by Minka Kent
“I’m golfing, remember?” he says, moving toward her. He places his hand lightly on her hip, leaning in to kiss her forehead, but keeping a careful distance between their bodies. It’s cold, his kiss. And her eyes fall toward the floor. She’s disappointed.
My heart breaks. For her. For Grace. For Rose and Sebastian.
They’re too young to know what’s happening. They’re too little to see the writing on the wall.
This is how two adults fall out of love, and watching it in real time is almost too hard for me to manage. My eyes burn and I look away, grabbing a crayon from the box between Sebastian and me and turning my attention toward the coloring book Rose abandoned in favor of a Barbie sticker book.
All the anger and resentment I felt toward Daphne the other day has dissipated.
She’s broken, not selfish.
She’s a woman who tries so hard and fights so hard and works so hard . . . for a man who doesn’t even appreciate it.
I wasn’t imagining his eyes on my ass the other week.
Graham is not the husband and father I thought he was.
I don’t have proof yet.
But I have a feeling.
A nagging feeling that drove me to circle Monarch Falls for three hours last night trying to find this man. A nagging feeling that kept me up all night, wondering, playing worst-case scenarios in my head. A nagging feeling that makes me want disrupt the children’s perfectly lovely afternoon snack just to scream in his face and ask him why the hell he’s throwing away this beautiful life.
Whoever she is, she’s not worth it.
I find myself huffing out loud, agreeing with my thoughts, and Daphne shoots me quizzical look.
“Sorry. My allergies are bothering me today,” I lie.
Graham’s suited up in golf gear, head to toe. His hat matches his polo and his belt and his shorts and his shoes. They’re all covered in the same logo. If he’s lying, he’s definitely going to great lengths to ensure she believes.
But I’m pretty sure she sees through it all.
I mean, who wouldn’t?
We women are intelligent, instinctive. Men think with their penises. We think with our intuition. It’s a superpower of sorts.
“Isn’t it late for golf?” she asks, and I hear the disappointment in her voice.
“It’s summer, honey,” he says. “It doesn’t get dark until almost nine. And we’re just doing nine holes. I’ll be home by dinner.”
She offers him a faint smile, which I can tell takes effort, and tells him to enjoy himself. I don’t know if she’s being genuine or not.
“Be good for your mother tonight.” Graham waves at the children from the garage entry door and disappears behind it a second later. The kids don’t so much as bat an eye. It’s as if they’re used to him always being gone, always leaving. Coming and going. And that seems to be a pattern, I’ve noticed, over the last weeks. He pops in. He says hello. Hugs his children when he’s not dressed to the nines and on his way out the door, and that’s that. He frequently misses dinner. And I’ve yet to see him bring his wife flowers, which is odd, since she used to constantly snap these elaborate bouquets for her Instaface followers every week.
Maybe she bought them for herself all those times?
“Autumn.” Daphne says my name loud and sharp.
I shake my head, my eyes flicking onto hers. “Yes?”
She laughs. “I said you could leave early. You’re zoned out over there. You look exhausted. Kids wear you out today?”
I chortle, cheeks warming. “Yes, sorry. Thank you.”
I give the children goodbye hugs, and Sebastian clings to my leg and Grace won’t let go and Rose gives me a kiss on the cheek. I don’t want to leave early. I want to stay. I want to stay longer and later. I want to stay until Graham comes home. I want him to bring her flowers and chocolates and tell her the reason he’s been so unavailable lately is because he’s planning their surprise anniversary trip to France, and then I want him to ask if I’m available to watch the kids for ten days. In my mind, we’re all squealing, jumping, smiling, hugging. Happy.
Everything is as it should be.
But it’s nothing more than a frivolous daydream. And I know that.
I slip my purse around my shoulder and ruffle Sebastian’s hair.
“I don’t want you to go, Autumn,” Grace whines, following me to the front door.
Daphne stands back. “Grace, she has to go home. You’ll see her in the morning.”
Grace squeezes me again.
The feeling is mutual.
“Have a good night, sweet girl. Listen to your mom, okay?” I gently pry her hands from around my hips and give Daphne a nod. Her eyes are tired, makeup uncharacteristically rubbed around her eyelids, and her skin is paler than usual.
Daphne nods back, following me to the door and showing me out.
She says nothing.
I say nothing.
My chest squeezes and my stomach turns as I stand outside on the front stoop. Everything feels off-balance in a way I can’t fully comprehend yet. What I thought I knew . . . what I think I know . . . none of it adds up.
Grace peers out the sidelight by the front door, waving as I leave, her eyes despondent. At ten, she’s old enough to know something’s not right. And I see it in the way she looks at me . . . she wants to be with me.
She wants to come home with me.
Grace wants to get away from the impending maelstrom that is about to be her precious little life. A hand, Daphne’s, wraps around Grace’s wrist, pulling her from the window. I watch until she disappears.
I would take her away in a heartbeat if I could.
Forty
Daphne
Graham nuzzles his face into the bend of my neck as the TV flickers in the background, and his hand inches beneath the hem of my pajama top.
