by Kaira Rouda
I could tell Paul was getting frustrated with the situation. He wanted me to grow sicker, faster, we knew. He was ready for me to be gone, for Gretchen to take my place. He lost his job, lost his chance with Caroline and he was finished with me, with us. And he was running out of money, and the boys, minus me, were his golden tickets. He’d spent most of the past six months with Gretchen, so he’d already moved on in that sense. I was in the way, an obstacle to his future. Even though my father had made it very clear to him he would never touch a penny of their trust funds, with my death, Paul would be the guardian and entitled to a stipend to care for them. Greedy and heartless.
A chill races down my spine. Paul had grown tired of me, but instead of punching me in the face and leaving town, the way he had ended things with Lois, he’d decided to kill me. Slowly. I still get goose bumps when I admit this to myself.
So I was ready for it to come to a head. It was a relief when he asked me to spend a weekend together in Lakeside, just the two of us. Because I knew that would be where he would take me to die. Away from the boys, away from the neighbors. Just the two of us, an envelope of arsenic and a romantic dinner. Sounds perfectly logical if you’re a psycho: he needed to give me a bigger dose of poison. To finish me off. And our new cottage was the perfect place for a death scene.
Meanwhile, I needed to escape and I would. I needed to serve him papers when and where I knew the boys would be safely out of reach. In that sense, we both agreed the lake house would be perfect.
My parents were ecstatic that I’d come to my senses, especially my dad, who hadn’t liked Paul from the start of our relationship and had frowned on our brief courtship and quick marriage. He had been right all along, but I had been too infatuated, too foolish to see beyond the lust, beyond the illusion of love.
Paul was great with illusion. I saw him as the grand old-fashioned suitor who brought me flowers, and wrote love notes and took me to expensive and wonderful dinners. The older advertising executive who had traveled the world, who taught me about jazz music and sexual expression. I saw the Paul I wanted to see, the Paul he made sure I saw. That man was a wonderful romantic, a Renaissance man. That man was a lie.
The difference between the act and the truth was clear as Buck sat beside me during a dialysis session. I took a deep breath, took my power back into my own hands, and called my parents’ home.
“He’s not going to get a dime of your money,” my dad said. “I’ll call the attorneys as soon as we hang up, the bastard.”
“Oh, honey, are you doing all right? How are the boys?” my mom asked. Her sadness made my heart heavy.
“Can they come stay with you, on the day I serve the papers?” I asked. “I’m going to the lake with him on Friday. I’d like you guys to fly into town, take Mikey and Sam back home with you.” Buck touched my knee and I remembered to add, “I’m going to have security following you. And the moving van will come and move our things out as soon as we’re on the road.”
“Of course. We’ll be there. Do you want us to come now?” she asked. I imagined her frightened eyes. I know my dad’s were squinting in anger.
“No, we’ll stay here until Thursday. Get an early flight. We can’t see the grandsons until Friday, Phyllis, or we’d tip that nutjob off,” my dad said.
“Exactly, Dad. And, Dad, is there time to draw up a separation agreement with an accompanying dissolution? I don’t want any record of being with him, not ever again,” I said. I’d been trying to be strong but with those words a sob escaped.
“Oh, honey, yes, we’ll screw the bastard,” Dad said.
“I want to come hug you right now,” Mom said. “Are you alone? We’ve been afraid he’s been isolating you.”
I took a deep breath and Buck took my hand in his. “Yes, he has been cutting me off from you, from everyone. But I have a friend here with me. His company specializes in global security. I’m safe until you arrive. And I’ll fly to you and the boys as soon as I can.”
“Well, thank God. Tell that man—what’s his name?” Dad asked.
“Buck, Buck Overford,” I said, meeting Buck’s eyes as he wiped a tear from under mine. Over the phone line I heard my dad writing Buck’s name down to check him out. It made me smile even as I wondered if it would have done any good if my dad had run a background check on Paul before I married him. His record was clean.
