by Minka Kent
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Debra takes it from me, and her appreciation breaks my heart. Our hands graze in twisted irony . . . the hand that gave Marnie life touches the hand that took Marnie’s life.
I immediately think of Grace. And how I would feel if someone hated her. If someone hurt her. If someone murdered her. My lip trembles, and I close my eyes and turn my back toward Debra.
All the seats in the living room are taken, and I need fresh air anyway, so I head outside and take a seat on the porch swing. Alone. I can’t allow myself to feel guilty – not yet. The second I let the guilt take a hold of me, it’ll be oozing from every pore and everyone will know, and then all of this will have been for naught.
When I boil this down, I know I’m not a monster. I did what I had to do to protect my daughter and her family.
A white BMW pulls into the Gotliebs’ driveway, and the driver, a young girl with straight auburn hair, climbs out. She looks like she’s been crying, her face puffy and her eyes swollen, but she’s pretty, and she looks like the kind of girl Marnie would’ve run around with, though I never did figure out how many friends Marnie had. Many of them seemed to come and go, fading into the distant background the second they saw her true colors.
She was a tough person to like. It wasn’t just me.
“Hi,” I say to the girl as she climbs the front steps. Her hands are in her back pocket, and she wears a white cotton tank top with LAGUNA CABANA scrawled across it, the name of a private pool club Marnie always frequented. “Can I help you?”
Her jaw falls and her lips tremble. She tries to speak, then looks down. When she takes a breath, she tries again.
“I’m Megan,” she says, “a friend of Marnie’s.”
She looks like she needs a hug. And she seems nice. And I’m not soulless. So I rise to my feet and wrap my arms around her. She hugs me back, squeezing tight and burying her head against my shoulder. Megan seems like a sweet girl, and I’ll never know if Marnie ever knew how lucky she was to have this girl for a friend in a world where most people are shitty dickheads.
“I’m Ben’s girlfriend,” I say. “Autumn.”
Megan pulls away, and for a second, I think it’s because Marnie has spoken about me, tarnished my reputation before this girl had a chance to meet me. But she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t act repulsed by me. And I realize there’s a chance Marnie kept all of that family drama stuff to herself like a good little WASP.
“It’s probably not a good time,” Megan says, inhaling air like she can’t get enough of it. “But I had some information, and I wanted to tell her parents.”
“What . . . kind of information?” I ask carefully, ignoring the hard drum of my heart against my lungs. My mouth turns dry, and I can’t swallow.
“Autumn was seeing this guy,” she says, glancing to the left. She wraps her arms around her sides, her face twisting. She didn’t like him. I can tell. “He was married. And he was just using her, if you ask me, but they’d been screwing around for years . . . ever since she interned for him back in college. He’d actually gotten her pregnant once, but she lost the baby. Or that’s what she says. Anyway, I couldn’t stand him. But she was obsessed. She said they were in love, but I don’t see how you could love someone if all you do is fight all the time.”
Megan wipes a rogue tear from her cheek.
“I’m rambling,” she says with a sad laugh. “I’m sorry.”
She runs her palms along her arms. She’s trembling, her body overcome with emotion like it’s trying to escape from the deepest part of her. These things she’s telling me, she feels very strongly about them.
“I hated him,” she says, teeth clenched. “He was selfish and arrogant, and he lied about everything all the time.”
She couldn’t possibly be talking about Graham. I mean, I knew he was a cheating asshole, but this doesn’t sound like him. I cross my fingers in hopes that she’s referring to another, different married man Marnie was screwing around with.
“Anyway, I saw Marnie last weekend,” Megan says. “She was different. She seemed sad and withdrawn. We were supposed to do lunch at Palmetto’s Deli a few days ago, but she cancelled. She didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask. But for the past couple of weeks, she would talk about how this guy was going to leave his wife soon, but he’d been telling her that for months. I think everything was coming to a head, honestly. You know, last year, she threatened to kill herself if he didn’t come over immediately and stop her. And he did. He spent several days with her. I think he told his wife he was out of town or something. That was always their cover. They had the strangest relationship, Marnie and Graham. It was like a constant power struggle. I think that’s why they fought so much. Anyway, her parents don’t know. They don’t know any of this.” She looks down, jamming the toe of her Converse sneaker into the concrete beneath us.
“Graham, you said?” I study her face and wait for her response, hoping I misheard her. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. I saw him there. I saw him with my own eyes.
“I gave his name to the police,” she says, as if it’s no big deal. “I just want them to look into it, just in case. And I wanted to come here and give the Gotliebs a heads up. I don’t think they knew about Marnie’s boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
Graham McMullen was Marnie’s boyfriend. Not her married lover. Her boyfriend.
The idea of Marnie strutting around in her expensive clothes with her designer handbags and bleach blonde hair, bragging about her married boyfriend at lunch with her girlfriends makes me sick to my stomach.
If the police look into this information . . .
And if he gets pinned for her murder . . .
The kids will grow up without a father . . .
And Daphne will be a single mother of three, struggling to make ends meet . . .
And Grace will know a childhood no different from the one I knew . . .
Daphne will struggle, and Grace will suffer for it. All of this will have been for nothing.
