I delete all my social media when I can no longer take the incoming messages at all hours of the day and night. So many people believe the world would be better without me in it; at this point, I’m not sure I disagree.
Every day on the news, they interview people we went to school with, and I listen to them talk about all that is wrong with Tom. I hear them talk about his use of drugs a decade ago, about how he was always an odd kid, and about how they knew he’d snap one day. Most of these people know nothing of the man I love. They don’t know who he’s become since we graduated, since he got clean, since he started with Locke Industries. He’s come so far, accomplished so much, but none of that will matter anymore. From here on out, whenever anyone hears Tom Carey’s name, the first and only thing they’ll think is: murderer.
I’ve started to stink from lack of showering, and I’m no longer hungry, despite not eating for nearly a week. I can’t bring myself to get off the couch, always waiting to hear an update. Always hoping they’ll find him alive.
Instead, it’s just another day of listening to his character being torn apart. I haven’t gotten a single text from my family or coworkers, which only confirms what I know. They blame me as much as everyone else.
If it were true, I’d blame me, too.
The only call I’ve gotten was from his mother, who cried to me for over an hour. She wanted to know what she’d done wrong, what she’d missed. That’s how ironclad the case against him is—his own mother believes it.
Maybe I’m a fool for believing they’re wrong, believing he’s innocent, but I do. I know Tom, probably better than anyone, and I know what he’s capable of. He couldn’t do this.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mia
TWO MONTHS AGO
A week later, I get the news I’ve been dreading for what feels like a lifetime. In the form of a Breaking News Update, I learn I am no longer a fiancée. Tom is dead, and he’s never coming home. I’ll never hear his voice again. Never kiss his lips. I’ll never get to tell him I believed him.
I watch the broadcast as Tom’s car is pulled from the bottom of the lake and, though his body is not in it and the search isn’t totally halted, he is presumed to be dead. I listen to the chief of police telling a local reporter all about the currents of the lake where his car was found, about how his body could be anywhere at this point.
There’s a smugness in his tone, a hint of a smile on his face as he reassures people that they believe Tom Carey is no longer a threat to anyone. That his guilt probably got the best of him and he couldn’t handle it anymore. Everyone can sleep well knowing he’s gone.
He’s gone.
The realization rips through me with a force I’ve never known. The pain is indescribable. It destroys me. I fall off the couch and onto the floor with a guttural scream that I’m sure my whole building hears. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I just want the pain to stop. I want it all to stop.
I lay on the floor, breathing in the musty smell of my carpet for what feels like several days, but I make no effort to keep track. The sun rises and the sun sets. People’s lives go on, and I lay still, just breathing. Just existing. It’s all I can do. All I want to do without him.
They don’t have a word for a fiancée who loses her soon-to-be-husband. Wives become widows, which has its own air of deserved respect. Fiancées become exes. Fiancées of presumed bombers become yesterday’s news.
The world keeps spinning, but I don’t move with it.
For two months after the bombing, I watch the news tear apart the man I love. I watch as they dig deeper into his past, insinuating that he may have still been on drugs, when I know how hard he worked to get clean and stay that way. I don’t hear from his mother again, but his sister calls to let me know his entire family is moving away. They can’t take the scrutiny anymore, the public torture. My sister-in-law’s windows have all been boarded up thanks to rocks constantly flying through them. Her three-year-old had to have stitches after a rock was launched through her bedroom window and narrowly missed her eye. Tom’s parents are being tormented on their way to work, both by reporters and people who’ve followed the case. She asks if I’m going to be okay, and I say yes, but we both know it’s a lie. None of us will ever be okay again.
For two months after the bombing, I sit and I watch as the hatred for the man I love spreads across the nation.
I sit.
I wait.
To die or to move on. Whichever comes first.
One day, I decide I’ve had enough. I get dressed for the first time in months. I have very little money since I’ve lost my job and I use a large portion of what I do have saved to order a recording device from a sketchy website, with no real plan to use it. There’s no food in the house since I haven’t left in months, existing only on water, ramen, and crackers. Even those ran out after a while. I’m skinnier than I’ve ever been, my clothes hang off me, and I don’t recognize the monster in the mirror. The monster who, at times, wonders if I’m trusting the wrong man. If, somewhere beneath the surface, Tom really was the villain they all say. I just can’t believe it. Either way, I need to know.
The Lockes’ address isn’t hard to find. When I walk up to the door, I have no idea what I’m going to say. If I’m going to cry or scream or yell or attack. I have no idea what my plan is until the door opens and a blonde woman stands in front of me with a phone to her ear. She doesn’t ask who I am or why I’m there.
Instead she says, “Hey,” like she’s been expecting me. She barely glances up from the phone in her hand. She is tall, her shoulder-length blonde hair messy in the sort of on-purpose way I’ve always been jealous of. She is as beautiful as her pictures in the paper. “Hi,” she repeats, glancing behind her. “Sorry. Come in.” She steps back, and I follow her. Does she always answer the door like this? I could be a stranger. To her, I am a stranger.