“Tell Buck he has our gratitude and to keep you and the boys safe,” my dad said. “I need to call the attorney. Check in with your mom and me, every day until Friday. Understood?”
“Understood. And thanks, both of you,” I said. I was right not to tell them about the poisoning yet. I knew I couldn’t stop my worried mom from coming to town if I had.
Our plan worked perfectly. The day was outlined step-by-step, with the only hiccup being that Paul took the telephone call on our way out the door. I knew it wasn’t important, whatever woman of his it was, but I couldn’t show my frustration when he finally got into the car. In fact, the entire day was a grand acting job, trying to keep my fear in check as I rode in a car, alone, next to my husband, a man who was trying to kill me.
In hindsight, I’m not sure how I stayed even as calm as I did that day. I’d grabbed a People magazine and tried to keep my mind on other people’s scandals, but I couldn’t. My only consolation was coded texts from Claudia letting me know that my parents had swooped by the school and picked up the boys. I had left a note with the principal, explaining how their grandparents had a special weekend planned. The stop for croissants was to give me a moment to confirm the boys were en route to the airport with my parents. Once I knew they were safe, I felt better.
Claudia let me know when the moving van arrived, and that everything marked had been loaded into the van. In addition to my parents, she was my hero that day, supported by a team of two of Buck’s guys. One of the guys was “super cute” according to Claudia. That had made me smile as I spoke to her outside on the sidewalk on Second Street, finally away from Paul for a moment after our lunch at Sloopy’s.
I remember how much I wanted to run away from Paul at that moment. The boys were safe, all of my belongings were packed up and driving away. But there was still one more step. We needed him to sign the dissolution papers. And then Paul had walked out of Sloopy’s, squinting in the bright sunshine, looking like the handsome man I’d married. Sure, ten years had taken a little toll, and he had a small pouch around his tummy I used to like to tease him about, but still. His smile was bright and it seemed just for me. Part of me still admired the way he walked toward me with a swagger in his step. The confidence. All of those things drew me to him; all of those things almost killed me. In that moment I could almost forget we were enemies. Almost.
The other thing that kept me from running was the fact Buck would be waiting for me at the cottage. Where Paul had swagger, Buck had substance. I realize the difference now. And even though I wouldn’t be able to fall into Buck’s arms, not yet, I would be able to stand next to him. Absorb more strength with him by my side. As Paul pulled the Ford Flex into the driveway of our cottage I almost didn’t wait for the car to stop moving before opening the door. Walking as fast as I could without running, I made it to the garden. And there was Buck, as promised. He smiled, his dimple showing. Calming my nerves.
“Take a deep breath, Mia. It’s all going to be over soon,” he said. We were standing side by side, pretending to look at the strawberry beds. “You have this. You are safe. Hear me? Are you okay?”
“Now, yes,” I said. I could feel Paul approaching us from behind as chills spread down my spine. As relieved as I was to finally stand next to Buck, I knew I had a long night in front of me. I just had no idea at the time how long the night would become.
My finest piece of acting had to be at the restaurant that night. I was forced to leave the safety of Buck’s presence at our cottage, and climb back into the car with
my husband. It was part of the plan, of course, and necessary to provide Buck with the opportunity to search Paul’s things, and to get them dropped off at the inn. He also used the time to make sure all of the cameras he’d placed inside the cottage were working. He tested the panic button he’d installed earlier in the week. It worked, thank goodness.
While Buck set the rest of our trap, I suffered through our last supper. The meal was torture, even with the kind waiter trying to protect me from Paul’s ugly comments. Every moment of that supposed-to-be-elegant dinner was an act: trying to pretend I was sitting across from someone I still loved when actually I hated him, hate him still. My mind flashed to the photo of a young woman’s battered face, and then to one of Paul holding up a nightgown as he flirted with a different young woman, who I now know is named Gretchen, at a lingerie store. And even though there was no photo of it until after our dinner, as he tampered with my brandy, I saw white powder in his gloved hands, stirred into my evening tea, swirled into my Greek yogurt.