We haven’t made love since before, and honestly the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach now.
“Her name is Marnie, isn’t it?” I ask a question to which I already know the answer.
His hands stop moving. “Why are you doing this? We’ve come so far. Things are getting better.”
“Are they?” I ask. “Because it sounds to me like you still miss her. You still want to see her.”
He retracts completely, lying on his back and dissolving into the mattress in a mass of frustration.
“Hacked my email, I see,” he says, exhaling. “It’s complicated, Daphne, it really is.”
I smooth my hand down my thigh and inch away. “I’m sure it is, Graham.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I sigh. “This whole entire thing is complicated, and to be honest, I’m trying to understand why you would act one way and say all these wonderful things and profess your devotion – but you’re still out sneaking around with her, telling her you miss her. You know your words mean nothing now, right? You understand that?”
He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t break down. He doesn’t show a speck of emotion.
“I’m still trying to end things,” he says, his voice low. “I thought I ended things last time, but she wasn’t handling it so well and I had to see her again, and things just kind of-”
“Spare me. Please.” I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back, readying myself to drop the bombshell that’s been on the tip of my tongue since the moment he strolled through the door tonight. “Anyway, I saw her today. She was with another man.”
Graham laughs. He doesn’t believe me. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to believe me.
“He drove a red Corvette,” I say. “Salt and pepper hair. Dresses nice.”
He’s quiet now, and I sit here staring straight ahead, wondering why he isn’t trying to talk his way out of this conversation.
I draw in a deep breath and turn to look at him in time to catch the faintest tremble of his bottom lip.
And then I know.
He loves her.
He loved her then. He loves h
er still.
“Let her go, Graham,” I say, and for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to physically hurt him. I wish I could smack him across the face and tell him to snap out of it. “Let her go, or I’ll take away everything you’ve ever cared about.”
He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. And in that moment, I realize, she’s the only thing he cares about. The only reason he apologized before was because he was scared. He didn’t mean anything he said. He never wanted to leave her. He doesn’t want to spend his life with me. The kids are an afterthought.
He only wants Marnie Gotlieb.
Forty-One
Autumn
“Can you do me a favor, babe?” Ben’s voice pipes into my ear as I cradle my phone on my shoulder.
I’m distracted, and I can’t stop thinking about earlier – about Graham and Daphne and the fighting and the awkward exchanges and the absence of affection. He clearly isn’t vested in the relationship anymore, and Daphne clearly doesn’t have the energy to fight for a man who isn’t willing to fight for their marriage.
“How’s Tulsa?” I ask, drawing up a steaming bath. I need to soak and think and wrap my head around all of this, and most importantly, think about how it’s going to affect Grace going forward.
“Did you hear me?” he asks. “I need a favor. Real quick.”
“Sorry,” I say, peeling out of the day’s clothes. “My mind was somewhere else. What do you need me to do?”
“Can you go check on Marnie?” he asks.
I stare at the tub, watching the bubbles grow higher and the steam evaporating into the air above.
“I’m taking a bath now,” I say. “I can call her when I’m done.”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I need you to go to her house and check on her. Like, as soon as possible.”
I laugh because he’s being ridiculous. She’s a twenty-four-year-old woman. She doesn’t need a babysitter. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s holed up in some fancy hotel in New York City with her latest married mister, and a trip across town to knock on her door would be a complete and total waste of my time and energy.
“I’m being serious,” he says. “My parents are in Seattle visiting my aunt Greta or else they’d do it. Mom said Marnie was supposed to take Grandma Peterson to a doctor’s appointment this morning and she never showed. No one’s talked to her in days. Something’s going on.”
“Maybe she went on that singles cruise?” I suggest, dipping my toe in the water. I perch on the edge of the garden tub, waiting for this call to end.
“Autumn, please.” There’s a boom in his broken voice unlike anything I’ve heard before. He doesn’t appreciate my glibness. “Just knock on her door and see if she’s home. That’s all I need you to do. Please.”
Twisting the handle of the faucet until the water stops, I exhale.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”
“Will you go now?” He’s breathy, impatient.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Call me as soon as you get there.”
“Will do.”
The parking lot of Marnie’s townhome complex is full, but I manage to grab a spot between a Chrysler and a Lexus a few doors down from hers. Gathering my keys and bag, I check my phone for the time and climb out of my car.
Several spots away, a car alarm wails for a few moments, and when I turn my attention toward Marnie’s Kelly green front door, I see it swing open partway.
There’s nothing but blackness between the door and whatever’s inside, and I freeze, watching and waiting.
A minute later, a man exits. It’s getting dark now, but he pulls a cap over his head and yanks her door shut. The door swings wide a minute later and Marnie emerges, a black lace negligee barely covering her gaunt body. The left strap falls down her shoulder, and she yells something at him. The man rushes back to her, cupping his hand over her mouth and leading her back inside.
They’re fighting, Marnie and her lover.
