by E. K. Blair
“Maybe a shower?” Clara suggests, but I don’t respond. I just keep my eyes closed.
It isn’t but a moment until I hear her sniff. When I peek my eyes open, I watch as she brushes the tears away from her cheeks. I shift my body against the tender bruising that remains from Pike’s brutal beating a few days ago, the beating that killed my baby and led to the deaths of my husband, my lover, my brother, and my own soul. Clara looks over to me when I sit up and wince.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry.”
I don’t say anything as I watch her try to recompose her poise through the sorrow she feels. I feel it too but for entirely different reasons. So I pull on my mask and continue my role, saying, “It feels so lonely without him. I keep thinking he’s just away on another trip and he’ll be walking through the door any minute.”
She nods while her tears continue to fall and then looks to me. “I’m worried about you.”
I am too.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Bennett wouldn’t want you to be suffering like this.”
What she doesn’t know, what nobody knows, is that I’m not suffering for Bennett. I’m not the harrowed widow mourning over her husband. No. I’m mourning over the man I was cheating on my husband with and my brother that no one knew anything about. My hidden life. My clandestine existence.
“How could I possibly not suffer, Clara? He was my husband,” I choke out. “How am I supposed to live without him when he was my reason for waking up every day?”
“Because the world doesn’t wait on us. It keeps moving and expects us to move right along with it.”
“I’m not sure how to move right now.”
“Well,” Clara begins, resting her hand on my knee. “You can start by taking a shower and trying to eat something.” Her eyes are sad and filled with concern. When I nod my head, a small smile breaks upon her lips, and she gives my knee a gentle squeeze before getting up to leave the room. Turning back to me, she adds, “Oh, while you were sleeping, your attorney called. He’d like to schedule a time to meet with you to go over Bennett’s will.”
This was the moment I had been working years for. The moment Pike and I dreamed about. This was supposed to be the moment that brought me victory and happiness. The money. The power. Payback and retribution. And now it means nothing without Pike by my side. I married Bennett to destroy him, but it didn’t make anything better—it’s just worse.
“I’ll give him a call after lunch,” I respond before Clara walks out and closes the door behind her.
Getting ready is a blur. I make the movements but then can’t remember how I got from point A to point B. Clara is in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch while I sift through the sheaf of messages from all the calls I’ve missed since Bennett’s death. I’m sure it’s all over the news, but I can’t bring myself to turn on the TV for fear I’ll hear something about Declan. I’d crumble for sure.
I have messages from everyone. I know I need to contact Bennett’s parents, and also Jacqueline, since I can see she has been calling excessively. God, the last thing I want to do is deal with these people, and as I’m about to walk away, the phone rings. I let Clara answer it as I head back to bed.
“Nina, it’s the funeral home,” she calls. “They are needing approval on a few final details.”
Drained of energy, I respond, “I’m sorry. I just can’t,” before dropping my head and walking out of the room.
What the hell do I care about Bennett’s funeral? Toss him in the lake for all I care. The bastard continues to ruin everything, even in his death. The anguish wells up into my throat as I fall onto the bed and cry into my pillow.
I fucking hate that man. I hate him for everything he was. Misplaced aggression or not, that asshole took everything away from me.
I cry like mad, trying to expel some of this misery, but I can’t sit still. I lurch off the bed, and in a haze, find myself in Bennett’s closet, ransacking everything. Ripping clothes from the hangers, thrashing shoes across the room, grunting with each volatile purge until I’m against the wall, slamming my palm into the drywall over and over and over. I beg for the infliction of pain, but the only pain I feel is in my heart. So I clench my fist and pound harder and harder and harder and harder . . .
“Nina! Stop!”
Harder and harder and harder and harder and . . .
“MRS. VANDERWAL, THANK you for coming in. I’m so sorry for your loss. Your husband was a good friend.”
“Thank you, Rick,” I respond as I stand in front of our attorney’s desk and shake his hand.
“Please,” he says, gesturing to the chair, “Have a seat.”
I look at the man I’ve known since my engagement to Bennett four years ago as he sits down and pulls out a file of paperwork.
“I wanted to visit with you personally so that we can go over the terms of your husband’s will and estate. I know this is a difficult time for you right now, but the day of Bennett’s death, he stopped by to visit me.”
I nod my head, recalling the phone call that was made in my hospital room. It was the last time Bennett was with me, when he found out that I wasn’t really Nina, but Elizabeth, and that I’d been sneaking around with Declan.
Declan.
My throat tightens at the thought of him, but I push it down to focus on Rick as he continues to speak.
“A few amendments were made to the will,” he tells me, pulling out a sealed, white envelope from the file. “He instructed me to open and read this to you privately upon his death.”
Forcing out a tear, I sit and stare—nervous—but I play it as calm as I can.
“He must have known,” he states blankly.
“I don’t understand how any of this is happening.” My voice quivers around the words, and Rick hands me a tissue.
“Have the police said anything to you?”
“No. But they took almost everything from our home office. The last I heard is they think it’s business related.”
“Money will make people do sick things,” he says, and the chill that streams under my skin causes a sinister reaction inside of me.
