The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  “What are you talking about? You knew she and I were together?”

  “I orchestrated it. I practically gift-wrapped her for you. The weekend at the lake, I drove you right into her arms. And the reason I couldn’t get pregnant? Well, let’s just say it’s hard to get pregnant when you’re using an IUD.”

  His eyes opened wide in surprise. “You played me?”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “You fuc—”

  “Now, now, Jackson. It won’t do to lose your cool.”

  His breath was coming faster. “Are you planning on exposing her?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “For you to terminate your parental rights.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not signing away my rights to my children.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll go to the police and tell them who she is. They’ll arrest her. Is that the legacy you want for your son? A convict for a mother? He’ll never get into Charterhouse with that kind of background.”

  He slammed his fist on the desk. “You bitch!”

  Daphne arched an eyebrow, feeling calm in his presence for the first time in years. “If you’re going to start name-calling, I’ll just go ahead and phone the police. Maybe the newspapers too, so they can see your new wife leave the house in handcuffs.”

  He took several loud, deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. “How do I know once I sign away my rights you won’t turn her in anyway?”

  “You don’t. But you know I’m not like you. I just want to get away from you once and for all. As long as you’re with Amber, I know you’ll leave me alone. That’s all I want. So you’ll sign?”

  “What will people think? I can’t have them thinking I’ve abandoned my children,” he said.

  She shook her head. “You tell them I wouldn’t grant you the divorce unless you agreed to let me go to California; that I’ve been cheating on you, whatever you want. You’re good at making things up. Paint me as the horrible parent and pretend you come out to see them every chance you get. No one will know.”

  “You don’t care how you look?”

  “No. That’s your game.” All she cared about was getting her children and herself as far away from him as possible. “You’ll have everything you want. And before you even think of doing anything to stop me, please know that if anything happens to me, all the evidence will be forwarded to Meredith. And I’ve made other contingency plans as well.”

  He had no idea what private detective she had used or how many fail-safes she had set up. The detective had all the information, for one, and if anything were to happen to Daphne, he’d go to the police. She’d also told her mother everything and given her copies of Amber’s file.

  “Do you have the papers with you?”

  She opened her purse and took out the envelope. “Have your attorney review them. There’s a place for his signature. They need to be notarized. There’s also a statement from you that you made up all the charges against me with the Department of Children and Families.”

  “Why would I sign that?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll call the police. I’m not letting you have any more leverage over my life. Sign it, and no one will ever see it unless you try and come after the kids.”

  He sighed. “Fine. You can have your life back, Daphne. I was tired of you anyway. You’re old and used up.” His eyes traveled up and down her body. “At least I got your youth.”

  She shook her head, unaffected by his words. “I almost feel sorry for you. I don’t know if you were born this way or if your parents screwed you up, but you’re a miserable son of a bitch. You’re never going to be happy. But the truth is, I can’t even regret being with you. Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the two most amazing gifts in my life. So I’ll trade those horrible years with you for my children. And I have plenty of love and life left in me.”

  He yawned. “Are you finished?”

  “I was finished years ago.” She stood. “And by the way, you’re a terrible lover.”

  He exploded with fury and flew from his chair toward her.

  She opened the door and retreated.

  “I’ll expect those papers tomorrow,” she said as she left.

  Seventy-One

  Amber’s happiness was short-lived. After the baby was born, Amber and Jackson had gone on a belated honeymoon to Bora Bora. He’d been everything she could have hoped for in a husband. All she had to do was ask for whatever she wanted, and it was hers. Round-the-clock nurse care for their son, unlimited shopping allowance, and all the pampering she desired. She loved the way everyone in the stores and the spas kowtowed to her, and she enjoyed being able to be as rude as she wanted with no repercussions. No one would dare insult Mrs. Jackson Parrish, especially with the kind of money she threw around.

  Amber didn’t have to worry about having those little monsters around since Daphne had moved with them to California. Jackson told her he would visit them there.

  So when she woke that morning to Jackson standing over the bed, staring at her, she had no idea what was to come. She rubbed her eyes and sat up.

  “What are you doing?”

  He was scowling. “Wondering if you’re ever going to get your lazy ass out of bed.”

  She thought at first he was joking.

  Laughing, she answered. “You love this ass.”

  “It’s getting a little fat for my taste. When’s the last time you went to the gym?”

  She was pissed now. Throwing off the covers, she jumped up. “You may have been able to talk to Daphne that way. But not me.”

  He pushed her, and she fell back on the bed.

  “What the hell—”

  “Shut up. I know all about your past.”

  Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  He threw a file folder on the bed. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  The first thing she saw was a copy of a newspaper article with an old picture of her. She picked it up and quickly scanned it. “Where did you get this?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Jackson, I can explain. Please, you don’t understand.”

  “Save it. No one makes a fool of me. I should turn you in, let you go to jail.”

  “I’m the mother of your child. And I love you.”

  “Do you, now? Like you loved him?”

  “I . . . it wasn’t like that . . .”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone. It wouldn’t be good for my son to have a mother in jail.” He leaned closer to her, his face inches away. “But I own you now. So I will talk to you however I want. And you’ll take it, do you understand?”

  She’d nodded, frantically calculating her next move. She thought he was just angry—that once she could come up with a believable story, he’d calm down and things would go back to the way they were.