I stay back, waiting. And when he emerges from the door the second time, she doesn’t chase after him. The man takes wide strides, keeping his head tucked and eyes lowered, and it isn’t until I see him jog toward a black Tesla that I get a clearer view of his face.
Graham.
My chest burns.
I want to chase after him. I want to pound my fists against his chest and scream in his face and ask him why. Why is he doing this to his family? To Daphne? Why Marnie?
The Tesla quietly starts, and I wait for him to exit the parking lot before I make my way to her door.
That little whore.
A moment later, I’m pounding on her door with a balled fist, beating until my hand goes numb. Marnie answers after what feels like forever, her face washed in shock. It wasn’t me she was expecting.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Marnie sneers, her lip drawn into an incredulous smirk. Her blue eyes are ringed in smeared mascara and her cheeks are cherry red, like she’s been crying.
I shove past her, showing myself in. It smells like wine and perfume, and music blasts from an upstairs bedroom.
I don’t care if she wants me here or not. We need to have a little talk. Immediately.
Marnie slams the door then storms toward me, hands on her bony hips. “You can’t just come in here like this. This is a private residence, and you’re not welcome here.”
“Your brother sent me.”
Her jaw falls, and then her lips press flat.
“Apparently the whole family’s worried about you.” I glance around her townhome. I’ve only been here a handful of times in the last couple of years. Always with Ben. Always for a quick visit. “You were supposed to take your grandmother to the doctor or something? I don’t know. Maybe you should answer your phone when your parents try to call you?”
She rolls her eyes and then ambles toward me, nearly stumbling. The closer she gets, the more I can smell the alcohol oozing from her tiny little pores.
“I’m going through some shit right now,” she says, as if I should immediately sympathize with her.
Poor baby.
“Clearly,” I say.
Her brows meet. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I saw you with him.” My words come from deep within my chest, and it makes me sick to say them out loud.
“Who?” She’s playing dumb, and she’s terrible at it.
“Graham,” I say. “You’re screwing Graham McMullen.”
“Ha.” She laughs, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh, him. You caught me.”
Marnie slaps herself on the wrist, and I wonder if she’s ever truly had to deal with the consequences of her actions before.
Doubtful.
I see red. And then black. And then before I know what’s happening, my hands are pressed against her chest and she’s flying backward. Marnie lands on her ass, stunned and breathless.
“That’s assault,” she says, emotionless. She’s in shock. I’ve never touched her before, and she’s never touched me. She didn’t see it coming, but to be fair, neither did I.
I’m not a violent person.
“He’s a married man,” I say, my words hashed and emphasized, though something tells me I’m wasting my breath. “He has three children. And a beautiful wife. And you will never be good enough for him.”
“Sweetheart, he wants to leave his wife for me,” she says proudly, as if she’s earned some kind of whorish bragging rights. “We had a little fight tonight because he keeps dragging his feet about it, but he’s going to do it. Soon. And then we can finally be together.”
“You home-wrecking little slut.” My voice explodes, startling us both, and I suck in a lungful of gardenia-and-cabernet-scented air. There’s a flickering candle on the fireplace mantle, and the image of the two of them screwing on the sofa earlier flashes across my mind and makes me want to vomit all over her hardwood floor.
“He’s not happy, Autumn,” she says. “You work for them. Surely you’ve noticed thei
r marriage is an absolute joke. Daphne is a control freak, and Graham needs someone who lets him be . . . Graham. Someone who appreciates him for who he is and doesn’t micromanage every minute of that man’s life. All of this is Daphne’s doing, really. She pushed him. She pushed him straight into the arms of another woman. Ugh. If you only knew the half of it.”
I imagine she fills her head with all kinds of things that justify what she’s doing because she’s an entitled, spoiled little brat whose parents treat her like a prized purebred, rewarded for being cute.
She’s never had to pay for anything in her life: material things or mistakes.
“You know nothing.” My chest rises and falls, and when I look at her, I have to keep my fists balled because all I want to do is tear at her soft flesh and gouge her big blue eyes and crack her bony little body in half.
Marnie Gotlieb is a deplorable human being who doesn’t deserve to live.
A waste of clean air and good water.
The world would be a better place without her, of that much I’m one hundred percent sure.
And I’ll be fucking damned if she becomes Grace’s stepmother.
“End it,” I command. “End it with Graham, and maybe I won’t tell your entire family about your extra-curricular activities.”
She lifts an arched brow. “No clue what you’re talking about.”
“I know what you do in your spare time. All those married men. All those hotel rooms and fancy clothes. Your family might be oblivious, but I’m not. All the things you do when you think no one’s watching? I’ve seen them. And it would break your father’s heart to know his precious little princess is-”
“You don’t deserve my brother,” she says, spinning this entire thing around. Over the years, I’ve learned that’s what people do when they’re in the wrong and they know they don’t have a leg to stand on. They turn the tables. They take the heat off themselves with a good, old-fashioned distraction. “My brother only thinks he’s happy with you. He doesn’t know it’s all fake, like you.”