He has no clue how close to home his words are hitting right now as I sit and wait to hear my reward for this game of revenge I’ve played over the past few years.
I dab my eyes with the tissue, and he asks, “Do you need a moment?”
I shake my head, and he takes his letter opener, slicing it through the lip of the envelope. Unfolding the paper, he takes a moment, and I watch as his eyes skitter across whatever is written. Rick clears his throat and shifts in his seat before reading aloud Bennett’s words.
My beautiful Nina,
I’m so conflicted writing this letter. The moment I met you, I knew the man I wanted to be. The type of man worthy enough to stand by your side because you are beyond magnificent.
But the conflict there is that you were never the woman I thought you were. I’m pissed at you. I know the woman that lies beneath the fallacy. The fallacy I fell deeply in love with. I don’t pretend to have the answers for what you’ve done, but don’t worry, my dear. Don’t be scared, because I never told a soul. I’ll take my friend, that little girl with the red pigtails, to my grave. Whatever it is that you wanted from me, I hope you found it. I hope that you can forgive me for what happened to you. I don’t know the details; all I do know is that I feel responsible.
You weren’t the only one who was dishonest though. I lied to you too. There is no easy way to say this, so here it is:
I have a son.
His name is Alexander Brooks.
The utter shock at those words knocks me back, and I’m disgusted at myself for not being able to see what was right under my nose. He was fucking Jacqueline behind my back. My loving husband and my so-called friend.
She was the biggest mistake of my life. It only happened once. The details aren’t important, because I’ve regretted that moment since before it happened. Because it was you I wanted. It’s always been you.
I laid my hand on her that one time but never again after. Never did I want to because all I wanted was to be covered in you. To be covered in your love that I felt was so real, but I learned today that it wasn’t real. Nothing is real, and I don’t know what to believe.
What I do know is that I cannot trust anything. I have instructed that this letter only be read in a private setting between legal counsel and you, Nina. It is with this letter that I claim my paternity to Alexander Brooks. A DNA test was conducted shortly after his birth and can be found in a safety deposit box, which I leave to the hereby mentioned custodian, Attorney Rick Parker of Buchanan & Parker. I further move to amend my will to ensure Alexander Brooks is the sole heir to all business assets of Linq Steel Co. and that Nina Vanderwal be sole heir to all personal assets upon my death.
All monies gained from Linq Steel Co., including all materials of the business estate, will be deposited into a trust fund under Alexander’s name, which the trustee, Rick Parker, will oversee until Alexander reaches the age of 21.
Rick Parker will notify Jacqueline Brooks in a private meeting to go over the terms of this amended will, and I please beg of you, for the sake of my son, that none of this information leave the parties involved.
Nina, I lied about one more thing. When I said in my vows that I would love you till death do us part, I wasn’t being honest, because I doubt death would be enough to make me stop loving you.
Bennett Vanderwal
That bastard. And here I thought I was a good actress, but it was them. They fooled me—played me. They were deceivers just as I was—just as I continue to be. I always knew Jacqueline wanted to fuck my husband, I just never knew she actually had. So now I sit here, stoic. I want to laugh at the circuitous nature of it all—the incessant game that continues to reveal hidden secrets, but ironically, they’re now someone else’s secrets.
Rick sets the letter down and leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. Releasing a heavy breath, his eyes finally meet mine. “Did you know?”
I shake my head.
He shifts in his seat, regaining his composure, but I can see his discomfort slicing through his weak façade. “Well, then . . . as you’re probably aware, the majority of his assets are named under the business. That’s not to say that you won’t be left with a considerable inheritance though.”
Feigning irritation, my words bite when I state, “It isn’t the money I care about.”
“Of course not. I apologize. I didn’t mean to insinuate that—”
“It’s fine. I’m a little overwhelmed with everything right now. So if we’re through . . . ”
“Yes,” he responds, standing and walking around his desk. He holds his hand out for me and I take it as I stand up.
“Thank you.”
Rick leads me out of his office, and when I step onto the elevator, he sticks his arm out, preventing the door from closing and offers, “I’m so sorry you had to find out about Bennett like this.”
“Well, I guess nobody’s perfect, are they?”
“No. I suppose not.”
He drops his arm, allowing the doors to shut as he gives me a nod of sympathy, but I would only need it if I cared for the two people that I just found out have been betraying me. Only I don’t. His son can have the business assets, because honestly, the money feels tainted now. I’ll take it, find a way to start a new life, but that money will always be marked in Declan’s blood—my heart’s blood. Bennett’s death was never worth the life of Declan. Nothing is worth the life of the man who owned every piece of me.
MINUTES TURN HOURS turn days.
A monotonous routine of depression follows me everywhere I go. The razor sharp agony of my bleeding heart aches painfully for Declan. I miss him. Sometimes I think if I cry hard enough, he’ll come back. As if life would be that giving.
No.
Life is a piece of shit.
It gave me a taste—one taste of sweetness—before ripping it away from me. The moment I decided to believe in hope, to believe in goodness, it was taken, only to remind me that I’m all alone in this world. But for once, I wanted to believe. I wanted to dig deep to find the good in me so that I could give it to him, however small of a piece it was.
