My Husband's Secret

by Kiersten Modglin

  Telling me I was a murderer.

  A coward.

  I’d made it to the opposite side of the road when the explosion happened, the flames filling the air with the immediate smell of charred flesh, gasoline, and blood. I vomited in the wood’s edge, holding my stomach with both hands as the tears mixed with the orange liquid.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Alaina

  Two days after the fight, two days after seeing Lucas walk out the door for what I knew would be the last time, I came across his face in my Facebook newsfeed.

  He was dressed in a blue shirt and red tie, his white doctor’s coat covering most of that. The headline caused my heart to skip a beat, my blood running cold.

  Local man killed in one-vehicle crash on North Brumfield.

  I clicked on the article. It had to be a joke. I stood, pacing as I read the two paragraphs over and over, skimming for the most important details.

  “…car flipped three times…gas leak…no brake marks…explosion…dead on impact… Anyone with any information… Foul play has not been ruled out.”

  They were still waiting for a tox screen to come back. When it did, they’d find the alcohol, the large dose of allergy medicine…they already suspected foul play. Would that point them to me? Had he fallen asleep because of what I’d done?

  I thought back to the pictures I’d sent him. The messages. The tracking app.

  If I knew where his phone was, they could find me.

  I shut my phone off immediately, picking up a paint brush and using its handle to smash it to bits. They couldn’t pin this on me. I hadn’t made him drive.

  I’d made him leave, though.

  If they found out we were dating—if he’d told his friends or coworkers—the police would come for me. I stared at the cracked phone on the table. Would that look more suspicious than the app?

  I should’ve just deleted it.

  I sat down, head in hands and elbows on knees, and rocked back and forth. I could tell them what he’d done, tell them why I’d made him leave, why I’d drugged him, but that would give me motive.

  And the only evidence I had was on the phone I’d just destroyed.

  I hadn’t wanted him to die.

  I just wanted him to pay for what he’d done.

  No, don’t say that.

  Don’t say anything. Lawyer up. You’re innocent until proven guilty.

  Would that make me look more guilty? I ran a hand over my stomach, willing myself to calm down. I couldn’t have another panic attack. I couldn’t.

  If they came to me, if they found out he was with me either from his app or from his coworkers, I’d lie. I’d say everything was fine between us. We were in love. I loved him. I’m devastated.

  At least that part wasn’t a lie.

  Lucas was gone.

  It slammed into me—the realization. I’d wanted to leave him. To never see him again, but not like this.

  He’d been good to me.

  He’d loved me in whatever way he could.

  I was still his fiancée as far as anyone knew.

  Should I be planning his funeral? Or did he have family to do that?

  I should wait, right? Until I found out more? Until I was contacted?

  Would that be more suspicious? Should I be trying to call him?

  We didn’t live together.

  We were casual.

  The possibilities swam through my mind—every way to handle this. Every way to screw it up. I fought back the vomit rising in my throat.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Naomi

  Present Day

  “So, is there… Is there anything either of you can tell me about the day Lucas died? Something to help put the investigation to rest. Something to explain to the police why he was headed that direction? Why he had a bag in the car? Why he didn’t hit the brakes?”

  “Put the investigation to rest?” Clara asked shakily. “Don’t you want to know who did it?”

  I swallowed. What did she know? “My husband died in a car crash. I don’t think anyone did anything to him. Do you? It was just a terrible accident.”

  She dropped her gaze, staring at the floor. “I haven’t spoken to the police. I don’t know what they know or don’t know. I just…well, I mean, I assumed, if they were still looking because they suspected foul play, there has to be a good reason. Isn’t that what you said?”

  I nodded, adjusting in my chair. “If you know something, by all means share it. I just don’t want my family’s grief to be dragged out any longer than necessary. My husband didn’t have enemies. He was a good man, but he left behind a little girl who just wants to move on with her life. I can’t have police in and out of my house, calling all hours of the day. I want this to be over. I want us—all of us—to be able to move on. Isn’t that what we all want?”

  Clara nodded, though it was obvious her heart wasn’t completely in it. It was Alaina who met my eyes, hers filled with tears. “Do you think someone did something to hurt him?”

  I shook my head, maybe too quickly. “I loved my husband very much. Though I hate what he did to us, I don’t believe you two wanted to cause him any harm either. Did you?”

  “Of course not,” Alaina said.

  “No!” Clara sobbed at the same time, wiping away tears from her honey-colored eyes.

  “Well, then, it’s agreed. None of us did anything and none of us knew about the rest of us. Though we can hate it now, we had no motive to begin with,” I said, hitting it too on-the-nose, but I needed to know we were in agreement.

  “Yes, of course,” Alaina said. “I had no clue about either of you.”

  Clara nodded, though it was slower because of her tears. “I’m so sorry, Naomi.”

  I offered her a small smile, refilling my water and dabbing away a tear of my own. “Well, it’s not your fault, is it? Lucas lied to us all. Cheated on us all. And now we’re left to pick up the pieces.”