I step into the house, glancing around. It is breathtaking, though I expected no less from the exterior. More a fortress than a house, it is grand and modern—all geometric shapes and sharp angles, a steep, twisted stone staircase leads up to the front door, two levels of four windows across the expanse of the front, and a darkened entranceway, leaving just enough mystery to keep it interesting.
Inside, the room is open and airy. There is a tall, floating staircase to my left and a single, wooden table with a large vase of flowers in the center of the room. I look up, trying not to gawk at the dangling chandelier. If it fell, it would take us both out in a second.
The woman shuts the door, spinning around to face me and shoving the phone in the back pocket of her designer jeans. “Sorry,” she apologizes again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “Okay, I’m ready now.” She holds out her hand, her fingers long, thin, and wispy. Ready for what? “I meant to be much more prepared for this. My husband was supposed to be here, but he got stuck at work. I hope it’s okay that it’ll just be me?”
“Of course.” I smile, with nothing else to say. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She releases my hand and holds her arm out to our right. Her heels click across the marble floor, leading us into a room that looks like it should be a living room, minus all the living. It is immaculate. The sofa against the window is white leather. There is a glass coffee table in the center of the room and a maroon chair that looks more like a statue than a place to rest—two giant loops connecting in a single padded space. Mrs. Locke perches on the edge of the sculpture-chair. She nods toward the sofa.
“Please, Olivia, have a seat.”
Just like that, I become Olivia. Just like that, I finally have a plan.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Orrick
PRESENT DAY
“What are you talking about, Iris? Slow down,” I say. Her voice is nearly unrecognizable through the phone. She’s panicking.
“Olivia and Tom knew each other. They…I don’t know if they were related or dating or what, but I found her picture on his Facebook page.�
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Her words hit me. Is it possible? Is it coincidence? “Are you sure it’s her? Positive?”
“Positive,” she confirms. “AJ agrees.”
I inhale sharply, my chest constricting with fear. “Okay. Okay…let me talk to her, okay?” For real this time. “I’ll find out what’s going on, and we can decide what to do.”
“Orrick, she could be dangerous.”
“Are you…worried about me?” I ask, surprised by her tone.
Her voice is steady and unflinching. “I just want you to be careful, okay?”
I nod, though she can’t see me. “I’ll be fine.” I hang up without a goodbye and look out the window to the night sky. Olivia will be at home without John to look after for the next few days, so I think it’s time I paid her a visit.
The next morning, I pull into her parking lot, my mind filled with questions and fear. I want Iris to be wrong. I want this to be a misunderstanding, because if it isn’t, I’ve been played. If she isn’t wrong, the way I feel about Olivia is all for nothing. I dial her number.
“Hello?” she sings into the line.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, you. What’s up?”
I keep myself free of emotion. “I need to talk to you.”
“So, talk.”
“I’m outside.” I watch the blinds move on the top floor.
“You’re what?” she asks.
“I’m outside your place. We should talk.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in just a second.”
“No, Olivia,” I enunciate her name. “I want to come up.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I worry she’s going to hang up on me. I should’ve checked her employment paperwork, but it’s only just occurring to me that I don’t know which apartment she lives in. I’ll knock on every single apartment door if that’s what it takes to find her.
“Third floor,” she says finally. “Apartment three B.”
I hang up, climbing from my car and locking it twice. I walk past the same rusted car from before, though, thankfully, there’s no one outside it. I’m not afraid, but in terms of sheer brute strength, I wouldn’t make it through a fight. My power has always come from my mind.
I climb the rickety, wooden staircase until I reach the top floor, and the first door I come to is green with a black, painted ‘3B’ on its front, just below a peephole. Is this the door that holds the secrets of the woman I care about? I shove the thought from my head. I don’t care about Olivia. I’m infatuated with her at most, and only angry with her at the moment.
The door opens in a second. She’s dressed in black yoga pants and a sports bra, and her hair is sweaty as if she’s been exercising.
“Hey,” she says, her face icy as she waits for me to speak.
“May I come in?” I don’t wait for her answer as I push through the doorway and spin to face her. The apartment is tiny and dark, broken blinds on the windows and trash on the counters. It smells like her, though, with vanilla and floral hints in the air. I try not to think of it. I hear the door shut behind me and turn to face her.
“What’s going on, Orrick?” She rests her fists on her hips, breathing heavily.
“I should ask you the same.”
“What are you—”
“Did you know Tom Carey?” She jerks her head back as if she’s been slapped. “Don’t lie to me,” I warn.
She folds her arms across her chest, but rather than pushing her breasts up like normal, she presses them down, resting her arms atop them. “I did.”
I’m shocked by the admittance. I’d expected her to deny it, even with Iris’ proof. “You—you did?”
“Well, didn’t you know that? It was obvious with the way you came in here.”
“You lied to me.” I take a step back from her, stepping on the edge of a purple yoga mat on her floor.
“I did, and I’m sorry, Orrick. I never wanted to lie to you.”
