by Moore, Lila
“No, thanks.”
“Don’t be so stubborn. I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
I slurred my words slightly. The pills were much stronger than I thought they’d be. Mr. Devereaux probably thought I was drunk.
I looked behind me. I could still see the alleyway that led to my house in the distance. I hadn’t walked very far at all. I frowned. Taking a ride from Mr. Devereaux was a bad idea, but in my drugged-out state of mind I didn’t care.
“Fine,” I conceded.
Mr. Devereaux jumped out of his car and walked around to the passenger’s side. He opened the door for me. I slid in with difficulty. The car was tiny. I had to bend my injured leg. Despite the painkillers, a sharp stabbing pain shot through my knee.
Mr. Devereaux took my crutches. With difficulty, he managed to fit them in the backseat. He slid behind the wheel beside me.
“Where to?” he asked.
I debated how to answer. I could tell him to drop me off at the park, but he’d want to know why I was hanging out in the park alone with a broken knee. It didn’t make sense and only led to more questions. None of which I had a good answer for.
“I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” I lied. “She lives on the other side of the bridge in a cabin.”
Mr. Devereaux’s attention turned on me sharply.
“You’re friends with that old witch?”
“You know her?”
“No,” he said too quickly. “I just know her reputation.”
“What’s her reputation?”
“They say she’s killed two husbands. You’ve never heard about this?”
“No.”
“You need to get out more. When she moved to this town, it was all anyone could talk about. Some people think she might have had something to do with your husband’s death on account of her cabin being right near where his body washed up.”
I swallowed hard and looked out the window. We weren’t moving.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Devereaux said. “I didn’t mean to be so crude about your husband’s death. I’m sure you’re still dealing with it. I can’t imagine losing my wife.”
There was a strange catch to his voice as if he was trying to stifle laughter. Did he find the idea of his wife dying funny? I didn’t want to know.
“How did she supposedly kill her husbands?” I asked, ignoring his comments about Tom.
“Shot the first one; poisoned the second.” He said matter-of-factly as if it was common knowledge. “Of course, she got away with it. Never faced any charges and she made out like a bandit,” he continued. “Insurance paid out a pretty penny. She lives in a dump, but she’s loaded. She’s worth almost as much as I am.”
If I was supposed to be impressed by his wealth, he was failing miserably. I couldn’t care less about his money.
“You should stay away from her,” he said. “Let me take you somewhere. We could drive into the city. I know a really nice place where we can get a quiet dinner.”
“No. I promised to meet her for dinner. I don’t want to break my promise.”
Mr. Devereaux frowned. “I don’t feel comfortable dropping you off with that crazy woman.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
He sized me up; his gaze lingered on my breasts.
“I bet you can- take care of yourself, that is.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice. I just wanted to get to the cabin.
“Let’s meet for dinner another time,” I said, affecting a low seductive voice. “We can drive into the city and have dinner. I’ll get someone to watch Aiden. We can make a night of it.”
I wanted him to think I was planning on sleeping with him, though I had no intention of doing so. I just wanted him to take me to the cabin and leave me alone.
“Alright, yeah- that sounds good. I’ll give you a night out on the town. I bet you haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
I smiled thinly. It was hard to keep my composure around Mr. Devereaux. He was one of the most repulsive men I’d ever met.
“We should really get going,” I said. “I’m running late.”
“Okay,” he finally conceded.
He put the car in gear. Thankfully, it was a short drive. I opened the door and hopped out on my own. I didn’t want his hands on me, helping me out of the car. I grabbed my crutches and waved goodbye to him.
“I’ve got it from here. Thanks for the ride,” I said, desperate to see him leave.
“Should I pick you up later?”
“What? No. She’ll give me a ride.”
I wasn’t sure if this was the case, but I figured she would. Apparently, she’d done it multiple times before.
Mr. Devereaux nodded. “Well, Friday then?”
I stared at him blankly. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“For our date- I’ll pick you up on Friday,” he said clarifying.
“Oh! Yeah. Sounds great,” I replied through clinched teeth.
I waved again. He waved back and watched me closely as I approached the cabin. I knocked on the door and waited. I was met with silence from inside. Silently, I prayed she was home. I did not want to get back into Mr. Devereaux’s car.
I glanced over my shoulder. He was still watching. His eyes were trained on me like a hawk. I knocked again, banging louder. I heard shuffling footsteps from inside. The door opened. I was greeted by the sight of the woman from the bridge. Her hair was a mess and she wore a loose robe. She narrowed her eyes and made a face of surprise. I smiled brightly.
“Invite me in,” I whispered.
I knew Mr. Devereaux was watching and listening. She looked past me to the idling sports car. When she saw it, a look of anger crossed her face.
“Get in,” she said.