All of his lies, all of his manipulations coursed through my mind during that dinner but I couldn’t accuse him of anything, I couldn’t tip my hand.
I was in a panic, sweaty and jittery until the moment I saw Buck through the window, standing outside on the deck of the restaurant, watching me, guarding me. I couldn’t help but smile, even though I knew Paul thought I was looking at myself in the shiny glass. He would think I was vain. I wasn’t. I was smiling about our signal. The thumbs-up sign from Buck meant that everything was in place, that we had Paul and the proof of the poisoning that we needed. The proof meant this charade was almost all over. As I smiled my relief out the window, I felt strong. This day would forever be the start of the rest of my life. The best day ever, in fact, just not the one Paul envisioned.
Sometimes I wish I could have seen Paul’s face, confidence shaken when he was taken into custody inside his own home. Did his heart fall when he discovered his kids were gone, or did he tell himself he’d win in the end? I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when he opened my little red envelope. No doubt, in his messed up way, he thought it was a love note from me to him. I wonder if, just for a moment, he felt sorry about what he had done. Did his heart drop at everything he’d lost? Most of the time, though, I’m glad I didn’t see his reaction. It probably would have been my final disappointment.
As Paul was discovering all the surprises I had in store for him at home, I was at the hospital with Buck. The early-morning hours were scary as I saw Buck’s injuries and realized exactly what Paul was capable of doing to another human being. I watched as Buck was admitted and hooked up to machines, all the while wondering if the police in Columbus would actually catch Paul or if he’d outsmart us all. I just had a sinking feeling he would get away. The wait was terrifying. The call came at sunrise, informing us Paul had been booked on robbery charges.
“Robbery? That’s all?” I said, incredulous. Buck’s team had called his phone. I picked up the call.
“It’s all they have, ma’am,” the man said. “He’ll probably post bail in a few hours. Stay safe.” Later, I would discover he had secret credit cards. It had taken months to sort out his financial schemes once he was gone.
I looked at Buck, sleeping thanks to some IV drugs, and realized it was fine. We would stay safe. With Buck by my side, Paul wouldn’t dare come back. He’d signed the papers. We’d won. His only choice was to scamper away in the night. I fell asleep sitting up in the chair next to Buck’s hospital bed, and even so, it was one of the best rests I’d had in months.
The next day, Buck was released from the hospital. I drove us back to Lakeside. As I pulled into my driveway, a chill spread down my spine. Buck grabbed my hand.
“Let’s go to my place.”
I nodded, turned off the engine and hurried to help Buck open the door. With his bruised ribs, he’d need to take it easy for a bit and I didn’t mind. It was my turn to take care of him for a while.
Even with the pain in his side, Buck was beaming. It was a beautiful summer day. Trees heavy with green leaves, kids pedaling by on rented bicycles. I’d never been inside Buck’s cottage, even though we’d spent two weeks together the summer before, gardening. It wouldn’t have been appropriate. My boys had been with me and, well, I was afraid Paul was watching. I felt like he always was watching me. Now I know that was true. As Buck opened the door and stepped to the side to let me in, walking gingerly, I had been surprised by his cottage’s sleek sophistication. It was as if I was walking into a home and garden magazine’s interpretation of the perfect lake house.
“Nice place you have here,” I said. I was taking in the white linen sofas, the dark hardwood floors, the sleek stainless steel light fixtures and the large white stone fireplace of the family room.
“Glad you like it,” he said. I watched as he closed and locked the door, sliding in a dead bolt. My husband was gone, but Buck still was on high alert. My hero. “You’re safe now, Mia.”
Buck stepped closer to me, and finally, I could fall into his arms. In the hospital, he was tended to by his staff and the nurses. Neither then nor now was the time for passion, of course. It was time for relief, for appreciation, for freedom. We simply stood in his cottage and held each other. It was a new start.
