by E. C. Diskin
“But do you have any reason to think she returned those feelings? Did you ever see any texts from Shea on his phone? Anything?”
“No. But if she never did anything to encourage him, I don’t know why he’d continue to text her. I even reached out to Ryan. I mean, I didn’t know what to do or what I could say. They were supposed to be good friends. Ryan seemed fine with the idea that night, so for all I knew . . . It was all so weird. I wasn’t sure what to say.”
“But you talked to Ryan?”
“I sent him a text on a Friday, back in February, the day Charlie told me he was going to Michigan. Ryan didn’t respond, so I called him that night. My first question was if Shea was around, and he said she’d left a couple of hours earlier for Michigan, to see her sister. As soon as he said it, I just knew Shea and Charlie were together. Did you see the way Charlie fell apart at the funeral?”
“No.”
“He was a mess. It was ridiculous. Like, inappropriately ridiculous. Like it was his wife who’d died. Something was going on between them. He was obsessed with her.”
“Do you think Ryan knew about it?”
“I don’t know. I practically hung up on Ryan when he said Shea was in Michigan. I didn’t know what to say. She stopped trying to reach me, and I certainly wasn’t going to call her. I knew they were together. We didn’t speak for, like, six weeks. Then she killed herself. I saw her death as proof. Like at least she felt guilty for what she’d done.”
“I still don’t believe that she intended to die,” Kat said.
“Well, maybe we all see what we need to see. I need to believe she was sorry.”
After Dee left and Kat cleaned up the kitchen, she went off to bed and called Mack. It rang three times before he finally picked up.
“So, how is Dee?” Mack asked.
“That’s a loaded question. Hey, please promise me you’ll never cheat on me. No matter what, okay?”
“Wow, where is that coming from?”
“I’m just overwhelmed by how naive I’ve been. I’d never think that could happen to us, but I travel a lot, and you’re alone a lot. I didn’t think it could happen to my friends, either, but I was wrong.”
“We both know it’s a miracle you ever fell for a tech nerd. I’m not about to screw with that. I take it you’re referring to Dee and Charlie?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not surprising, though, right? I mean, it’s Charlie. It’s not as surprising as some of the others.”
“Like who?”
Mack didn’t answer.
“Mack. You have to tell me! You’re my husband! We share secrets, remember. That’s the rule!”
He chuckled. “Okay, okay. I guess it doesn’t matter now. Ryan and Shea. I know he stepped out, you might say.”
“When? Why have I never heard this? Was it Dee?”
“Dee?” He chuckled. “That seems like a crazy leap.”
“You’d be surprised. Dee believes Shea and Charlie were having a thing, too. That’s a whole other story. Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”
“Because Shea was your closest friend. That would have put you in a terrible position. Ryan told me at the luau party, last summer. We were smoking cigars in the backyard around midnight, and he asked me if I ever cheated. I said no, of course.”
“Good answer.”
“Right. And he said, ‘Well, don’t do it. Disaster. That’s all I’m saying.’ I didn’t press. I didn’t really want to know the details. I think I said, ‘Okay, I’ll remember that.’ We laughed, and he chugged his drink and walked off.”
The luau party had been such a happy occasion. Everyone was in a great mood, a celebration of Leigh and all her friends heading off to school. And Shea and Ryan were smiling, laughing, arm in arm as Ryan toasted his daughter. Why would he even think about such a thing that night?
Unless something—or someone—reminded him.
Lina said Shea had found an undergarment in his drawer after that party. Kat had sat in Ryan’s backyard just yesterday, and he’d been so sincere, assuring her that there had never been an affair, that Shea had been mistaken when she suspected something last fall. That it had been about porn. Was it all a lie?
Kat wished she could go back in time, to walk through that evening again, to notice what she might have missed.
CHAPTER 18
February 17
WHEN CHARLIE OPENED THE DOOR, his smile was wide, like a kid on Christmas morning. Shea’s mouth began to dry. Her heart was racing. She tried to remain stone-faced, even though her tendency in moments of nervousness had always been to smile or even giggle.
“Come in, come in,” he said, waving her toward the living area. Shea dropped her purse by the door and walked toward the roaring fire in the center of the cabin. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Charlie said, like this was some agreed-upon rendezvous. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” She heard a hint of a slur. There was an empty glass in his hand. An open bottle of scotch sat atop the console table against the wall.
Shea stepped to the coffee table, to the open bottle of cabernet, the two glasses already filled. She picked up the glasses, and, without saying a word, walked to the kitchen. Charlie put his empty glass on the console table and followed her like a curious dog.
She went to the sink, paused, looking at the wine, and took a big swig from one.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She ignored the question and poured the wine from both glasses down the drain before turning around to face him.
“You prefer scotch?” he asked with a grin. “I’ve got some good stuff.”
She took a deep breath. She’d been preparing for this moment during the entire car ride. “You have to stop this. I don’t know what else to say to you. The texts, the calls. This nonsense has already messed with my marriage and my friendship with Dee. I’ve tried to be nice, but this is never going to happen.”