I don my ink, bathed in black, to mourn my loves, but it isn’t their funerals I attend, it’s his. I don’t even have to pretend for family and friends because the depth of my heartache runs deep inside of me, only it runs for Declan and Pike, not Bennett, whose funeral I am preparing to leave for.
I’ve stayed far away from any news on Declan and Pike; their funerals have come and gone, I’m sure. But to show my face would be foolish. I can’t link myself to them if I expect suspicion to remain off of me. After all, I’m the spider’s silk that webs this whole game together.
Smoothing the wax of deep red lipstick along my lips, I remember how warm they felt pressed against Declan. His sweetness burned into them. Sometimes I couldn’t control my love for him, needing more, I’d bruise myself. Driven by pure desire.
I stand back, observing what’s left behind. Soft waves of red hair fall over my thinned shoulders, eyes sunken in from the sorrow that eats away at me, but with a few eye drops, my blues beam bright and I’m reminded of my daddy’s eyes that shone the brightest of them all. Loss is all around me; it’s all my life has ever been. I run my hands down the smooth black fabric of my shift dress and right myself for my husband’s funeral because this is a loss that I welcome with a full heart. Bennett is one of my few victories, albeit bittersweet.
The day is frigid and covered in grey. A light mist falls down on the cold earth as I drive across town to the cemetery where Bennett’s parents own family plots. I go alone—the black widow. Everything is black, including the limos and town cars that line the winding street, skirting its way through the immaculate grounds of Bennett’s final resting place.
As I park the car, I take a moment to breathe before I notice Baldwin walking my way, carrying a large umbrella over his head. I haven’t seen him since I let him go last week. Bennett is gone, and it’s time to start eliminating the remnants of him entirely, including his staff. I always liked Baldwin—I liked Clara as well—but after I let go of Baldwin, I said goodbye to her too. They both understood as I explained my reasoning. Clara was the hardest because a small part of me always felt connected to her as a mother figure to me, even though she was never mine to claim.
“Mrs. Vanderwal,” Baldwin acknowledges when he opens my door and takes my hand to help me out of the car.
“Thank you,” I murmur, eyes guarded behind my dark sunglasses.
His eyes are soft, full of concern, and I can tell he wants to say something, so I give him a smile filled with sorrow and he nods in shared pain, only mine is deceitful.
I loop my arm through his as he leads me over to the burial plot where Bennett’s casket is perched above ground, flanked by numerous sprays of fragrant flowers and weeping loved ones. I join them as tears roll freely down my face and drip slowly from my jaw. This asshole they mourn is the pure hate that festers in me. And these tears aren’t for him—they’re because of him.
As I’m led to the last empty chair, next to Bennett’s mother, my eyes meet Jacqueline’s over his casket. I want to smile at that pathetic woman, but I don’t, and she quickly looks away from me, shifting in awkwardness. She knows I know. The attorney called me the other day to tell me that he met with her to discuss Bennett’s will and trust for their bastard child.
I sit.
Time passes.
Words of hope and the glory and abundance of God wane on.
Life is a gift, the priest praises.
Bullshit.
The sounds of rain trickling down and people crying dissipate the longer I sit. Many stop and offer me their condolences as I cry and pretend the words that were just spoken here were really meant for Declan and Pike. I sit and reflect on them, honoring their lives today, not his. So I nod and quietly thank each person as they one-by-one turn their backs and
walk away, emptying the cemetery.
Richard and Jacqueline stop, and in a very out of character move on Richard’s part, he gives me a hug, albeit short and tense. Looking over to the betrayer, she tilts her head in unspoken sorrow before opening her arms to me. I take her offering for appearance’s sake.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she whispers her multi-layered sympathies.
I pull back, keeping the interaction short.
“Thank you for being here.”
“Call if you need anything,” she says, which I’m sure is more for keeping her husband aloof than it is sincerity for me.
I nod and then Jacqueline walks off with Richard without saying another word.
Only a few people linger when my heart catches at the sight of Callum, Declan’s father. I’ve been purposefully hiding from everything Declan because my heart just can’t take the pain, but when Cal’s eyes meet mine, I stand and walk toward him.
The endearment he always held for me is no longer there, only the stone face of a man who has just lost his son.
“Cal,” I whisper, approaching him as he stands under a large tree. He doesn’t speak. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Your husband was a man I always admired. You know that.”
I nod and nearly choke on my own fractured heart when I respond on broken breath, “Your son . . . I am so sorry.”
I attempt to keep myself as poised as possible, as one would expect of a business associate. Because to Cal, that’s all I was to Declan. He’s oblivious to the fact that we were so in love, wanting a life to call our own, and sharing the dream of having a baby together—a baby that once lived in my now rotting womb.
“Life isn’t fair, darling,” he tells me in his thick Scottish accent, and within it, I can hear Declan’s brogue. I drop my head and hold on as tightly as I can to his voice, never wanting to lose it, when Cal’s hand cups my cheek. Looking up into his eyes, his face is blurred from the welling of agony in my eyes. He slowly drags his thumb over my skin and collects my tears as he tilts his head and says, “Funny isn’t it?”