“Honey—” Brett started, his voice tight.
“It’s okay,” Meaghan said, and Arlie let out a sigh of relief as she stood. “She’s right. I didn’t notice the time. I should get going. Arlie, thank you so much for having me here tonight. I had a lot of fun. We’ll have to do it again.”
“Yes,” Arlie lied, “we’ll have to.” She accepted the stiff hug Meaghan offered her.
“I’ll walk her out,” Brett said, kissing his wife’s cheek. “You get upstairs and wait for me.” His hand slid down her back, nearly touching her butt, but stopping. Her cheeks flamed at his touch. “I’ll be right back.”
Arlie nodded. “Drive safe,” she told Meaghan before turning and heading for the bedroom.
As she entered, she immediately stripped out of her dress, pulling her silk robe out of a drawer and tying it around herself. She pulled the pins from her hair, letting the brown curls fall loose. As she searched through her makeup, looking for her favorite red lipstick, she remembered she had left it in the bathroom. She opened the door, tiptoeing out across the hall to grab it. She grabbed the lipstick from the blue countertop, turned back around, and stopped. The lipstick fell to the floor, its plastic colliding loudly with the linoleum.
She let out a haggard breath, staring at her husband, his lips red from Meaghan’s own lipstick, his hands wrapped around her waist. Meaghan’s lips formed a perfect ‘O’ as she stepped away from Brett. “I’m so sorry.” She darted out the door without another word, and Arlie sank to the floor, tears muddling her vision as she attempted to clean the broken lipstick from the floor.
Brett rushed toward her. Her, not Meaghan. “Arlie.”
She stood up, staring at him with a hate-filled expression. She waited for him to explain. To say anything. But he didn’t. His eyes lined with tears of his own.
“How long?” she asked, the words barely escaping her throat.
“What?” he asked.
“How long has it been going on?” Her teeth were bared, her body filled with adrenaline.
“It hasn’t…nothing’s—”
“How long have you been screwing her?” she screeched.
“I…” He let out a sigh, looking down. “About a month.”
She nodded, tossing the broken lipstick into a nearby trash can and walking to the sink again to wash her hands. He approached her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. She means nothing to me.”
“Did you get that line from the Cheater’s 101 Handbook? The chapter about what lie to use when you get caught?” She’d known. Somehow in her gut, the moment she’d seen Meaghan, she’d just known. It explained the jealousy. It was why the night had been miserable for her. As much as she wanted to believe she’d been wrong, somehow…she’d just known.
He lowered his head again, his forehead on her shoulder, but she bumped him off. “I should’ve told you sooner.”
“You shouldn’t have done it,” she said, slamming her hands onto the sinktop.
“I know. I shouldn’t have. I wish I hadn’t.”
“Are you still planning to see her? Do you want to divorce me?”
“No! No, of course not. I’ll have her let go. Fired. Honestly, she’s not that great of an assistant anyway. I don’t want to lose you. I still love you so much. I was stupid. This was all so stupid.”
“Why would you bring her here?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I thought if the four of us could get together…I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t know why I did it. I don’t have a reasonable explanation.”
“Was I just a joke to you? Were the two of you joking around all night about your little secret? While I’m just here playing dutiful wife?” She wiped her tears as quickly as they fell, her body shaking with anger.
“Of course not.” He pulled her into a hug and she didn’t resist. “Of course not. I love you, Arlie. You. Not her. I never loved her. Meaghan was just…I don’t know. I’ve been so stressed at work. It was stupid.” He pulled her away from his chest, holding her shoulders so she would look at him. “I was stupid. It’s over. I just don’t want to lose you.”
“I want her gone,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Done.” He nodded in agreement.
“Have there been others?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “No.”
“Good,” she said with a deep breath. She pulled away from his grasp and walked past him. “Now come to bed.”
She laid in bed, feeling his body next to hers, the covers rising and falling with his every breath, but she couldn’t sleep. She cried silent tears, feeling so disgusted with him and with herself. She picked apart every piece of her body and her life, comparing herself to Meaghan over and over and over. She wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The day of the shooting, October 13th, 2016, was nearly a year since news of Brett’s affair had broken. Meaghan had been fired the day after she’d come to dinner, and Arlie and Brett’s marriage had been repaired, slowly, through intense counseling and hard work. He was back to writing her love letters. He brought home flowers just because. She was back in the gym three times a week, trying to keep herself perfect for the husband she loved more than life. She didn’t trust him completely yet, and their counselor said that was normal. It would take time. Brett had to earn her trust again. Earn her forgiveness. But he was trying. God knew he was trying, and that was all she could ask for. Actually, she could’ve asked for a husband who hadn’t cheated at all, but the counselor said those thoughts wouldn’t help matters. What was done was done, and there was nothing else she could do but move forward. She still loved him, and he never stopped loving her. That was the truth. And that was what mattered.
It was at the gym where she’d heard news of what had happened. Lauren Alberts had run up to her on the elliptical, her eyes filled with tears. “Arlie,” she cried, falling onto her before Arlie had stopped running. Lauren’s husband worked with Brett in Arbordale.
