A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  He was quiet then until they’d reached the hot dog vendor. It was a merciful reprieve, though Amanda could feel him expecting some further explanation.

  “Can I have two waters, please?” Sebe asked the man, pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of the phone holder strapped to his well-defined bicep.

  Amanda wondered what it might be like to be married to a man like Sebe or Kerry: so kind and present and attentive. Being loved, really loved, like that. Amanda knew that Maude was frustrated with Sebe right now, and that Sarah and Kerry had had their issues. But the love between both couples was a thing you could use to steady yourself when the waters got rough. Zach and Amanda’s marriage would never rescue her from anything.

  “Thank you,” Amanda said, taking the water from Sebe.

  With each swallow, she realized how very thirsty she actually was. Within seconds, she’d finished the entire bottle.

  Sebe laughed. “You do know that water is a thing you are supposed to be drinking, right?”

  Amanda nodded. “I am dehydrated. You’re right, so stupid,” she said. “I’m sorry that I ruined your run.”

  “No, no. You saved me. I promised Maude I would start running. Her father died of a heart attack when he was my age. She lives in fear.” He made a face. “Or maybe she wants to kill me. Either way, I would rather not run, but anything to get back on Maude’s good side.”

  Amanda took a deep breath as they continued on toward the Ninth Street exit to the park. “Can I ask you something that’s none of my business?”

  “Sure,” Sebe said. “Seeing as I was responsible for you falling.”

  “How do you and Maude do it?”

  “Do what?” he asked, and it was clear from the wary look on his face that he was worried Amanda meant his and Maude’s unorthodox sex life.

  “How can you be angry at each other and stay so, I don’t know, connected?”

  Sebe considered this for a moment as they walked on. Darkness was descending quickly around them. “Forgiveness is a side effect of love,” he said finally. And sadly, almost. “If you are going to be married, share the ups and downs of life. What other choice is there?”

  “Right,” Amanda said, like this was indeed a thing that was obvious.

  They were quiet until they reached Prospect Park West, when Amanda saw two women running together and suddenly remembered: Carolyn.

  “Oh, shoot,” Amanda said. “Can you tell me what time it is?”

  “Sure.” Sebe pulled his phone out. “It’s eight thirty-nine. Do you need to be somewhere?”

  “I was supposed to meet my friend, and she never showed up. I was running home because I was worried about her.”

  “Do you want to call?” Sebe offered his phone.

  “Oh, yes.” Amanda reached for it. “Wait, I don’t have her number memorized.”

  “Ah, damn technology. None of us know anything by heart anymore. Here, wait, a cab.” Sebe raced forward to flag down a lime-green sedan. “You take it. I’d better finish my run. Got to pay penance to Maude.” He handed Amanda the change from the water. “Take this for the cab fare. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you so much. For everything.”

  Amanda had not fallen asleep when Zach finally got home at 11:45. Late, even for Zach. Not that Amanda had been waiting up for him. It was the conversation she’d had with Carolyn when she got home from the park that was gnawing at her as she lay alone in the dark.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda had gasped when Carolyn finally answered the phone. “What happened?”

  She’d truly panicked when there’d been no explanatory message waiting for her when she rushed in the house. Her legs had felt shaky as she’d dialed Carolyn’s number. But there her friend was: alive and well. Not only that—Carolyn sounded irritated.

  “What happened where?”

  “You were supposed to meet me in the park. Remember? Eight p.m.”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry.” But there was something nonchalant about it, and Amanda wondered if maybe she hadn’t been planning to show up in the first place. “I forgot.”

  That was it. No explanation. No extenuating circumstances.

  “You forgot?” Amanda had asked.

  “Yes.” Carolyn had snapped. “I got busy. I have a job, remember?”

