Everything must go, I thought. I’m Mrs. Winter now.
* * *
• • •
I took a hot shower, threw on jeans and a T-shirt. As I headed downstairs, I could hear chatter in the foyer. There I found Max, who’d also changed into jeans and a T-shirt, a hand propped against the open door. He was speaking to two police officers, a man and a woman. He seemed relaxed. But when he turned to me, I saw that his eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn, his jaw tense. He had aged overnight. Even his hair seemed whiter, the lines on his forehead more pronounced. I wondered if the officers could tell that his affable voice did not match his dour expression.
“Ah, here is my wife now,” he said, extending his arm and draping it around my shoulders. My wife.
“I understand you got married yesterday. Congratulations,” the female officer said, handing me her business card.
“Thank you. Is this about Dani? Is she all right?”
“They’re explaining to me that apparently before they took her phone away at the detox, Dani managed to call the police to tell them what she told us, that she’d seen a dead body in the greenhouse. And they take these things seriously around here, no matter how ludicrous the claim or how young and drunk the claimant.”
“We do take that seriously,” said the female officer.
“Did you tell them what she might have seen?” I asked Max.
The male officer jumped in. “The doctor mentioned a dead kitten. But Dani said that’s not what she saw. She said the kitten was alive when she last saw it.”
“Well, you know Dani’s got quite an imagination. I think you’ve dealt with her before, haven’t you?” Max said to the female officer. “Was it shoplifting, or the fire she started on the Wolitzers’ dock?”
“Underage drinking.”
“Right,” Max said. “She keeps us all very busy.”
“We could take a quick look around,” she offered, like a favor. “Reassure her there’s nothing to worry about.”
I looked at Max. Why wasn’t he inviting the police inside? Let them go see for themselves, I wanted to say. Even if he’d buried the kitten while I showered, it wouldn’t be too difficult to dig her back up again and show them. Then we could close the chapter on this grim story.
But the way he gripped my shoulder, the tension I felt in his ribs, his lower back—somehow I sensed it was best to say nothing.
“I don’t want you to think I’m rude,” Max said, his voice low and stern. I gathered the back of his T-shirt in my hand to steady him. “And I do very much appreciate the job you do, and the fact that you take these things seriously. It’s reassuring to me as a citizen, and as your senator. But, for the sake of my very sick and very young daughter, if you want to step foot inside Asherley, you’ll need to return with a warrant, and assurances from you and your direct supervisor that you will not leak this sad incident to the press. Dani already had an embarrassing meltdown in front of some important people yesterday. This would send her over the edge before she even has a chance to recover.”
“Of course, Mr. Winter,” the male officer said. “We’re not implying—”
“Yes, you are. You’re implying that there might be some veracity to my daughter’s claims that she saw a dead body in the greenhouse—her late mother, if we’re going by what she said just before she was strapped onto a gurney and wheeled out of here ranting and raving and covered in her own vomit.”
“Max, it’s all right,” I whispered.
“Mr. Winter, we’re very sorry—”
“But I’ll say this, without the benefit of a lawyer present. My lovely, ill daughter did not see her dead mother. My daughter saw a dead kitten. How it died, we don’t know. But I do know she did not kill it. She doesn’t have that in her. She loved the little thing. But she was wasted and upset. Our wedding was a happy day for us, but it was not a happy one for her. What I suspect is that she found the kitten dead—a lot of cars came and went from here yesterday, and it was raining heavily. And she wanted to bury it somewhere dry. But if you insist on indulging her sad and drunken delusions, then come back with a warrant. And I will get my lawyers involved so at least I can protect her, since you two officers don’t seem to be doing that.”
They stood there blinking at Max, each waiting for the other to say something. I was speechless, too.
“Well,” the male officer said finally, “we’ll be on our way, then. We’re very sorry to have bothered you.”
“Will you be around later today, Mr. Winter?” the female officer said, as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
Max inhaled deeply. I tightened my grip on the back of his shirt.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, much more calmly. “Forgive me. It’s been a long night. But we’ll be here. Until my daughter gets better, we’re not going anywhere.”
They said their goodbyes and he closed the door. Then he bent forward, his hands on his knees.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay, Max.” I peered through the peephole, watching as the detectives got back in their car. “They’re leaving.”
He straightened his back and looked at me, letting out a strangled sort of cry, as if it had been stuck in his throat and now it was safe to let it out.
“You’re worrying me.”
He capped his head with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.
“What is it?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I said, placing a hand on his flushed face.
“Leave Asherley for the day. Don’t ask why. I’ll call Louisa and tell her to expect you.”
“I’m not going to do that, Max. Tell me what’s going on.”
He walked towards the kitchen. I trailed after him as he spoke.
“Go there now. Stay there until you hear from me. I’ll meet up with you tonight. We can have dinner somewhere, the four of us.”
“Slow down. What’s wrong? I don’t think the police are going to come back, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, even if they get a warrant, all they’ll find is a little dead cat!”