  “Do the police want to question us? Will they want to?” Alaina asked softly.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “As I’ve said, from what they’ve told me, I’m certain they don’t know about Lucas’ involvement with either of you. Unless you saw Lucas on the day of his death, I can’t see how bringing you into the investigation will do any of us any good. I assume he worked a long shift…” I said, pausing and waiting to see if Clara would disagree. “I hadn’t seen him that day at all. I believe he was just tired. Maybe he took a wrong turn. Do either of you have reason to believe otherwise?”

  Clara twisted her lips together, and I watched her eyes narrow, could practically see the wheels turning in her head. When she spoke, she seemed conflicted. “No, I didn’t see him that day.”

  “Me either,” Alaina agreed. “We rarely saw each other, honestly. It was very casual between us.”

  “You were engaged,” Clara pointed out, snapping Alaina’s attention to her, and I did the same, noticing the way she was nervously rubbing her hands over her flat stomach. Was she nursing a bug, or was something else there beneath the surface? Perhaps it was just a nervous habit. But why was she so nervous? She didn’t have the ring on anymore, I realized.

  “I lied about that,” she said sadly. “Because I thought you wouldn’t let me see the casket otherwise.”

  I crossed a leg over the other. I should’ve been mad, but I was past that point. None of it mattered anymore. Clara seemed to agree as she sat quietly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, standing from my seat. “None of us are anything to him anymore. I don’t expect I’ll have to see either of you again, and that’s fine by me. Not to be rude, but we’re connected by lies and a man who seemed to care very little about any of us. I’m having a hard time separating my loving husband from the man who could hide so much from me.”

  Clara stood too, setting down her drink. “Love makes a person do funny things.” I stared at her, unsure what she meant, or why th
at mattered in this context. “Fear does, too.”

  “Were you afraid of Lucas?” Alaina asked, watching us both from where she sat in Lucas’s chair.

  “Never,” I said. Not until that last moment, but it was me I should’ve been afraid of.

  “Luke was nothing but kind and considerate toward me,” Clara said. “And his patients.” She smiled lovingly, staring off into space. “He was perfect.”

  “Except for the lying and cheating.” Alaina stood up finally.

  “Don’t you think he’s paid for that?” Clara asked.

  “Was that what this was?” Alaina asked, her tone bitter. “Was it payment for all he’s done? For all he’ll continue to do to us for the rest of our lives? Are any of us planning to enter another relationship without a million reservations, thanks to him?”

  She wasn’t wrong, though I refused to admit it. I glanced down, where her hand rested on her stomach again, and when she saw me looking, she jerked it away.

  “Are you pregnant?” Clara demanded, her voice powerless as she asked the question racing through my mind.

  “Of course not. It’s a nervous habit,” Alaina said. “Are you?”

  Though she wasn’t asking me, I touched my own stomach, still flat, but not going to be for long. The test had confirmed the day after Lucas’ death that I had another reason to be thankful he was gone. He’d never hold another child over my head. Never neglect another child who wanted his attention more than anything.

  I glanced out the window, where Brent was playing with Becca and Rianne in the yard. He didn’t know yet, just like I didn’t know if the child was his or Lucas’. I wasn’t sure if I would take the test to find out. Did it matter anymore?

  “No!” Clara retorted to the question I’d forgotten Alaina had asked. “I’m too old to have babies. I’m married to my career. It’s why I’d never get serious with Luke.”

  In the yard, Rianne bent down and scooped Becca up, tossing her in the air playfully. Brent watched from afar, laughing as he unpacked boxes of his tools into the garden shed. He was moving in slowly, though I’d never asked him to. It was an unspoken agreement between us—I needed him more than I wanted to admit. Once I told him about the baby, it would only be a matter of time before things would get even more serious between us. It was another reason I wanted the investigation to end.

  Alaina sighed. “I should really be going,” she said. “If there’s nothing else you need to ask me.”

  I looked back at her, a question resting on the tip of my tongue I couldn’t stand not to ask. “Did you love him?”

  She started to shake her head, but stopped. “More than I should have.”

  “And you?” I asked Clara, studying her worn face. There was a compassion there I didn’t see in Alaina.

  “More than life itself.”

  I smiled, nodding slowly. I couldn’t say that about my own husband. Of course I’d loved him, but not with the ferocity I saw in these women’s eyes. I could pretend it was because we’d been together for so long, because we’d been through so much, because life had changed our relationship, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that wasn’t it at all.

  I hadn’t loved Lucas the way they had because he hadn’t loved me in that way either. I was a project for him. Someone to save. Parents to impress. I was a way out of the life he’d had before me. A way to end the struggle.

  “Thank you both for coming.” The women stared at me with confusion, expecting me to say more. Perhaps I should’ve, but there was nothing left to say.

  Clara squeezed my hand as she walked past, but Alaina didn’t say a word. I walked them through the foyer, past the stairs, and out the front door.