She grabbed my shoulder and pushed me into the cabin. The woman pulled back the window’s drapes and looked out suspiciously. After what felt like ages, I heard the sound of the sports car pulling away. She closed the curtains forcefully.
“Are you surprised to see me?” I asked.
She responded by crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“I remember,” I said excitedly. “You said I never remember, but I remember everything.”
“What is it that you think you remember?”
Her response took the wind out of my sails. She didn’t believe me.
“Last night,” I said. “It’s crazy, but I remember it all. And I believe you. I didn’t at first, but you have no reason to lie.”
The woman nodded slowly and looked back out the window.
“Sit down,” she said. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Mr. Devereaux’s words about how she’d supposedly poisoned her second husband flashed through my mind. There was no reason to suspect this woman was out to get me, but his words left me paranoid.
I sat down at her table with difficulty. The painkiller was starting to wear off; my leg was throbbing. She set a hot cup of tea down in front of me. I sipped from it cautiously. She didn’t join me in drinking. She simply sat down across from me and watched me with a stern look on her face.
“It suddenly occurred to me,” I said, “that I don’t even know your name.”
“Jillian.”
“You haven’t told me before, have you? I’d hate to think I’ve forgotten.”
“No. This is the first time you’ve asked.”
An awkward silence passed between us. I sipped my tea. It had a strange fragrant taste I didn’t recognize.
“It’s not poisoned,” she said with a laugh.
I nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what they say about me, isn’t it? That I poisoned my husband?”
“I don’t know what they say about you. I don’t care. Besides, they probably say worse about me.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“That I killed my husband.”
It was hard to say out loud. My tongue felt thick; my mou
th dry. I took a big gulp of the tea.
“How is that worse than what they say about me? Sounds like we’re two peas in a pod.”
I didn’t want to say it, but I felt like there was the distinct possibility the rumors about Jillian were true whereas the rumors about me were nonsense.
“Well?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I didn’t kill my husband.”
“But you don’t remember.”
“No. But I know I would never-”
“You’d be surprised at the things I swore I’d never do when I was your age.”
This kind of talk made me uncomfortable. “I just want to know what you saw the night my husband died. You said I was with him? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It was raining, but I saw him from my back porch on the bridge talking to a woman.”
“So, you’re not sure it was me?”
The woman sighed and crossed her hands in front of her chest.
“Okay,” I said, trying to placate her. I didn’t want her to kick me out, or refuse to answer my questions. “For the sake of argument, say that it was me. Were we fighting, or…?”
“I don’t know. It was dark, but I thought I saw you kiss. You were wearing a scarf around your head.”
A scarf? I don’t wear scarves.
“The wind grabbed it and sent it over the edge into the water. Your husband tried to grab it and missed.”
“Is that how he ended up in the lake?”
“No. I didn’t see him go in. I went back inside. A few minutes later I heard you screaming. I ran up to the bridge and found you there alone. I wasn’t sure what had happened. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of you. You were shaking so bad… I knew something had happened. I dried you off and took you home. The next morning I woke up to sirens and cops crawling all over my backyard. I kept my mouth shut. I don’t get involved with the police.”
I nodded. “That’s all? You didn’t see anything else that night?”
“Not that night, no.”
“But you saw something suspicious?”
“The next night I saw a man underneath the bridge with a flashlight. At first, I thought he was part of the search crew, but he was out there alone.”
“Who was it?”
“Your friend, Mr. Devereaux.”
12
Not for the first time, Jillian drove me home. She told me all she knew about that night on the bridge. I went over it again and again in my head: Tom was with a woman wearing a scarf; Mr. Devereaux searching for something under the bridge.
It didn’t make sense. How did he fit into this? Tom didn’t know the Devereauxes, did he?
We pulled up to my house. Theo’s car was sitting out front.
“Great,” I muttered.
“Your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“He’s new in town, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He works for the Devereauxes.”
I watched Jillian’s face carefully, but she gave no indication of what she was thinking. She simply said: “Be careful.”
I stepped out of the car. Jillian didn’t make a move to help me, though I could have used a hand. I managed to pull my crutches free from the backseat before she took off without so much as a goodbye. I hobbled up to my house. Theo was sitting on the front steps waiting for me.
“I came to check on you,” he said. “I was worried when you didn’t answer the door.”
“An old friend invited me over for tea.”
He watched Jillian’s car leave. As soon as I was out of the car she floored it like a woman fleeing a crime scene.
“Who’s your friend?”
I wasn’t sure whether to be honest or not. It was bad enough Mr. Devereaux knew I was talking with Jillian. I decided there was no harm in telling Theo the truth.
“Jillian. She lives down by the lake.”
His body was tense. The muscle in his jaw flinched tightly. Every muscle in his body threatened to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The sudden shift in his body language made me take a step back. Why was he so troubled by my talking to Jillian?
“Have you been friends long?”
“Not long. Do you think you could help me inside?”