“How did you know him?” I swallow, keeping my jaw stiff as I decide to hear her out. Maybe there’s a logical explanation. Maybe they went to school together and haven’t talked in years.
Her nostrils flare, lips curling up as she answers. “He was my fiancé.”
Nope, definitely not.
“He was your…” I think I might be having a heart attack. Suddenly, I’m lightheaded, and I can’t think straight. “So your fiancé wasn’t in the building that day, like you said, it was…Tom. Who are you? Is your name even Olivia Mendes?”
She sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. “My name’s Camilla Ramirez,” she says, taking another breath. “Mia. Tom and I were engaged when the bombing happened. I was…devastated. I didn’t want to believe he could’ve hidden that part of himself. I loved him so much.”
I sit down on the edge of her sofa to keep from falling over, clutching my head in my hands.
She goes on. “I came to your house that day, not to lie about who I was and take a job, but to ask you about him. I wanted to know what you knew that would make the police think he was involved. But Iris ushered me in and started the interview before I realized what was happening. She was on the phone…she called me Olivia and started talking about the nanny position. I wasn’t planning on taking it, but it kind of…it kind of fell in my lap. She introduced me to your employees as Olivia Mendes and I just, I don’t know, Orrick. I ran with it. It was stupid and I regretted it immediately, but I wanted to know you guys. I wanted to know more about Tom…about who he was away from me, and this seemed like the easiest way to do it.” She bends down in front of me, and the smell of her sweat is sweet and overpowering. She smells the way she does after we’ve had sex. I close my eyes, trying to focus. “I came to learn about Tom, but I had no intentions of falling for you.”
My eyes pop open. “You’re…falling in love with me?”
She nods, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears. “I am, Orrick. I don’t want to be. You’re married and complicated, but…I care about you, a lot. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since Tom.”
I breathe heavily, taking in her every word. “Iris isn’t going to like this, Oliv—Mia.”
“I took the position for Tom, I’ll admit. It was dishonest. But I stayed for John. I love your son, Orrick. I love taking care of him. If you don’t trust me to do that anymore, I’ll understand, but I would love to keep my job. It stopped being about Tom a long time ago.”
I reach forward, touching her cheek. I can see the honesty in her eyes. “We have to tell Iris the truth, about everything. It’s her son, too. She deserves to know who’s taking care of him.”
She smiles. “Of course.” I notice a flicker of something in her eyes. “Will we tell her about us, too?”
“Us?” I ask.
“Only if you want to. I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.” She runs her hand across my thigh.
“I…yeah, maybe. I’ll have to think of how I want to do it.”
“You said she has affairs a lot, right?” she asks.
“You aren’t just an affair, Oliv—Mia.” She smiles at my words, leaning closer to me. Her lips graze mine and, despite all the anger I feel, I can’t stay mad at her when she’s this close to me. Her tongue flicks across my lips, her breasts pressed into my chest, and I feel myself hardening already.
“Why not?” she asks, pulling back and looking at me with wide eyes. “Why do you care about me, Orrick? You could walk away from this and go back to your perfect life. I don’t want to complicate things for you anymore.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, staring into her doe-like eyes. I don’t know how to feel; my emotions are all over the place. I should be angry that she lied, but I’ve always found it impossible to be angry with her. At least she’s being honest now. Based on the look on her face, she’s relieved to finally tell me the truth. Does it change anything for me? I sigh, rubbing my palm across my face. “After the bombing, things changed for me. I…saw my wife differently.”
She tilts her head to the side
. “How?”
“I just started to think about all she’s done to hurt me, all the affairs, and I realized maybe appearances aren’t all that important. All this time, I haven’t cheated on her because my biggest concern was keeping the business going. After that, it was like, why am I doing this? Doesn’t my happiness count for something, too? Those people in that building were here one day, gone the next. What if they were putting off their happiness to build a career too, ya know?” I’m trying to tell if she believes me, but her face, as usual, is unreadable. It’s the truth, what I’m saying, mostly. After the bombing, I saw my wife for the monster she is, and I finally had the strength to let go of what we had. Image is still important, but the way Olivia looks at me…that’s more important. I want what Iris has found with so many men since she swore her love to me. I thought the business was the most important thing in my life, aside from John, but I know now, I’ve been wrong for so long. “I guess it just…it made me realize what is important.” I rub my hands over her arms. “Two months later, I met you.”
She leans up, pressing her lips to mine again. “We’ll find a way to tell her,” she says when she pulls away, her cheeks pink from our kiss. I love seeing what I do to her. She pauses, and I see a shadow in her expression now. “Was…AJ just an affair for her?”
It takes me a minute to process what she’s said, but it still makes no sense. “AJ?”
“Yeah,” she says, and her expression falls from concern to devastation. “You didn’t know…I’m sorry, Orrick. I just assumed you knew.”
“Wait…you’re saying Iris and AJ had an affair?” I think back to every time I’ve caught them in close quarters, every business trip they’ve gone on together, every time I’ve caught him staring at her from across the room. Is it possible? I trust AJ even more than I trusted Tom. It would be the ultimate betrayal.
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