  “Oh, I was just so worried about you. I kind of freaked out.” And, weirdly, Amanda was unable to shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to Carolyn. Even though Carolyn was there on the phone, proving that it hadn’t. “And I just—I was going to tell you that I plan to do what you said. I’m going to stand up to Zach. You’re right. I need to change things. I wasn’t okay moving Case here, and I’m still not. I sent him to that stupid camp to make up for it, and now that’s giving me nightmares. It’s ridiculous. All this because I didn’t say something earlier. With my dad around again, especially, I need to—I’m going to have to tell Zach.”

  She waited for Carolyn to say “Hooray!” To tell her how fantastic she was and then launch into one of those excellent Carolyn pep talks.

  “Great,” was all Carolyn said. Like she didn’t care at all.

  Anger bubbled up in Amanda’s chest. “You know, I think maybe my dad was following me in the park because I was stuck there alone waiting for you.”

  “Really?” Carolyn asked, paying attention finally. But she did not sound nearly as remorseful as Amanda wanted her to.

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Listen, Amanda, there’s something I need to tell you,” Carolyn said. “I should have told you this before. But I didn’t want to freak you out. It sounds like you already are, though, so …”

  “What is it?” Amanda’s palm was damp beneath the phone.

  “I think I saw him.” Carolyn exhaled in a gasp, like she’d been holding her breath.

  “Saw who?”

  “Your dad. When I was leaving your house.”

  “What?” Amanda’s slick hand had started to tremble. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest resisted.

  “He was a few houses down, sitting on a stoop,” Carolyn said. “He got up to leave when he saw me coming. It was dark, so I can’t be one hundred percent sure. But I think it was him. He’s so big. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

  Amanda should have felt a fresh wave of terror then, but something about what Carolyn was saying didn’t make sense.

  “What do you mean, dark?” Carolyn had come by early in the morning the other day. “You were at my house at night also?”

  “Whatever, morning then.”

  “But you just said it was dark.”

  “No, no. I just meant that I couldn’t see his face well. That’s all. Why are you interrogating me? I’m just trying to help.”

  Amanda thought back to Officer Carbone: Keep asking yourself how he found you. How did her dad track her down in Brooklyn, and after all this time?

  “Yeah, okay,” Amanda said. “Thank you.”

  “Listen, I have to go.” Carolyn had sounded annoyed again. “I’ll call you later.”

  But that was an hour ago, and Carolyn never had called back. Honestly, Amanda wasn’t sure she wanted her to. Whatever was going on with Carolyn, it was giving Amanda the most unpleasant tightness in the pit of her stomach.

  It was past midnight by the time Amanda finally heard Zach’s feet on the stairs. Once in their bedroom, he would undress in their huge closet—as he always did—and then slide ever so quietly into bed so as not to wake her. As though she were a ticking bomb and not a wife. Sure enough, a moment later there he was, opening the door, changing in the shadows, then inching into bed, so careful not to make contact. Forgiveness is a side effect of love. What if that was her problem? What if she needed to try harder to forgive her husband his shortcomings? After all, she had them, too, didn’t she?

  Zach, Amanda imagined herself whispering to him. I’m scared.

  But then Zach sighed heavily, in that way he so often did. Like he was steeling himself to weather t
heir unbearable nighttime closeness. No, Amanda wouldn’t say that. Her dad was getting closer, though. Zach needed to know. But for that, she’d need some actual time with Zach, to ease into telling him. Such a small thing to demand. A little time.

  Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. “I need you to do something tomorrow night,” she began, her heart already galloping away in the dark.

  “Oh yeah?” Zach asked, like she always asked him to do things in the middle of the night. “What’s that?”

  Their marriage wasn’t strong enough to keep her afloat, definitely not. And yet it was all she had. Amanda had no choice but to reach out and grab hold.

  “I need you to go somewhere with me.”

  Another exhale. This one more annoyed. “Where?”

  “A party,” Amanda managed. “At my friend Maude’s house. She’s a friend of Sarah’s, the woman who works at the foundation? It’s uncomfortable that you never come to anything. They’re insulted.”

  “That’s absurd,” Zach said, as though this were a scientifically verifiable fact.