“But it can happen,” Charlie said, walking toward her with that confident grin. “And I think you just don’t want to admit that you want it to happen because you feel guilty.”
“That’s not it.”
“But you came, just like I asked.”
“Because you won’t leave me alone, Charlie.”
“I know you’re attracted to me,” he said, walking closer, invading the few feet of space between them. “You just don’t want to admit it. But we don’t even have to tell them.”
Shea put up her hand to stop him from getting any closer. “Listen to me. You’ve built up some fantasy about this, but I love my husband.” It was true, she’d realized during that long, tear-filled car ride. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. Things were terrible between them right now, but for most of their twenty-seven-year history, he’d been her best friend. She couldn’t just toss it away. Not yet. “And I love Dee. I don’t understand why the three of you have lost your minds, and I don’t know what’s going on with any of you, but I’m not going to be the one to wreck everyone’s lives.”
Charlie stopped, cocked his head, almost like a dog trying to understand a human. “I love them, too, Shea. No one needs to get hurt. I told you, Dee is cool with everything.”
Shea began shaking her head. “I don’t believe that.”
“I’m telling you,” he said, leaning closer. “She doesn’t care.”
“Are they together?” It was barely a whisper. She was as afraid of asking the question as of hearing the answer.
Charlie’s confident laugh emerged. “I don’t think so. He’s not her type. No offense.”
For a moment, this thought gave her some comfort, until Charlie stepped forward. “I don’t think you should worry about Ryan. He’s no saint, you know.”
Shea turned her head, unable to look at him, terrified of what his expression was suggesting, and whatever else he was about to say. She didn’t need to hear that Charlie knew all about Ryan’s infidelity a few years ago. It was horrifying enough to think about, much less hear that
others knew about it. And he’d sworn that it was the one and only time, and that her assumptions last fall were mistaken, that what she’d found was just online nonsense. She’d already walked this road, making huge mistakes of her own based on a fictitious affair. And she didn’t trust Charlie, anyway. “Don’t,” she pleaded, putting her hands up, suddenly exhausted by the anxiety, the stress that had consumed her for months. “Please don’t do this, Charlie. My marriage is not your business.”
Charlie bridged the remaining space between them. “Come on, you’re acting like you don’t enjoy a little harmless flirtation, but we both know that’s not the case. And Dee told me all about you on Put-in-Bay.”
Shea was horrified. She’d finally pushed that memory deep enough that it no longer plagued her nights, but just like that, Charlie brought it back. She invited these disasters.
“Just give in, Shea. You’re here. There’s snow falling, a roaring fire in the living room, wine. Besides, don’t you think it’s only fair that you both get to have a little fun on the side?” He quickly gripped her hips, as if she wanted to be convinced or overcome.
Shea pushed against his chest, breaking free, and crossed to the other side of the room. “Don’t Charlie. I’m serious. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, coming at her before she could say anything else, pressing his face against hers, pinning her against the wall, forcing a kiss.
She pushed him away. “Stop!” she cried. “I came here to beg you to stop!” She walked out of the kitchen and went to the front door. “This was a mistake.”
Charlie followed her. “Shea. Stop. Please,” he begged, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. Please.”
Shea grabbed her purse, then the doorknob.
“What about me? You’re okay with wrecking my life?”
She whipped around. “What are you talking about? I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you are out of line, Charlie. This is nuts, and I am not interested.”
Charlie took the scotch bottle on the console and quickly poured more into the empty glass beside it before stepping toward her. “You don’t understand. I can’t get you out of my mind. Seriously, this has never happened to me before. I think I’m in love with you.”
“Bullshit,” Shea said, raising her hand again to stop him from getting any closer. “I can’t even dignify that with a response, Charlie.” She pulled the purse strap to her shoulder. “I came here so we could finally talk face-to-face without Dee being aware of any of this. You need to hear me. If you text me again, I’m going to tell Ryan and Dee everything.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, suddenly angry. He stepped back, looked away, and swigged the scotch. “Not unless you want them both to know when this all really started.” He walked back to the console and refilled his glass again.
Shea’s shoulders collapsed; the purse strap slipped off. She let it fall to the ground and braced against the wall. The night she’d buried long ago. A Christmas party at least twelve years earlier.
She looked back at him. He smirked, raised his brow. “I had a taste of you then, and I’ve always known how good it could be between us.” And then he added, with some feigned sincerity, “And the kids are grown now.”
“You’re insane. How can you even bring up that night? You don’t want to go there, not unless you want me to tell everyone my version.”
“What?”
“Are you kidding me? I was asleep! I went upstairs to the bedroom for my coat at midnight and fell asleep. None of that was consensual.”
“But you woke up.”
Bile rose into her throat and tears came, recalling the moment. Her insides soaked with champagne and vodka, she’d been curled up on the bed, lying on her side among the coats. She’d felt the weight of another body suddenly behind her on the bed. Arms wrapping around her waist while the stubble of a beard brushed against her cheek. Ryan had been growing out his beard for a few days, and Shea had told him it was sexy. Her stomach fluttered as she felt kisses on her neck; her toes curled when she felt his breath in her ear. She giggled, eyes still closed, when his hand moved along her waist, cupping her breast through her dress.