“What is it?” she asked, hugging her friend.
“It’s...there was a shooter.” Her words were muffled against Arlie’s shoulders, her body shaking with her sobs. Arlie patted her head, trying to pull her hair away from her face so she could hear.
“A what?”
“A shooter,” Lauren said again. “At Dunlin-Hammel.” Arlie’s blood ran cold, and she shook her friend.
“Who was it? Was anyone hurt?” Cold chills lined her arms.
“I don’t know,” Lauren cried. The girls sank to the floor together, their sobs echoing through the quiet gym. People around them stopped exercising, hurrying to their sides to see what had happened.
Arlie didn’t remember much of the next few moments, even now, but it didn’t matter. Brett was gone. She could feel it in her bones. When she collected herself enough to find her phone, she dialed his number. Again and again and again. Over and over until she’d left him so many messages his inbox was full. She couldn’t even hear his voice anymore. She drove to Arbordale but wasn’t allowed near his building. Police barricaded the streets as they led the shooter out of the building.
A disgruntled ex-employee who would serve a life sentence being taken care of by the government. Three meals a day while her husband rotted in the ground. A bed and television while her husband would never again laugh at Kevin James’ comedy. She watched as the ambulances loaded up body after body. So many dead. So many killed by the monster.
Finally, a policeman walked up to her, noticing her sobs as the hysteria of the event seemed to calm down.
“Did you…did you know someone in the building?” he asked, his eyes soft.
“My husband.” She nodded. “My husband, Brett Montgomery. He…I can’t get him to answer his phone.”
The cop nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder after he’d jotted down the name. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Tears poured down her face as the policeman went t
o talk to a few of the other officers working the scene. They’d begun to talk to witnesses, walking them out of the building once the gunman had been driven off. Arlie watched the door open, but she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
There, spattered in blood—Brett’s blood, she would later find out—was Meaghan Hopewood, the woman her husband swore to have fired just one year ago.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PRESENT DAY
Arlie walked into the prison a month later, her hands clenched into fists. She was led by a guard to a room eerily like the ones she’d seen on TV. It was gray and smelled damp and had a long row of red chairs facing the glass that led to the other side. The side where the prisoners would sit. The side where Mason would be waiting. As she walked down the long room, she finally laid eyes on him. He looked different. His head was shaven, his blue eyes darker somehow. His head wound had healed up, though he had different lacerations on his face now. He hadn’t had it easy in here, that much was clear.
She sat down across from him, picking up the heavy, black phone and placing it to her ear.
He put a hand on the glass, his palm reaching for hers. She didn’t return his advance. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice incredibly clear in her ear.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the too-quiet room. There was a sign to her left that said ‘Please Keep Hands Visible at all Times,’ and she untucked her hand from under her elbow instantly. “How are you?”
He looked down, shaking his head. “I’m okay…you know, as good as can be expected. My lawyer…he, uh, he told me who I am. That you found a wallet.”
“We shouldn’t be discussing the case,” she warned him.
“Is it true?” He pressed on. “I was married? I had a wife? And she worked with your husband?”
She nodded, though she didn’t dare speak. “Your lawyer will take care of you, Mason. Er, I guess I should call you Alec now, huh?”
“I still feel more like Mason.” He shook his head. “They have doctors in here. Trying to heal my memory, but I don’t know if I want that. They’ve tried to contact my wife…but she isn’t answering. Do you think you could reach out to her? My lawyer said it may help if I have someone…you know, family, in court.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, running a quick finger over her lip.
He closed his eyes. “Of course not. Why would you help me? You probably hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice raised as his hand went back to the glass. His eyes pleaded with her. “I swear to you I didn’t. I would never hurt you, Arlie. I would never hurt anyone. I care about you. I’m so glad you’re safe. I need you to know that. No matter what happens, I need to know you believe I’m innocent. You’re the only person I feel like I can trust right now. And, you can trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you. Never.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “My lawyer is trying to work up an insanity plea. He says it may be my best option. With my injury,” he pointed to his head, “he says we have a pretty good chance. But, even with that, it’s likely I’ll never make it out. I can survive that, if I have to. But I can’t survive it if I think you believe I could be guilty. I can’t.”
She nodded. “I really don’t think we should be discussing it.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I just…I didn’t do it. I need you to believe me. I need to hear you say you believe me.”
She took a breath, pressing her mouth further into the phone. “I do.”
“You do?” he asked, his eyes lighting up at her words.
“I do believe you. I know you didn’t do this.”
Tears lined his eyes, and he wiped them away with dirty fingers. “Thank God. You have no idea what that means to me.”
She pushed her chair back, suddenly overwhelmed with her surroundings. “Just…just take care of yourself, okay?”
“Wait!” he called, causing her to stop. “Would you tell the police that? Would you be willing to testify for me? I need you to tell them that I wasn’t the one who hurt you. That evidence…it must’ve been planted. It wasn’t mine.”
