Fatal Marriage (Wedlocked Trilogy Book 3)

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I’m not sure if your work is extremely interesting or extremely boring,” I say, taking a sip of my tea.

  “A little bit of both.”

  My pancakes arrive and it’s way more than I can eat. Luckily, Jackie is happy to oblige. He puts a few on his plate, smothering them in maple syrup. I bite into mine completely dry.

  “No syrup for you?” Jackie asks.

  I shake my head no.

  “To answer your question,” I say, “things are a little bit complicated now but I wanted to get you this cup. It’s in my purse.”

  “You got it? Already?”

  I nod.

  “That was fast.”

  “I want this to end sometime soon. The sooner the better.”

  “Everyone does but that’s not how investigations usually go.” Jackie takes another big bite, chewing with his mouth open.

  “You don’t like me, do you?” I ask.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I’m giving you this investigation on an open platter. I’m doing everything and you seem to be…inconvenienced.”

  “It’s not that,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I appreciate you doing all of this.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “You. You and Henry,” he says after a long pause.

  “How’s that?” I ask.

  “You come from a different world and we both know that and he knows that but there’s another part of him that sort of doesn’t.”

  I look down at my fork and watch the light streaming through the window bounce off one of the prongs.

  “I don’t owe you an explanation,” I say.

  “No, you don’t.”

  Still, I feel the need to continue.

  “I never kept any secrets from him. He knew who I was and I knew who he was. We tried to make it work and we still want to.”

  “Aren’t you married?” Jackie asks.

  “I know but I’m not married-married. It wasn’t my choice. Didn’t Henry tell you?”

  “He did but I don’t believe him.”

  “I don’t know what I can do to convince you.”

  “What happened to your face?” Jackie asks.

  My heart skips a beat but I don’t let it bother me. I’m wearing a lot of makeup and I have camouflaged it well.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “Did Franklin do that?” Jackie asks. “Is that why you’re after him?”

  “Franklin and I aren’t together. This whole marriage is and has been a lie from the beginning.”

  “If that was the case, then why would he beat you up?”

  “Are you seriously asking me this?” I lean over the table and hiss at him. He nods.

  “Franklin is fucked up,” I say after a moment. “Why else would he wanna make a deal for Tate Media and include me in the process? I’m not with him. I just have to be with him and you need to do your fucking job to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

  Jackie narrows his eyes and leans back. He watches me. He assesses me, trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth.

  “I had no idea that you suspected me of anything,” I say after a pause.

  “I do,” he says nonchalantly. “You’re one of the 1% of the 1%. You’re the whole reason this country is so fucked up. I don’t know what your angle is but I know what people like you are capable of and that’s pretty much anything.”

  I shake my head, unwilling to believe what he’s saying.

  “So, why the fuck are you here? I mean, if you don’t believe me, if you think that I’m just playing a game, why are you even helping?”

  “I’m here for Henry. He asked me to help so I’m here.”

  I take my fork and swirl it around the empty plate, collecting all of the crumbs.

  “What happened to your face?” he asks.

  “I fell,” I say, glaring into his eyes.

  He shakes his head and a loose strand of hair falls into his face. Our eyes interlock, neither of us daring to blink or look away first.

  “Did you want to meet here so that Henry wouldn’t see that he’s still hurting you?” Jackie asks after a long pause.

  “You’re a lot smarter than you look,” I say with a laugh.

  I reach into my purse and pull out Franklin’s cup.

  “I got you this, now go make me a fake print so I can get into his fucking laptop.”

  21

  Aurora

  I haven’t seen my mother for a while. Not since the wedding. I don’t want to meet up with her but the days are long and sometimes it’s nice just to fill them with something.

  With the relationship, I feel like I have no identity but it’s worse than that. I feel like there’s nothing I can do or spend my time on that’s worthwhile. Yet I have all of these hours in the day that I spend worrying instead.

  I worry about what’s going to happen.

  I worry about what might not happen.

  There’re so many things that are outside of my control. Yet, I know that I wield some power in determining the outcome.

  It’s hard to explain how bored I really am in between all of the moments of terror and uncertainty. I don’t have school to ground me. I read things but nothing stays in my mind. Everything on the news seems like it’s happening to someone else or to people far, far away.

  Nothing is relevant.

  I know that I’m depressed and that I have to do something to get out of this headspace but what?

  “Thank you for finally making the time to see me,” my mother says, opening the door to her apartment.

  She is dressed in a crisp linen suit. Her hair is professionally blow-dried and not covered in two pounds of dry shampoo like mine.

  She looks me up and down, undoubtably taking note of my casual attire that she doesn’t approve of; black leggings, a loose-fitting sweater that falls off the shoulder, and sneakers.

  “I see that you’re not spending all of your days primping and beautifying yourself for your new husband,” she jokes.