“I was hoping you’d find me,” she had said softly. It had felt wild and spontaneous and a welcome end to an evening when they’d barely been in the same room. But then he whispered in her ear, “You’re so beautiful,” and she’d stopped breathing.
It was Charlie. Charlie’s lips on her bare shoulder, his hands all over her . . . Her whole body froze.
He had turned her face to his and kissed her. She didn’t stop him. But she wriggled away, laughing it off, unwilling to make a scene, terrified of saying something that could cause so much damage between him and Dee, or between him and Ryan, or her and Dee, or her and Ryan, or her and everyone she knew.
She’d quickly escaped to the bathroom, collapsing onto the closed toilet seat in the dark, the feeling of his hands all over her, the kisses on her neck. Had she invited this? Dancing around him, basking in the attention, the whispered compliments on her dress, the innuendos. He’d come up behind her by the bar and slipped his arm around her waist, reeling her in. “You’re driving me crazy,” he’d said. She thought they were just playing. Ryan always said she was a flirt, though he never seemed to mind—he was, too. Her friends teased her about it, about how whenever they were out together, Shea was always the target of strange men’s affections. She’d deny it through laughter, but Georgia had once said Shea liked to toy with them, always making them think they stood a chance.
Shea was crying now that she was finally speaking about it after all these years. “I thought you were Ryan,” she whispered, still choked from the memory.
“Please,” Charlie said. “I kissed you. Your eyes were wide open. You just can’t admit that you enjoyed it.”
She shook her head, sniffling. “I didn’t want that. I never wanted that.”
“You’re lying. You were just afraid we’d get caught.”
Shea shook her head. “No, Charlie. I didn’t know what to do. What to say.” It had reminded her of the times in her college years when she’d simply gone along, finding herself in uncomfortable places, never wanting to spoil the fun or dampen the mood, never wanting to be called a tease or a bitch, allowing herself instead to be used, convincing herself that she enjoyed her effect on men, that she had some sort of power. But of course, that wasn’t it. It was fear. Paralyzing fear, hidden under the blanket of confidence. Fear of rejection, of judgment, of everything.
She’d considered telling Ryan what had happened that night, but she couldn’t speak of it. She hadn’t reacted quickly, or raised her voice, or acted offended. And everyone had seen her behavior that night. It happened, it was nothing, she later told herself. It was over, and she’d decided alcohol was to blame. She had kept her distance for a couple of years and, over time, let it go.
Shea bent down for her purse, wiping at her face before grabbing the doorknob. “Leave me alone, Charlie. Please.”
She walked to the car, nauseated by the confrontation, and tried to control her shaking hands as she put the key in the ignition.
The windshield was covered in fresh powder. She turned on the wipers, putting the gear into reverse.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Charlie yelled from the door.
She ignored him and looked over her shoulder before pressing the gas. Something shattered on the front hood, and she jumped, whipping her head around. Charlie was closer now, standing there with a smirk on his face. His hands were empty. The snow on the hood had cratered from the impact of his glass, the amber liquid now splattered across her car.
She said nothing but turned and began backing out of the driveway.
“Bitch!” he shouted. A final farewell.
CHAPTER 19
April 13
ON THURSDAY MORNING, KAT WENT downtown to the Chicago office for her morning meeting. As various hotel managers shared details and problems at their prope
rties, hotel business—her business—began to creep back into the forefront of her mind, a welcome distraction after spending the last several days consumed with theories about who might have wanted to hurt Shea.
Kat remained in the conference room after the meeting. As she created to-do lists and jotted down notes on how to address the staffing issues and reservation system hiccups, her usual work stress was missing. She didn’t second-guess the ideas as they came to her, and she wasn’t tormenting herself with worry that she might fail to fix what needed fixing. She knew how to do this job, and she could do it well. It was entirely different from dealing with Shea’s death. She wasn’t an investigator, she obviously didn’t know all the facts, and learning all that she had over the last week had only made her feel worse. Perhaps the best move would be to wrap up these meetings and get on the first possible plane home. She had a life that needed attending to and a husband she was beginning to miss more than ever. Nothing she learned would bring back her friend, anyway.
A knock on the conference-room door finally pulled her attention from a slew of e-mails. “You asked for these?” It was one of the administrative assistants, Martin, with the documents Kat had requested.
“Oh, great, thanks.” Martin left, and Kat went through the spreadsheets detailing the first-quarter customer reviews for amenities at five of their hotel properties. Looking through the graphs, the Chicago spa seemed to have some hiccups. The last page included the reservation number associated with each guest’s review. She wondered which of these comments had been Shea’s. Shea had promised to use and review the spa when she used those vouchers, and Kat would be embarrassed if her gift had been a bust. Maybe Ryan was just being nice about their hotel stay. He had shared very little when she’d asked about their experience, she remembered. Kat pulled up the Chicago hotel’s reservation database and searched for a Shea Walker.