The weight of what I’ve done hits me hard, and I’m sinking. I need to sit, but I’m frozen, unable to move.
“Are they inside?” Megan asks, glancing over my shoulder toward the front door.
“Yeah, but, Megan . . .” I pull in a deep breath. “Now’s not a good time to break it to them.”
“But maybe it’ll give them hope?” Megan’s brows lift, and I realize she’s probably more idiot than sweetheart, and maybe that’s why the two of them were friends. “If they know there’s a lead, that there’s a chance we could find out who killed Marnie, maybe it’ll help?”
“Help what?” I cross my arms. “Marnie is dead. Nothing’s going to change that. Marching in there and telling them that their daughter was,” I lower my voice to a whisper, “screwing a married man isn’t going to make this situation any easier for them to stomach.”
Megan looks away, unsatisfied with my answer, but she has to admit I have a point. And besides, if Ben catches wind of Marnie’s connection to the McMullens, I’ll have no choice but to leave my job with the McMullens, and that can’t happen. Not yet. I’m not ready. And Grace needs me.
“Megan, why don’t you go inside and offer your condolences,” I suggest, “but please don’t tell them what you just told me. Let them get through this one step at a time. And if there’s something to your little . . . theory . . . I’m sure the police will tell them.”
Megan pulls in a breath, her shoulders sinking, and then she nods, as if she trusts me. I stand back and get the door for her. And then I return to the porch swing, burying my head in my hands as the reality of the situation sinks its teeth into me.
Fuck.
Forty-Six
Autumn
My phone rings the next morning as soon as I step out of the shower. When I told Ben I was going to go to work today, he didn’t object. He grunted in bed and rolled over. The poor guy has hardly slept in days. Marnie’s funeral is Saturday, and tonight is her visitation.
Everything’s happening so fast. The autopsy has been performed and they’re waiting on toxicology now. So far no cause of death has been declared.
“Hello?” I answer after drying my hands. I’m wet from the shower, water soaking the bath mat beneath my feet, and I’m shivering.
“Autumn,” Daphne says. “I’m calling to let you know we’ve decided to send the children to my mother-in-law’s for the week. We figured with everything that’s happened with your family lately, you could probably use some time off, and we usually send the kids up around this time of year anyway.”
“Sure,” I say, hiding the disappointment in my voice. I miss those kids. I miss Grace. I just want to hold her, breathe in her soft scent. Hear her impish giggle. “Thank you.”
“The kids will be staying until next weekend,” she says, her words curt and her tone impatient. “I’ll touch base with you then.”
She knows about Marnie. In fact, I sent her a text that same day, when Marnie’s body was discovered, and Daphne sent a bouquet of yellow roses the following morning. It was thoughtful of her, but I don’t understand why she’s being so short with me now.
Unless she knows about Graham and Marnie and Marnie’s connection to me, and somehow I’m guilty by association?
“Sounds good,” I say, my gaze flicking to my naked reflection in the mirror. I’m still tan and toned from swimming all summer, but when I meet my own stare, I’m taken aback. I look tired, withered. It’s as if my body is reacting to the things my brain chooses to ignore. I’m literally wearing the very feelings I’m trying to suffocate.
I end the call and dry off, slipping into comfortable clothes before crawling back into bed with Ben. He rolls over when he feels the bed dip on my side, and he pulls me into his arms. He’s been extra clingy lately. Touchy feely. Quiet, but needing more from me in every sense of the word.
I’m trying to be sympathetic, I am.
I’m trying to be what he needs.
But my mind is preoccupied with this impending maelstrom, and I’m trying to anticipate which direction this is going to go if that’s even possible, and I don’t have the energy to be his amenable door mat right now.
Ben’s phone vibrates on his nightstand, and he pops up, rubbing his eyes. He seems disoriented for a second, and then he follows the sound, reaching a long arm across the bed and plucking it off the table. It drops onto the carpet, bouncing off the edge of mattress. I never knew one person could make so much noise answering a damn cell phone.
“Hello?” His voice is an exhausted exhalation, and he rolls to his back. “Yes, this is he.”
I sit up, trying to hear the other half of the conversation but with zero luck.
Ben climbs out of bed, pacing the room in his sweats and a wrinkled t-shirt, his thumb and forefinger rubbing his eyes as he says things like, “Mm, mm-hm, and really?”
I remain planted, watching as his fist clenches and he exhales and asks, “How long do you think it will take before we know?” and then, “Okay. Perfect. Thank you.”
Oh, god.
“Thank you,” Ben says just before ending the call. “The preliminary autopsy report will be ready later today.”
He turns to me, and I’ve never seen a grown man cry before, but Ben looks like he’s going to cry now. Maybe the phone call made this real for him. Maybe it wasn’t enough to see his parents in shambles or to identify his sister’s body at the morgue.
He’s held it in the last couple of days, but at this point, he’s too exhausted to be strong. I open my arms and let him come to me, and he bawls like an actual baby, his entire body convulsing and shaking as he wails. I don’t think he knows how to cry in front of anyone. He doesn’t hold back. He lets it go. It’s an ugly cry, and I hold him tight.