  She has a dark sense of humor but sometimes it hits just the right note.

  The truth is that I miss her. Before we had this marriage stuck in between us, we could at least talk to one another. I know that we are different people with completely different viewpoints on just about everything but as far as entertaining dinner companions, she’s one of the best out there.

  “How are you?” I ask, plopping down on her custom-made chiffon sofa that you can’t look at sideways without marking it up.

  She glances down at my feet to make sure that they don’t come anywhere near the cushions. They don’t. I have been trained well after all the years of living in this museum.

  “I’m good,” she says. “Your father is feeling better and, as you know, health is the most important thing.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. There are a few other things you seem to care a whole lot about,” I think to myself, looking around at all the sculptures and relics all around the home.

  “I’m happy about that,” I say. “How about the other thing? The legal situation?”

  “Everything seems to be fine there also,” she says with a smile. “Thanks to you.”

  There’s no more fear in her eyes.

  She’s calm, collected, and in control just like she always was when I was growing up. Her hands are folded in her lap and her ankles are crossed.

  She’s the epitome of poise. If she feels uncertain or confused about anything, she’s not letting on.

  She’s always been like this and for many years I felt like I was growing up with an ice sculpture for a mother.

  “How is Franklin?” Mom asks. “We should really have you two over for dinner sometime.”

  “He’s fine,” I say. “Very busy with the buyout. So, we probably won’t be able to make it anytime soon.”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” Mom says. “There were years that your father and I hardly saw each other at all even though we worked in the same building and slept together in the
same apartment.”

  She says this with a sense of pride that makes me want to gag.

  Don’t you know that life isn’t supposed to be like that?

  Doesn’t she know that a good life is one that’s spent with the people you love?

  When I was thirteen and I asked them why we never spent time together when I was a kid, my parents said that they didn’t like children much. Nothing changed much over the years. I guess they don’t like adults either.

  “So, what’s the end game here, Mom?” I ask.

  Her eyes dart up at me. This is the first bit of emotion that I have seen since I got here and I kind of like it. It reminds me that underneath the façade, she’s actually human.

  “What are you talking about, Aurora?” she asks.

  “Exactly that,” I say, leaning back against the back of the couch. “Franklin and I are married. He’s going to own Tate Media. What’s my exit strategy?”

  “So, you two aren’t getting along?”

  I look up at the ceiling and pretend to consider the possibility but then shake my head.

  On the way here, I had thought that perhaps we could talk about something real. Maybe even connect like a mother and daughter should but then I saw the way that she was dressed and her demeanor and her general standoffishness.

  I realized that this would be nothing but a game of pretend. I could go along with it, improvise, and make nice or I could make it interesting.

  “I have walked in on my husband in bed with two women on two different occasions. He comes into my room and threatens me. He has punched me a few times in fits of rage. Also, choked me until I almost passed out. Luckily, he hasn’t raped me yet.”

  I wasn’t expecting to tell her all of this, it all came tumbling out as soon as I opened my mouth. All of this is because of her. It’s because of what she and my father asked me to do as a fucking favor.

  “Are you saying this to shock me?” Mom asks.

  I think about that question for a moment and shake my head no.

  “Then I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “I want you to know what kind of marriage your daughter has. It's definitely not a happy one.”

  “Anyone can be happy, Aurora.”

  I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

  “Marriage is what you make of it. It requires work. It’s two people coming together and agreeing to a certain set of norms. The kind of things you allow to happen in the marriage and the kind of things that you don’t.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about that next time he’s choking me,” I say sarcastically. “Should I talk to him about that right now or should it be a little obvious that I don’t wanna fucking get choked?”

  “Aurora, you have always made things so complicated. Have you ever thought about the fact that if you just went along and made him feel a little bit more like a man then he wouldn’t be cheating on you? That maybe he wouldn’t be so angry all the time.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You know what I mean,” she says. “You said you’ve never even slept with him. So, you two are married and you have never consummated your relationship.”

  “No. So far he has taken no for an answer.”

  “Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe all this other stuff is happening because you’re not giving your husband what he wants.”

  I shake my head and stand up. The rage boiling in my core is difficult to describe. Every time that I think that I could possibly reach my mother, she just says something that pushes me farther and farther away.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I roar. “How are you saying these things to me? You’re my mother. You’re supposed to protect me. You’re supposed to care about me. I’ve never felt safe with you. You know what I’ve always felt? Like I wasn’t good enough. That’s what you made me feel.”

  “I’m thankful for what you’re doing. We both are. I don’t know where we would be without you. All I’m trying to do is give you some advice. Franklin is who he is and that’s not going to change. So, you have to.”

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath, breathing slowly. I feel my nostrils flare as I take another breath, then another.