  “You need to be there. Because I need you to be there.”

  And Zach being there would be something. They could walk there together, and that would be a good opportunity to tell him about her dad. Could she just have told him right then? Yes, she could have. She did know that. But also, she couldn’t.

  “Who else will be there?” Zach asked.

  “Mostly Country Day parents, I think.”

  “Ah,” he said. Then he was quiet for an endless moment. “Fine, then. But I won’t be able to stay long. I’ve got a work thing later on.”

  And then he turned over on his side and fell fast asleep.

  Lizzie

  JULY 10, FRIDAY

  I got off the Q train at Seventh Avenue near Flatbush and headed toward Sarah’s brownstone on First Street. I had suspicions about Sarah now, though it was hard to imagine someone as petite as her having the physical strength to kill anyone with a golf club. Still, there was a reason she’d lied about the accountant. And it didn’t seem impossible that she and Zach might be in on something together—defrauding the foundation, or maybe even Amanda’s death.

  In the end, with no payment forthcoming, I’d left Evidentiary Analytics without Amanda’s file but with a promise from Millie: “I’ll work on Vinnie. I’ll get it to you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I’d said to her, again. And there was so much to apologize for. “I obviously had no idea about Zach’s finances. But I will get you paid. Zach has the brownstone. There has to be some equity there.”

  Millie also mentioned that a single print comparison might be an option even Zach could afford. Though it was surely the opposite of what Millie intended, that said to me one thing: if I got a sample from Xavier Lynch, and if that print matched the ones in the blood from the stairs that night, it could exonerate Zach. And I’d be free and clear.

  If. If.

  There were many problems with this plan. Not the least of which was how speculative it was. I’d also have to go alone to St. Colomb Falls. There was no money to pay Millie’s other investigators now, even if I’d been willing to wait until they were available. And I wasn’t.

  As I crossed Seventh Avenue at St. Johns Place, I spotted a standing sign on the opposite side, perfectly chalked, neon-pink rose in its center. “Blooms on the Slope” was written in an arc over the rose, an arrow pointing to the right. Once I crossed the street, I paused and searched through my bag. Sure enough, I had the card from Amanda’s nightstand. I could at least check in to see if anybody at the florist recognized Xavier Lynch as the one who’d sent the flowers. It wouldn’t necessarily get me out of a road trip to see a rapist, but it would be a start.

  A small bell jingled when I opened the door. Blooms on the Slope was a narrow but chic shop, with an attractive older woman behind the counter, hair piled high and tied with a scarf. Her mouth was slightly upturned as she concentrated on an arrangement of all-yellow flowers. She was even humming contentedly. Watching her, I was overwhelmed by regret.

  I’d imagined myself happy like her by now, with my dream job and Sam at my side, my past neatly wiped clean. And yet here I was, drafting email after email to my best friend from law school about what a disaster my life had become. Emails I was too ashamed to even send. Deep down I did know that these things—the secrets I’d kept, my marriage to Sam despite his problems, maybe even my getting sucked in by Zach—were not unrelated. Once this mess with Zach was over, I needed to reach out of my own darkness and at least tell Victoria about Sam’s drinking. It was reckless to live with secrets. After all, if I hadn’t kept so many, Zach wouldn’t be able to use them against me now.

  “Well, hello there!” the woman behind the counter called brightly when she finally noticed me, then appraised me with an air of concern. “You certainly look like someone who could use a little floral harmonizing.”

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “I’m trying to figure out who sent some flowers?” I began as I approached the counter. Though the shop did sell flowers, not guns. What type of records was I expecting them to keep? “I have a card, but it’s unsigned. I know it’s a long shot.”

  She stepped to the counter, looking concerned.

  “Unsigned?” she asked, reaching out for the card. “I’ve got a policy against anonymous flowers. A sister of mine was stalked mercilessly in high school. Bastard left roses for her everywhere. Last thing I want is my flowers making somebody upset.” She looked down at the card. “But it is one of ours, and this looks like Matthew’s handwriting. Hold on a second. Hey, Matthew!” she called toward the back of the shop. “Can you come out here for a second?”