“Ha. God, you are naive,” he spat.
This felt like a slap. The man who said those words to me wasn’t my kind, caring husband, understandably distraught at his daughter’s breakdown. This man was a stranger to me. Reluctantly, I followed him into the kitchen, where he began to throw open drawers, lift and toss lids, kick out the stools.
“Where’s my phone?” he grumbled, stalking about. “I have to call Eli.”
I joined the search, waiting for normal Max to resurface. But he was gone, replaced by someone frantic, cornered. He kept pacing, muttering unintelligibly, pinching the skin between his brows as if to dig out a solution from inside his own skull. Finally, he patted himself down, finding his phone in his front pocket, something we might have laughed about any other morning.
“Max, tell me how to help.”
“I told you what you can do,” he said, scrolling his contacts. “Leave. Right now.”
We had only been married one day and he was throwing me out of his home.
“Talk to me. I love you. I want to help.”
“You think you love me. But you don’t. You won’t.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this. I’d spent days, weeks, worrying whether he might wake up and realize the mistake he was making in marrying me, but for me to stop loving him? Impossible.
He tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear, avoiding my eyes, which were now brimming with tears. When he began to speak, the sane, reasonable Max surfaced.
“Eli. Max . . . To be honest not a wink.” He recounted the events of the night before, wincing at the part about Maggie, ending with the visit from the police. “Look, I don’t know if they’re going to make a big deal about it. I fucking hope not . . . W
ell, I wasn’t nice. But Dani’s so fragile right now . . . No threats. Just your usual pressure. I just don’t want this to get out, not after yesterday . . . No. Just need a day or two, long enough to figure out what happened . . . Yeah. She’s okay. She’s going to Louisa’s. She’s had a rough couple days . . . Yes, a trouper. No, no, no, don’t come out. We’re fine.”
He sounded so loving on the phone with Elias. But when he hung up, he sunk down onto a stool, exhaling as though he’d just spent the last vestiges of his energy on that call.
“Okay. Where were we? Yes, you’re going to pack a bag and drive to Louisa’s. I’ll meet you tonight.”
“I told you. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“We’re not fighting about this.”
“I know that.”
He looked at me plainly. “Do you love me?”
“Yes, very much.”
“Then you’ll do as I ask.”
“That’s not how it works. I want to know what’s going on. And you have to tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? Max, you know you can tell me anything.”
“If I told you this, you would leave and never come back here.”
“Then you don’t know me.”
I placed a stool directly in front of him and sat. I was now his benevolent interrogator, our knees touching. I watched his face go through a remarkable series of emotions, from stubborn coldness to pity for me to reluctant surrender.
“I’m very tired,” he said. “Of all of it. Of everything.”
“We had a long night.”
“No, I’m tired of the lies. If you hadn’t been here when the police came just now, I would have happily raised my wrists for the handcuffs. I would have told them to take me to the station. Because I have nothing left in me. No fight left.”
My blood cooled. Hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
“She was right,” he continued, his eyes welling up. “She said she’d win everything in the end. She was right.”
“Who?”
He said nothing for a moment. Then he let out a laugh. “God, Dani’s smart, isn’t she.” He sounded like a proud father. “She’s so smart. Rebekah always focused on her looks, trying to get her hair just right, sending her off to dance lessons and manicures. But that girl’s got a hell of a brain. I always said she could be anything she wanted to be, if she could just develop some character. Did I ever tell you how beautiful her mother was?”
“You didn’t need to. There’s evidence of that all over this house.”
He smiled at me. “You think I’m talking about Rebekah. No, she was all makeup and filters and some very good work. I’m talking about Dani’s birth mother. Before the drugs took over. When she was young, she had this natural beauty. She was completely unaware of it. Like you. Too bad she had none of your goodness. She said she’d win everything in the end. And she just might be right.”
“But . . . she’s dead.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Where?”
“About a mile from here.”
“Wait, who are you talking about?”
“Dani’s mother. She died about a mile from here. Right after she smashed the car into a tree.” He sounded blithe, matter-of-fact. “She was alive. Briefly. She looked right at me. And then . . . the car exploded. The fire spread so quickly. I couldn’t . . .”
No. That’s not right. Now I was angry. What he was saying was very wrong. These were not the correct facts, not the ones he’d given me, that I had memorized, had turned over and over again like worry stones in my pocket. I took him by the shoulders.
“Max, no. That’s how Rebekah died. You told me Rebekah smashed her car into a tree and that started a fire. And Dani’s mother died later. In the city. Are you now telling me that Dani’s mother was driving the car?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t understand. Then where was Rebekah? How did Rebekah die?”
His answer came swiftly and unadorned.
“She was murdered. In the greenhouse,” he said, “a couple of feet from where I buried her.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
I felt myself pulled backwards, the walls expanding around us, curving as if time itself were slowing down so I could take in this madhouse version of events. My senses heightened like an animal’s, tuning in and out of every sound and sensation: the hum of the fan above the stove, the angry crows outside, my heart banging against my rib cage. I looked towards the hallway that led to the greenhouse, fully expecting Rebekah to be standing there, summoned by the confession, a gray specter in a bloody dress.