I’m stronger now. It helps that we keep tabs on Paul, that we know where he is, what he’s up to down in Florida, Palm Beach of all places. I hope there will come a day when I don’t wonder if he’ll appear back in our lives; I hope there will be a time when I’m certain he has moved on. I want to believe that if I can move on, so can he. As he said the last time we saw each other, I disgusted him. Probably, given everything that transpired, his feelings of disgust have intensified. I just hope those feelings don’t turn to revenge. Buck tells me not to worry. They are tracking him. We will be the first to know if Paul ever decides to make his way back to Ohio. He says it’s time to heal, to move on.
Together, as a family. This time, my fiancé has my parents’ glowing endorsement. Especially since we are house-hunting in New York City, where the boys will once again live close to grandparents who love them. We’ll keep the Lakeside cottages for now. The place is still special. Paul can’t take that away from us.
“Mom, it’s time to go eat,” Sam says now, running up to me and grabbing my hand. His face is flushed bright red from playing basketball. He’s happy, and hungry. He’s normal.
“Did you have fun playing with Buck?” I ask. I love the feel of his sweaty little hand in mine and I hold on tight.
“Yeah! Best day ever,” he says.
I swallow at the use of his dad’s phrase and smile. “Yes, it was,” I tell him. “The best day ever.”
* * * * *
Paul Strom's Playlist for The Best Day Ever
“Mack the Knife”—Bobby Darin
“Come Away with Me”—Norah Jones
“Somebody That I Used to Know”—Gotye (featuring Kimbra)
“As Time Goes By”—Frank Sinatra
“Crazy He Calls Me”—Billie Holiday
“The Story Of Us”—Taylor Swift
“Unforgettable”—Nat King Cole
“You Don’t Know What Love Is”—Billie Holiday
“We Are In Love”—Harry Connick Jr.
“You Know I’m No Good”—Amy Winehouse
“Cold, Cold Heart”—Dinah Washington
“Every Breath You Take”—The Police
“Bad Romance”—Lady Gaga
Author Note
Paul Strom popped into my subconscious almost fully formed, although I’m not quite certain where he came from. Now that you’ve read the book, I know that you understand how scary that was. Despite the fact that characters like Paul can give you the creeps while you’re writing their story, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with him. Maybe he’ll have another story down the line?
I love writing, and reading, books with unreliable narrators. One of my previous novels, All the Difference, features a female unreliable narrator. She’s very scary herself.
You don’t have to be a character in a novel to be unreliable. When you think about it, we are all unreliable narrators of our personal stories. We edit. We modify the truth. We try to show the world a spruced up version of ourselves, whether it’s to impress a date, a boss or our children. We Photoshop and we brighten. Now more than ever, we harness the power of social media platforms to create a curated view of our lives. We choose the photos our “friends” see, we create our world and present it through our own filters. And we can make ourselves look perfect, happy, blessed to those on the outside looking in.
But we all know that no one’s life is perfect. Part of the ongoing fascination with domestic suspense novels in particular is getting the chance to go behind the closed doors of seemingly perfect lives. Paul and Mia appear to have it all. It’s only when we get a glimpse of what’s really going on that the facade begins to crack.
In Best Day Ever, Paul is trying to impress us with his intelligence, his love for his wife and kids, and his unparalleled business success. But of course, we can read between the lines. Sometimes it’s more about what a character doesn’t say than what he admits to doing. And that’s the appeal of writing, and reading, a book like this. Hopefully, you’ll agree.
Kaira.
Acknowledgments
To my family, especially my husband, Harley, who is my first reader and biggest fan, and to my kids, Trace, Avery, Shea and Dylan, with love always and forever. To my mom, Pat Sturdivant, and the extended Sturdivant and Wise families, love you all. To my friends in Columbus, Malibu, and Laguna Beach, and from Vanderbilt and beyond, you add the wonderful to my life and I’m blessed to know you. And, as a note: Columbus is a spectacular, booming city, a great place to live and visit, no matter Paul’s snide comments.