  A moment later a gangly teenage boy with considerable acne, all black clothing, and a disaffected air emerged.

  “Did you deliver flowers with this card?” she asked, holding it out to him. “This looks like your handwriting.”

  He hesitated for a long moment before finally reaching out and snatching the card. He looked down, shrugged. “Whatever. His wife was really mad at him. He came in and asked me to make out the card like it was from a secret admirer. He thought she would recognize his handwriting.”

  “Thank you, honey,” the woman said, notably unfazed by his surly attitude. She turned back to me. “Sometimes we all have a hard time saying no to the people in this neighborhood. They can be, well, insistent would be a nice way of putting it. I hope the flowers didn’t cause a problem.”

  “Could I show you a picture?” I asked Matthew. “To see if you recognize the person who bought them?”

  “I guess,” he offered, in that brooding yet curious teenaged way.

  I pulled up a screenshot of the rummage-sale photo on my phone and handed it over to Matthew. “Do you see him in this picture?”

  Matthew immediately shook his head. “Nope. Not him.”

  “Are you sure?” He’d answered so quickly it was like he hadn’t even looked. “This picture was taken a couple years ago. He could look different now.”

  “That dude in the picture is a diamond,” Matthew said with absolute surety. “The guy who came in here was a circle.”

  “Um …”

  “He means the shape of the face,” the woman said. “Officially there are seven. But Matthew—”

  “Mom, twelve,” he corrected sharply. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged again. “Whatever. But there are twelve.”

  “Mathew has identified some new subclasses, too,” his mother said, smiling. “We had him tested when he was little—long story how we got there, which has everything to do with my opportunistic ex-husband—but he is officially gifted at facial recognition. If Matthew says it wasn’t that man in here, it wasn’t him.”

  Mathew finally looked directly at me. “If you have other pictures, I could definitely pick the guy out. No doubt.”

  I tried not to feel dejected as I approached Sarah’s house. Even if they had recognized Xavier Lynch at Blooms on the Slope, that wouldn’t be th
e same as having his fingerprint to compare. I’d probably be headed to St. Colomb Falls regardless.

  Sarah’s brownstone had seen better days. As I made my way up the steps, I noticed the signs of wear and tear—the cracked facade, a slope to the stairs, peeling paint on the shutters. Nonetheless it was a Park Slope brownstone, a four-million-dollar home I could never afford, but I did wonder if its relatively ailing condition was a sign of Sarah’s need for money.

  “Can I help you?” a man’s voice called up to me as I was about to knock on the door. I turned, feeling like a trespasser.

  At the bottom of the steps, in a Brooklyn Nets T-shirt and dark athletic shorts, was a burly guy with saggy eyes and a warm smile, presumably Sarah’s husband. He had a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack in the other—at three in the afternoon on a weekday. Not a lawyer at a big firm, that was for sure—then again, successful people everywhere did play hooky occasionally. People other than me.

  “Oh, I’m looking for Sarah?” I began, hoping I could get through this without having to identify myself as Zach’s lawyer. The thought made me want to gag.

  “Lunch and then a book-club outing to some author event at the 92nd Street Y,” he said. “I’d say come in and wait, but it’s more of a wine club than a book club. She’ll probably be gone for hours. You’re here about the emails, I suppose?”

  “Yes,” I said, grateful for the gift of an alternate explanation as I made my way down the steps.

  “You and the rest of the world,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “I can take your name if you want. But I do know she’s working on making the school get more information out to everyone. And I’m sure she’ll have another meeting about it soon. There are always more meetings. And they are always in my home.”

  “I’ll try her another time then,” I said, smiling as I turned away and started down the sidewalk. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he called after me. “Only do me a favor and don’t tell her you saw me here at home at this hour. I wanted to watch a little Wimbledon, and that woman will never understand the importance of sports.”