  “Goodbye, Naomi. Take care of yourself,” Clara said, stopping to wave at the end of the walk. She wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Goodbye,” I told her, waving back and shutting the door as Alaina climbed into her car. When I turned back around, I was shocked to see Rianne behind me.

  “What was she doing here?”

  “Who?”

  “That woman. Lucas’…er—” Her cheeks pinkened. “Well, his girlfriend, I guess.”

  I dropped my jaw. “Who?”

  “The blonde,” she said.

  “You knew her?”

  “She came by once, looking for Lucas. She thought you were his sister. I corrected her…I’m sorry, Naomi. I should’ve told you sooner.” She paused, her frown growing more prominent, her eyes troubled. “Did you know?”

  I shook my head, watching the sadness wash over her face even more. “It’s okay, Rianne. I met her at the funeral and found out then.”

  “I should’ve told you—”

  “None of it matters now,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “I just called her over to make peace. I can’t hold a grudge for Lucas’ wrongdoings.”

  She smiled, but it was half-hearted. “I can tell the police about her if you want. If that will help their investigation.”

  “Thank you,” I said sadly. “But I don’t think it’s pertinent. I don’t believe Clara meant Lucas any harm. His death was an accident.” I started to walk away, but stopped. “If anything changes, I may take you up on that later.”

  She nodded seriously, studying my face too closely. “I’m going to get Becca some apple juice. Do you want anything?”

  “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  I walked past her, lifting my glass of water and filling the empty one I’d meant for Alaina as I walked out the back door and into the yard. Brent’s face lit up when he saw me. “How’d it go?”

  “About as well as expected,” I told him, handing over his glass of water. “I figured you’d be thirsty.”

  He took the drink gratefully. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “They’re innocent,” I said. “And I don’t think they suspect anything. I told them I wouldn’t tell the police about them if they don’t come forward about their relationships either. As long as they keep quiet, I have no motive. And whatever they know about our marriage, they have no reason to come forward if they don’t want suspicion thrown at them.”

  He gulped down the water, dark patches of sweat on his blue T-shirt. “Uncle Brent! Can I work on your car?”

  He chuckled, and we both turned our attention to Becca, who was carrying a blue hacksaw wrapped in a dark rag. “Whoa!” he cried, taking it out of her hands carefully. “How’d you get this?”

  I moved to her, examining her hands. “Sweet girl, you can’t touch Uncle Brent’s tools, okay? Where did you find that?”

  “It’s what he used to fix Daddy’s car,” she said. “I want to fix a car like Uncle Brent!” She smiled proudly, reaching for the hacksaw, but he lifted it higher. “He said he could teach me!”

  “When did he fix Daddy’s—” I froze, staring at the panic in his eyes. He swallowed, resting his hands together in front of him. “Becca, why don’t you go and see if you can pick Mommy a flower?” I pointed to a patch of purple asters next to the shed, not breaking eye contact with Brent.

  “Okay!” She skipped away happily, leaving us alone.

  “Brent, you didn’t—”

  He nodded, not bothering to deny it. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

  “So you…you…” I sucked in a breath, trying to process. The memory returned to me—the evening on the stairs, while I’d been fighting with Lucas, Brent had taken Becca outside. I remembered the oil, then, that had been on his hands when we’d cleaned up the blood from the floor. I’d dismissed it at the time, unable to think about anything other than what I’d done. But I’d been worried about the wrong person.

  “You wanted to leave him, but you were scared of what he would do. You were thinking he’d take your money, or, God forbid, Becca.” He paused. “I was thinking he’d kill you.”

  My gaze shot back up to meet his, chills lining my skin. “Kill me?”

  “I’ve seen my mother kill two men in my life, Naomi. Who knows how many more there were. My brother was no different than she
was. You were in danger the moment you were no longer of use to him, just like I told you.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure.”

  “I couldn’t take the chance.” He held the hacksaw out to me. “You can take this. Turn me in. It’s still got my prints all over it, and I won’t deny it.”

  “Why would you… Why didn’t you just destroy it? I would’ve never known.” I held the object flat in my palm, still letting what he was saying sink in.

  “I had to keep it. If you were ever implicated, I had to have a way to prove it was me. I wouldn’t have let you go to jail for what I did.”

  I touched my chest, tears brimming my eyes. “You let me believe it was me.”

  “I swore to you it wasn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “I wanted to tell you…”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me now,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

  “Brent, I—”

  “I won’t apologize for what I did. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I learned how to love from a woman who wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if it bit her on the ass, okay? So, I’m going to get things wrong. If this is too much for you, I understand. I’m not asking for forgiveness, or for you to understand. All I care about is that you’re safe. And now you are.” He watched me, his eyes dancing between mine.

  The back door opened and Rianne walked out, Becca’s juice in hand. “Everything okay?”

  Brent nodded. “We’re fine.”

  I shook my head. “Actually, no, Rianne, I need you to call the police.”

  His jaw dropped slightly, just an inch, then retreated. He made no move to stop me or defend himself. Rianne moved closer. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I need you to call the police after all. To tell them about Clara.”