“Max.”
His gaze was on the floor. I clapped loudly. He blinked at me a few times, until he recognized my face.
“Before the police come back with a warrant, you have to tell me. Is Rebekah still buried in the greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
I reeled. Poor Dani. She was telling the truth.
“Did you . . . did you kill Rebekah?”
He got up from the stool and paced, stopping to tent his fingers to steady himself, like a lawyer prepping an opening statement.
“No. I didn’t kill Rebekah. You have to believe that before I tell you anything else.”
I didn’t know what to look for on his face; I was not a trained expert on lying. All I knew was that in that moment, and much to my relief, he looked and sounded like Max again, the man I loved, who I had always taken at his word.
“Do you believe me?”
“I do. Yes. But if you didn’t kill her, who did?”
“Dani’s mother.”
I closed my eyes. The story Dani told me about that night collided with Max’s, forming something new, and so much darker.
“It was self-defense. I think.”
“You think?”
“I—I left the greenhouse. For one fucking minute. To make sure Dani didn’t see . . . oh God.” Again his eyes drifted to the hallway, the anxiety creeping back in around his eyes and forehead.
I guided him back down onto a stool.
“Max, focus. Tell me everything. From the beginning, please.”
“Yes . . . yes.”
I filled two glasses with water and placed them in front of us, marveling at how my arms and legs moved, seemingly without my command.
“Everything starts with her. It always does.” He took a sip of water, whipping the rest back like a scotch. “Louisa met her first, at some silly fund-raiser. She said, Max, I found her. The one. She’s beautiful and she has a fortune. Rebekah knew about our name, our history, the land, the dilemma of an heir. She came from new money, Russian, very questionable, very considerable. You see, I married her for Asherley. We desperately needed an influx of cash, a lot of cash, to pay back taxes and to update the house in critical ways. Especially the causeway. We couldn’t keep boating back and forth. The channel needed constant dredging. Louisa and I have a trust, but it was drying up, our credit in the toilet. We’d reached the outer limits of what we could borrow. But to release Rebekah’s fortune, I had to sign Asherley over to her as a guarantee. All of it. Under the condition it would all pass down to our heir.
“Louisa and Jonah had given up on having a baby, so it was up to me, otherwise we’d be the last Winters and the land would revert back to local jurisdiction. That was the deal the original Lord Winter made with King Charles. It’s partly why I ran for office. Figure out a way to change this law without drawing attention to how I’d benefit. It’s been tricky. I mean, I never used to care about the place. I wasted my youth on pretty girls from modest backgrounds to piss off my father. But you get older and these things start to matter, too much, I’m ashamed to say. And I didn’t want to be the loser, the one who shamefully brings the whole thing crashing down.”
So much was running through my
mind while he spoke, but what stuck out most was this: if Max married Rebekah for money, then he must have married me for love. What other reason could there be?
“So we married. Suddenly I wasn’t rich in name only. We were debt-free, taxes paid, causeway construction under way. Scaffolding appeared around Asherley for the first time in generations, and a trust was secured for future upkeep.
“Rebekah was thirty-six, so we didn’t wait to try for a baby. After a year, and nothing, we got tested. We both checked out. She did hormone shots. IVF. We tried surrogacy, but our embryos weren’t viable. Rebekah tried distracting herself, thinking a pregnancy would sneak up on her as it had her friends. She threw herself into renovating Asherley, built that detestable greenhouse. Her tastes were bold, showy, nothing like mine. Time passed. I thought we’d grow to love each other. But we drifted instead. The failure to have a baby created so much resentment and anxiety, it felt like a third person in our marriage. I resigned myself to letting all this go. But the more she threw herself into making over Asherley, the more obsessed she became with keeping it and in passing it on to our children, her children.”
I thought back to those endless articles I’d scrolled through about Asherley’s renaissance, Rebekah’s glowing competency in every frame. Rebekah pointing and delegating, smelling roses, posing in front of beautiful tableaus of her creation. All of it a mask for what she really wanted: a baby.
“Then, at another one of Louisa’s fund-raisers, this one for low-income mothers, Rebekah met Dani’s birth mother, who was six months pregnant. She still wasn’t sure whether she wanted to keep the baby or give it up for adoption. She was also a younger replica of Rebekah. I mean, at certain angles the resemblance was uncanny. Of course this appealed to Rebekah’s epic vanity, the possibility of having a child who looked like her. Apparently the father was some feckless punk from Bay Shore who had already fled the scene. I told you everything we knew about her, which wasn’t much. Rebekah had this misguided notion that she would mentor her throughout the rest of the pregnancy, keep her away from bad influences, and then convince her to give up the child, privately, to us, of course. Rebekah began to spoil her. Something in me held back. I didn’t trust her, or the situation.
The Winters Page 24