“I know,” she repeated, nodding her head and leaning closer to the glass. “But I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I can’t tell anyone.” Her voice was firm. Much more confident than she felt. “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, hitting the glass. “Why can’t you?”
“Because.” She closed her eyes. “Because I need for it to have been you.” With that, she placed the phone back into place and turned away from him, despite his pleading. Her heels clicked down the long room as she disappeared, trying desperately to ignore his cries.
What she’d said was true, no matter how much it hurt. It had to be him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BEFORE
Arlie sat in her car outside of the hospital’s morgue. She stared at the bag of her husband’s things. His phone. His blazer. His wallet. The last things he’d touched. The last things he’d ever wear. She held the bag tightly, loud, obnoxious sobs escaping her throat. How dare he? How dare he leave her like this? How dare he die for Meaghan?
The police had told her what the witnesses said, though Meaghan had never come around. They’d told her how multiple people said Brett jumped in front of Meaghan, pushed her to the ground. His body was a shield that kept her alive. In the end, he chose her. He chose to save her over a life with his wife.
Everyone kept telling her how much of a hero he was, how she should feel so proud of him, that his last act was so noble. But it didn’t feel noble. It felt like betrayal. He’d left her. He’d lied to her. All this time…he’d never ended things with Meaghan, never fired her. And she’d just blindly trusted him. She’d never asked questions, never stopped by his office unannounced, never checked his email or phone.
Phone.
Thinking quickly, she opened the bag, pulling his phone from it and trying to ignore the dried blood against the black Otterbox. She typed in his password, their anniversary, and clicked on the green messages icon.
She didn’t have to look far. There, right in front of her eyes, were messages upon messages from Meaghan. Good night texts. Good morning texts. I love you texts.
He loved her.
She loved him.
That truth struck her hard.
Her husband loved a woman that wasn’t her. They texted almost incessantly. All the times that he’d claimed to be dealing with ‘work,’ it seemed as though they were all her. She closed out of the messages, gasping for air, and despite her better judgement, opened his pictures.
You know the old saying about curiosity and the cat? Well, Arlie could feel her whiskers growing as she waited for the death the pictures on his phone were sure to bring her. The pictures of herself and Brett were scarce compared to the pictures he had of Meaghan and himself.
Naked selfies she’d sent him, pictures of the two of them in bed together, pictures of them out on dates, at the park. Pictures of them kissing. She stopped on a picture of the two of them in a bed that she didn’t recognize. It must’ve been Meaghan’s. She was kissing his forehead and he had a goofy grin on his face.
He was happy. She could see it. There was a light in his eyes she hadn’t realized she’d been missing for quite a while. She wasn’t sure when it had disappeared.
Somehow, foolishly, she’d always believed he was happy with her. Their sex life wasn’t perfect, but it certainly wasn’t stale. He still kissed her goodbye every morning. Still called her beautiful every night.
So where had she gone wrong? And what could she ever do with this information? She contemplated sending the pictures to Meaghan’s husband, if she could manage to track him down, but what was the point?
Brett was gone, and she was alone.
In his final moments, he had been holding another woman.
A woman that he loved.
A woman that wasn’t her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Six months after Brett’s death, a knock sounded on Arlie’s door. Arlie stared at the shadow behind the blind, wondering who it could be. Who would be visiting her? She had no family to speak of. Her only living relative was her mother, and it wasn't like the nursing home she was in allowed her to make trips back home.
She stood up, making her way to the door and peeking out the curtain. The sight of Meaghan standing in front of her caused her to gasp. Meaghan looked her way at the sound, squinting her eyes as she strained to see through the glass.
"Arlie?" she called, leaning forward.
For a second, Arlie considered closing the blind and walking away. She had absolutely nothing to say to this woman. The woman who was responsible for the end of her husband's life.
Okay, that may have been a slight exaggeration, but it would never feel that way to Arlie. If not for her, Brett may still be alive. As if she were reading her mind, Meaghan put her hand to the glass of the door. "Arlie, open up, please. I need to talk to you."
Against her better judgement, Arlie pulled open the door. "What?" she asked, not bothering to hide the venom in her voice. "What do you want?"
"I know…" she said, her eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. It was the first time Arlie had seen her looking less than perfect. "I know I have no right to be here." She smelled of bourbon and cigarettes, and it didn't look like she'd changed clothes in several days.
"You're right about that."
"It's just…it's just that I-I miss him so much."
Arlie closed her eyes as if she'd been slapped. "You have no right to miss him, Meaghan. He was never yours to miss."
"I know," she said, openly sobbing. "But I do. I loved him so much. I know you must hate me. I don't blame you for that…but I loved him. I loved him like you did and—."
"Do," Arlie corrected her.
"Excuse me?"
"Loved him like I do. Brett was my husband, and despite his flaws, I still love him. That's my right as his wife. You were nothing but a fling." She said the words, though she knew they weren't true. Flings don't last years. Flings don't contain the words 'I love you.'
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