating sticks of dynamite, I set it on the coffee table to examine it further. The ribbon is silk and, with a light tug, falls to the table in a curling heap. My heartbeat quickens, shortening my breath. Mary nudges me in the arm, making me flinch.
“Open it already,” she says, smiling at the warped look bending my face.
Taking the small lid into my hand like a claw machine at Dave & Buster’s, I lift it into the air. My heart stops with the claw, breath vanishing on my lips. For nestled within a swath of crushed red velvet, rests a single business card. It’s eggshell white and belongs to my late husband.
Jackson G. McConnel.
Professor of American Studies & History.
I hear Mary murmur something but it’s an unintelligible buzz in my ears. I’m too freaked out to make sense of anything right now. Barely pinching the card between two fingers, I flip it over and gasp at the two words scribbled across the back.
I know.
Mary moves back like she just caught a whiff of something rancid. “I know?” she says, looking to me for clarification. “What’s that mean?”
I answer by pulling out the red velvet and searching the empty box. My dilated eyes gravitate back to the card. I don’t recognize the handwriting and that’s what scares me the most.
“Sienna?”
Jack’s lover pops into my mind. The one I caught Jack drilling from behind in our clean bed. Who else could it be? Mannie the yard guy? Oh shit. My heart gallops harder, stamping thundering hoofprints into my breastplate. My gut was right all along. Someone has been watching me. Sweat sprouts along my brow, fear throttles my lungs. Swallowing dryly, I realize I’m going to have to up my game.
“Sienna!”
Jumping, I turn my wide eyes to Mary.
“Who sent it?” she asks, nodding at the card trembling in my hand.
I drop it to the table and wipe my fingers on the couch, ridding myself of as much of the hostility attached to that card as possible. Somebody is obviously fucking with me and this really isn’t good. I mean, what kind of psycho does that? And what could he possibly want? “I have no idea,” I reply aloud to my racing thoughts, leaning back into the couch.
“You have to have some idea; you just checked out for like a whole minute.”
It’s all I can do to shake my head no and breathe at the same time. This can’t be happening because I’ve already suffered enough. My escape from Jack was a gift from God. Wasn’t it?
“Sienna?”
I look down to see Mary’s hand resting on mine. “I don’t know what it means,” I repeat, “but I think this is a really poor time to mess with a widow.”
Mary picks up the box and examines it inside and out. Next, she brings the business card closer to her face, squinting at the words on the back. “You don’t recognize the handwriting?”
“No.”
Delicately setting it in the box, she rubs her hands together. “Why would someone send you one of Jack’s business cards?”
Quietly, I turn scenarios over in my head, one after the next, returning to the only logical explanation: Jack’s mystery man. Who is he? And what does he want? Is he out there now? Watching me freak out over this package? And what does he know? I’m so perplexed by this turn of events it takes me a few seconds to realize how quiet the room has grown. I can tell by the way Mary is avoiding my eyes, something is wrong. She knows something. Something about this fucking business card. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replies, avoiding my stare.
“Mary, come on. What is it? Do you know something about this?” I gesture to the box.
Twisting her fingers, her eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
A half laugh stumbles past my lips. “Well, which is it?”
She sighs and stops torturing her porcelain fingers. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Her voice sounds as if it’s coming from the other end of a long, dark tunnel in my ears. I don’t want to know whatever she’s holding back but that doesn’t stop me from responding. “What is it?” I hear myself ask, heart thrashing against my t-shirt.
Eyes drifting out a window, she softly clears her throat. “Three weeks ago, I brought lunch to Jack’s office, ya know, to surprise him.”
I fold a leg beneath me and tilt my head to one side. “And?”
Mary fills her lungs with a cavernous breath before releasing it back into the wild. “And when I got there, I caught some guy…bobbing for apples in his lap.”
My eyebrows dip. “Bobbing for…?” Before I can finish, the floor drops out beneath me like some fucked up amusement park ride that just lost two major bolts. I’m freefalling through time and space with nothing to grab onto. The world rushes past me in a blur and I can’t breathe, let alone speak. How many were there? And how did I miss the signs my husband was cheating, let alone gay? Because surely, there had to be signs. Like the smell of someone’s cologne on his shirt, or a sudden subscription to Men’s Health.
“What’d he look like?” I manage to ask.
Mary stares vacantly at the darkened TV, replaying it inside her head. “He was blond and young. Had to be one of Jack’s students. Who else would do that with him in his office?”
My pulse races. “Did Jack see you?”
“No. I think he saw someone, but I shut the door and took off down the hall like a bat out of heck.” Mary blinks herself back to reality. “He never said anything to me about it, so I figured I was in the clear.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, envisioning the whole thing in my mind.
“I’m so sorry, Sienna,” Mary says, breaking into tears. “I should have told you. I wanted to!” She hammers a knee with a fist hard enough to bruise. “But I couldn’t bring myself to ruin your marriage.”
Blinking the disturbing scene from my thoughts, air squeezes its way back into my lungs. Part of me is furious at her for withholding information vital to my case. She should have told me. I deserved to know. My rage spirals into a dark well running through the pits of Hell. I glance at Mary and the way I see it, I have two options: play dumb or come clean and tell her about my similar surprise. If I play dumb, that could come back to haunt me in the not-so-distant future. What do I do? Think fast.
Out the corner of my eye, I see my hand take hers and it’s like someone else is in control of my body. Somehow, my voice remains steady as a rock. “You didn’t ruin my marriage. Jack did that all by himself.”
“Wait…” The guilt swirling in her watery eyes mixes with confusion, transforming Jack’s baby sister into someone I barely recognize. “What do you mean?”
Surprised and unnerved by the single teardrop racing down my cheek, I look away. “I caught him upstairs; in our bed.” This time my voice is about as stable as Macy’s and the next thing I know, Mary is wrapping me in her arms and whispering pitiful things in my ear. Things that
make me shrink into my clothing and drown in shame. I can tell she’s disappointed I wasn’t good enough for her big brother. That I wasn’t sexy or funny enough to keep him from switching teams.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary whispers, refusing to pull apart when I try first. “That’s not the Jack I know.” Finally, she releases me from her warm embrace and I can breathe again. “I had no idea he was…into guys.”
Letting the couch suck me back in, I pull my ponytail free, relieved to get this out in the open, but anxious to move on to another subject before it tails off into something else. “That makes two of us.”
“So, who was he?” she asks.
Running fingers through my tangled hair, a frown settles in my face.
“Who’d you catch Jack with?”
Comprehension flickers in my eyes just before they turn cloudy and distant. That day sweeps through my mind on destructive winds of recollection, clawing at my insides. “Sounds like the same guy you did. Blond hair and young, probably around twenty-one.”
Mary looks at the mystery package on the table. “Maybe he’s the one who left the card.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.” She taps a finger against her lips for a long moment, watching me out the corner of her eye. “Did you and Jack still…”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Have sex?” She nods and I snort my amusement. “Once in a great while,” I say, holding my hair up. “Things had been off between Jack and I for a while now but I never suspected he was cheating. I just thought we were growing apart. That maybe we rushed into something that, for whatever reason, he didn’t really want.” (As evidenced by my two shiners.) “I thought he missed his bachelor days or… I don’t know what I thought.”
“So what, you just came home and caught him red-handed?”
“I went to work and realized I left my cellphone at home, so I went back to get it.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Mary mutters under her breath, a vivid picture framing in her head. “What’d you say to them?”
White Widow Page 4