  Her calmness is making me angry. All I want to do is grab her by the shoulders and shake her as hard as I can to wake her up.

  She’s not real. None of what she’s saying is real but when my eyes meet hers, I realize that this is exactly who she has been my whole life; cold, distant, and unreachable.

  “I’m not doing this for you,” I say, gazing directly into her eyes. “I’m not doing this for you or for Dad. I’m doing this for Tate Media and all of those innocent people whose pensions you have squandered. I’m doing this to save my legacy. One of these days that company is gonna become mine and I’m going to run it the right way, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  22

  Henry

  I work late in the office and don’t get home until after ten. On the drive back, my thoughts oscillate between Aurora and my mom, two women whose predicaments I cannot control or influence in any way.

  I know that Aurora told me to not stand up for her in front of Franklin. That promise is harder to keep than I ever imagined. I don’t see him much in the office but when I do, our interactions are personal. I’m usually the only one there and he often wants to share a drink. He asks about my mom and about my work. He is genuinely interested or maybe he is actually pretending to be.

  It’s hard to imagine that this is the same person who has put his hand on the woman I love, multiple times. It’s almost as if he’s an actor, a ghost. The person I see is not who she sees and neither of us are the person that he presents to the public.

  So far, I have kept my promise to her, because I’m doing it for the greater good. That video that she showed me made me sick to my stomach and he needs to pay for everything that he has done. The only way that he will do that is if we gather more evidence.

  What is on that laptop?

  Who else is there with him?

  How many other politicians are involved besides the governor?

  If I confront him about Aurora, if I throw a punch, we won’t get answers to any of these questions. Those people will keep getting away with it and those girls will never get the justice they deserve.

  All of this stuff weighs heavily on my mind as I pull into the familiar driveway of my mother’s house. It’s an old house that needs a lot of improvements that my mother could never afford but the only reason that it is still in the family is because of Franklin. I sent her whatever money I have, but it is his check that has saved this home for us. I’m not saying that I’m not thankful for that or that I’m not conflicted over the kindness that he has shown me.

  I sneak into the house, walking on my tiptoes, and trying not to make a sound. My mom is probably already asleep or at least trying to get there. She’s an insomniac and once she’s woken up, she will often spend hours unable to get back to sleep. Her diagnosis, all the worries about her prognosis, and how she’s going to pay for everything do not help in easing her mind.

  “Hey, you’re back!” Mom startles me, getting off the couch.

  “Oh my God,” I say. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. What are you doing here?”

  Mom has a TV in her room and a very comfortable bed that I had splurged on a few years ago just to give her as much rest as possible. I don’t remember the last time I saw her on the couch at night. This is usually my domain.

  “I was waiting up for you,” she says. “I wanted to tell you this in person.”

  My mouth drops open but I force it closed. My heart starts palpitating and I grab onto the chair to steady myself.

  I can’t handle anymore bad news today but I don’t have a choice. The only thing I can control is how I react to it.

  “Okay,” I say, quietly bracing myself for something like ‘it’s spread’ or ‘it doesn’t look good.’<
br />
  “They called me and they said that we have contained it. It’s in remission. Well, they didn’t use the word remission because that has some specific medical definition but it’s good news. I still have to go back for tests every two months and then every three and six, but for now, it’s all good.”

  She’s talking so fast and saying so many things, that I can barely process it all.

  “Wait? So, it’s better? You’re better?”

  “I am in remission. For now, we just have to wait and see.”

  She starts talking again but all I can do is pull her close to me and wrap my arms around her frail body.

  I let out a sigh of relief and tears well up in my eyes. I can’t believe the good news. I ask her to repeat herself over and over again just to make sure that I’m not dreaming.

  “Nothing is set in stone, of course, they’re gonna have to monitor the situation and I have to go in for more tests and probably do more chemo for maintenance. But this is really good news, Henry. I wouldn’t be here without you,” she says, hugging me.

  With her arms around me, I can tell how much stronger she is now. Suddenly, I remember all of those other moments when I was with her when she laughed and wasn’t as tired as she was before.

  They’re all symptoms that this is true. I want to celebrate but another part of me doesn’t want to jinx it.

  I will not live in fear, I decide.

  I go to the bottom drawer of our kitchen cabinets, the one Dad used as a backup pantry to the cabinet above. This is where we keep all the stuff that we don’t usually need all the time like backup cans of soup and beans and other non-perishables.

  In the back, I find a bottle of champagne that I bought a few years ago and told her that we would open when we have something momentous to celebrate.

  “No, no, no,” Mom says, waving her hand at me. “We can’t open this now.”

  “We have to,” I say. “This is the best news that we’ve gotten …ever. Even if it’s temporary, even if something changes, we have to celebrate today. We have to acknowledge this moment and be present.”