“Of course.”
He seemed to relax a bit. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder as he helped me into the house.
“You left your door unlocked,” he observed.
“I wasn’t planning on being away long.”
He frowned. “You should lock your doors. I know this is a small town, but you can’t trust anyone.”
“Can I trust you?” I said it teasingly, but Theo didn’t seem to find it funny.
“You’re a single mother and you live alone. You have to be careful.”
It struck me as an odd response. Why was he so concerned? We lived in a low crime area. I can’t remember the last time I’d heard about a break-in.
“I’m careful,” I said.
“Are you?”
He glanced back at the road where Jillian’s car had been.
“You don’t like Jillian,” I said. It was more of a statement than a question. “Why?”
“I just want you to be safe.”
“And it’s not safe for me to talk to Jillian…?”
“She killed her husband. Did you know that?”
“That’s just a rumor.”
“No, it’s not,” he said with such certainty that I was taken aback.
I sat down heavily on the couch. My leg was killing me.
“Could you bring me one of my pills?”
“What did you talk about?” he said, ignoring my request.
“Nothing. It was just… tea with a friend.” I rubbed my face. “I really need a pill.”
“In a second. Why would you go up there today?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sabine, you’re not being honest with me.”
“I don’t like being interrogated.”
Theo stepped back and sat down on the chair across from me.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You just have to be careful who you’re seen talking to.”
“Why?”
“Because it can look bad.”
“To whom?”
This night had taken a bizarre turn. Why was Theo acting like a jealous husband? And since when was he so worried about town gossip?
“I’ll get your medicine,” he said.
Apparently, that was the end of the discussion. He didn’t want to talk about it. He went out of his way to be nice afterwards, fixing me dinner and running a bath. It was nice, but I couldn’t understand why he’d acted so upset. Was it because he knew I was lying to him?
I settled into the bath while Theo did the dishes. I listened to the clanking of plates as he cleaned up. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in a while. Tom always did the dishes after I cooked. Hearing the noise from the comfort of the bath was oddly reassuring. It was then I decided to be bold.
“Theo?” I called.
He came to the restroom door, but didn’t enter, giving me privacy.
“I have to tell you something.”
He took a step inside the bathroom. I wasn’t sure if he could see me naked inside the tub or not. His face betrayed nothing.
“What is it?”
“You’re right. I was lying to you earlier. I only met Jillian last night. Well, actually, that’s not true. I have met her before, but it was the first time I remembered meeting her.”
Theo came closer. He sat down on the floor beside the tub.
“Tell me,” he said.
I launched into the whole story, not leaving out a single detail of the night before. I went over the conversation I’d had with her today. When I told him how Jillian had seen a woman in a scarf on the bridge with Tom, Theo looked away. A faraway look clouded his expression as if he was thinking hard about something.
“It wasn’t me though,” I said. “I’m sure of it. I never wear scarves. Besides,
it doesn’t make any sense. Why would we have gone to the bridge to talk? And there’s something else: Mr. Devereaux was there.”
Now I had Theo’s full attention.
“On the bridge?”
“No. He was there the next night. Jillian saw him underneath the bridge with a flashlight looking for something.”
“Why didn’t she tell the police about this?” Theo sounded angry.
“I think maybe she was trying to protect me.”
“Protect you from what?”
“She found me on the bridge afterwards. I was there alone, crying and mumbling incoherently. She took me back to her cabin and cleaned me up, then took me home. She said something to me last night about how even if I was responsible it still wasn’t my fault.”
I looked away from Theo and into my bathwater. I couldn’t meet his eye. Jillian thought I was responsible for killing my husband. So did people in the town. What if Theo was one of them? I couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking I was a murderer.
“Jillian thinks I killed Tom,” I said. “I think she may have killed her husband in self-defense. Now she hates cops and men too probably. Anyway, I think she wants to protect me. She thinks I killed him, but that he had it coming. Or something. I’m not sure. She’s wrong, though. You know that right?”
I sounded desperate even to my own ears, but I needed to hear him say it. I was met with silence.
“Theo, tell me you understand.”
I sounded pathetic, but I was hanging on by a thread. I didn’t have any support in my life. I needed to know someone still believed in me.
“I know you’re not responsible,” he said.
He sounded as if he was choosing his words carefully. Did he think I killed my husband in self-defense? It was ridiculous. I had no reason to be angry at Tom. I suddenly remembered something I hadn’t thought about in a long time. A year before Aiden was born, Tom and I nearly divorced. He’d become obsessed with his work. He would spend hours, sometimes days in his work room. I wouldn’t see or speak to him for days at a time.
It scared me and when I confronted him about it, he blew up at me. He accused me of holding him back, of stifling his creativity. He said he was going to leave me. After a couple days he cooled down and apologized. At the time, I was furious. Tom had a bad temper and he could be extremely selfish.