Offering a wordless apology, I kiss his cheek and stroke his hair and let him get it all out.
When he’s had his cry, he peels himself off me and stomps to the bathroom. He blows his nose and uses the toilet and washes his hands and brushes his teeth, and when he returns, he perches on the edge of the bed. His eyes are swollen and his face is red and he misses his little sister.
“I’m so sorry, Ben,” I whisper into his ear, running my fingertips through his soft, chocolate brown hair.
He pulls away, his brows furrowing now. “Are you, Autumn? Are you sorry?”
“Wh-what?” I lean back when I see the crazy look in his eyes.
“Marnie’s dead. And I don’t think you give two shits.” His accusation is pointed, and it stings.
“You’re hurting, Ben. Please don’t speak to me like this right n-”
“Everyone knows you hated Marnie.” He climbs off the bed, arms crossed and pacing the room again like a crazy person. “You’re probably happy she died.”
“Can you even hear yourself right now?”
“I’ve been falling apart, Autumn. Falling apart.” He grabs a fistful of his hair and shoots me a look. “And you’re taking everything in stride, like it’s just another day for you. Fuck, you were even going to go to work today.”
I realize now how insensitive that looked.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not good with death. Not a lot of people who were close to me have died. We all respond differently. They say it’s good to get back into your normal routine after . . .”
My excuses fall on deaf ears. He’s ranting and rambling.
“You don’t understand the meaning of family,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” I fold my arms. “Ben. Come on. Stop it.”
I’m beginning to miss the days when we were just Beer and Wings Ben and Girl Next Door Autumn. I took those days for granted, and now here I am.
“I’ve been with you for two years,” he shouts, holding up two fingers. “Two years. And you’ve yet to introduce me to your family.”
“Maybe they’re not worth meeting,” I say without hesitation.
“You don’t even talk about them,” he continues. “You won’t tell me their names, who they are, where they live. It’s like they don’t exist.”
“I never knew that bothered you, Ben. You should’ve said something. I thought you were okay with the fact that I don’t like to talk about my past.” I draw my knees up to my chest, making myself appear small, and then I bite my lip, making myself appear scared. And I kind of am scared of him right now. He’s never behaved this way before.
“Of course it bothers me,” he snaps. “But I never brought it up because any hint of a mention of them and you clam up and change the subject.”
My eyes avert. I never realized he noticed.
“It’s bullshit,” he says. “I love you, Autumn. I love you so much I was looking at engagement rings two months ago. I love the person you are now. I could give two shits about your past or who you were before. But don’t you think not talking about it at all is a little extreme? It’s not normal.”
He points his finger at his head and turns it, a wordless gesture insinuating that I’m crazy.
“I don’t talk about the past because it makes me uncomfortable.”
“What, are you going to tell me you had a rough childhood? That you went through some shit? Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but you seem pretty damn well-adjusted now. You don’t seem traumatized. You don’t seem damaged. Or is it all an act?”
My jaw falls. Ben has never spoken to me this way. I clasp my left hand over my right to try and steady the shaking.
“Listen to yourself right now.” There’s a tremble in my voice, and in the ground. “You know nothing.”
“Marnie always said there was something off about you.” He stares at a painted portrait on the wall, one we picked up one weekend in Sag Harbor at an art show. He chose it because it reminded him of us. Everything was light and blooming and fresh and new, and that was us, he said. “I defended you every time. And now I’m not so sure. Seeing you lately, how you’re acting like it’s just another day while my sister’s body is frozen in some morgue downtown . . . it disgus
ts me.”
“I’m not a crier, Ben,” I say. “When have you ever seen me cry?”
“You don’t have to cry to look sad.”
“You don’t have to look sad to be sad.”
He’s quiet. And then he lifts his fingers to his chin. “Are you, Autumn? Are you sad?”
“Of course I’m sad,” I snip at him, feeling my nose twitch like it has a mind of its own. Once again, my body betrays me.
“Get out.” He points to the door, and for a moment, I think he’s joking at first because this is dramatic and over the top and this isn’t Ben. He storms to the door, pulling it open so quickly the door knob smacks the wall and the knob leaves an indentation.
I don’t gather anything.
I go.
I get the hell out.
I’ll come back when he’s calmed down.
Forty-Seven
Autumn
I tiptoe through the back door Saturday morning, not expecting to see Ben seated on the sofa, his head in his hands. He peers up at me, and my body clenches.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday,” he says.
“You told me to leave,” I remind him. He doesn’t ask where I went, and I don’t tell him I used his credit card to check into a five-star hotel in uptown Monarch Falls.
He rises, sighing, and he ambles toward me. “I’m sorry, Autumn. Yesterday . . . I’ve never felt that way in my life. And you were there. And I took it out on you. And I shouldn’t have. You’re the love of my life.”
He wraps his arms around me. This Ben and yesterday’s Ben are complete strangers who have never met.
I hug him back. “It’s okay. You’re hurting.”
“It’s not okay.” He buries his face in the crook of my neck and breathes me in. He smells stale, like he hasn’t slept or showered in over a day. “I’ll never speak to you that way again. I promise. I love you so much, Autumn. You’re my world.”