  But instead, things began to escalate. He put her on a strict allowance, making her account for every dime she spent. She was still trying to figure out how to fix that. Then he wanted to choose her clothes, her books, and her leisure activities. She had to go to the gym every day. He expected her to volunteer for that stuck-up garden club Daphne had been so involved in. She could tell that the women didn’t want her there, and she couldn’t give a crap about it. Why did she need to learn about gardening? Isn’t that what gardeners were for? And the journal—the damn food journal that he insisted she keep, along with her daily weight. It was humiliating. That was what put her over the edge and made her call his bluff. It was just last week.

  “Are you crazy? I’m not reporting to you on what I eat every day. You can take that journal and stick it up your ass.” She’d thrown it on the floor.

  His face had turned red, and he stood looking at her like he wanted to kill her. “Pick it up,” he’d said through clenched teeth.

  “I will not.”

  “I’m warning you, Amber.”

  “Or what? You a
lready said you weren’t going to turn me in. Stop threatening me. I’m not weak and malleable, like your first wife.”

  At this he’d exploded. “You can’t hold a candle to Daphne, you low-class whore. You can read all you want, study all you want, and you’ll never be anything but poor white trash.”

  Before she had time to think, her hand was around the crystal clock on the table next to her, and she’d thrown it at him. It crashed to the floor, missing him completely. She watched as he advanced toward her, a murderous look in his eyes.

  “You crazy bitch. Don’t you ever try and hurt me.” He’d grabbed her wrists and squeezed until she yelled out in pain.

  “Don’t threaten me, Jackson. I’ll take you down.” Inside she was trembling, but she knew she had to put on a brave face if she had any hope of keeping the upper hand.

  He’d abruptly let go, turned, and left, and she thought she’d won.

  * * *

  When he came home that night, neither of them said a word about the fight. Amber had asked Margarita to prepare something French for dinner—coq au vin. She’d googled it, along with the right wine and dessert to serve. She’d show him who had class. He arrived home at seven and went straight to his study, where he stayed until she called him for dinner at eight.

  “How do you like it?” she asked after he took a bite.

  He gave her a droll look. “Why do you ask? It’s not as though you made it.”

  She threw her napkin on the table. “I chose it. Look, Jackson, I’m trying to make peace here. I don’t want to fight. Don’t you want things to go back to the way they were between us?”

  He took a sip of his wine and looked at her. “You tricked me into leaving Daphne. You made me think you were something you’re not. So, no, Amber. I don’t think things can go back to the way they were before. If it weren’t for our son, you’d be in prison.”

  She was sick of hearing about the sainted Daphne. “Daphne couldn’t stand you. She used to complain all the time that you made her skin crawl.” Daphne had never said any such thing to Amber, but it shut him up.

  “What makes you think I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”

  She was making things worse. “It’s true. But I love you. I will win your trust back.”

  They finished their dinner in silence. Afterward, Jackson went to his office, and Amber stopped by the nursery to look in on Jackson Junior. Mrs. Wright, the nanny, was sitting in the rocking chair, reading a book. Amber had talked Jackson into hiring a live-in nanny to help with the baby. Sabine was gone. Amber didn’t need that stuck-up French slut around. Surrey still helped out on the weekends. Bunny had referred Mrs. Wright, and she’d come with excellent credentials. She was also a respectable age, and no one that Jackson would ever look at twice.

  “Any problem putting him down?” Amber asked.

  “No, ma’am. Drank his bottle and went right to sleep. He’s a sweet one, that one.”

  Amber leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his head. He was a beautiful child, and she looked forward to the day when he’d become interesting. When he could carry on a conversation and play games instead of just lying around like a lump.

  Amber got in bed and pulled out the detective novel she’d hidden in her nightstand. Close to an hour later, Jackson finally came up, and she put it away before he could see it. It had been two weeks since they’d had sex, and she was getting worried. When he slipped under the covers, she reached over and began to stroke him. He pushed her hand away.

  “Not in the mood.”

  She tossed and turned and finally fell asleep, still wondering how she was going to restore harmony between them.

  Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She woke up in a panic and realized he was straddling her, his hand over her nose. She pried his fingers from her face, and gasping, cried out.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Ah, good. You’re awake.”

  He flipped the lamp on. Her eyes flew open when she saw that he was holding a gun; the same gun she’d found in Daphne’s closet all those months ago.

  “Jackson! What are you doing?”

  He pointed the gun at her head. “If you ever throw anything at me again, you won’t wake up the next time.”

  She went to push his hand away, certain he was just playing around. “Ha, ha.”

  He grabbed her wrist with his other hand. “I’m serious.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What do you want?”

  “Bye, Amber.”

  She screamed as his finger depressed the trigger. Click. Nothing happened.

  She felt something wet and realized her bladder had emptied. A look of disgust filled his face.

  “You’re weak. Pissing the bed like a child.”

  He jumped off, still pointing the gun at her.

  “This time you get a pass. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

  “I’ll call the cops.”

  He laughed. “No, you won’t. They’d end up arresting you. You’re a fugitive, remember?” He pointed to the bed. “Get up and change the sheets.”

  “Can I take a shower first?”

  “No.”

  She got up and began to strip the bed, sobbing as she did so. He stood, watching the entire time, not saying a word. After she’d finished, he spoke again.

  “Go take a shower, and then we’ll have a little talk.” She began to walk away, and he called her back.

  “One more thing.” He threw the gun at her, and it fell to the floor before she could catch it. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded. Take a look at the initials.”

  She picked it up and saw the letters she’d first read months before: YMB. “What does it stand for?”

  He smiled. “You’re mine, bitch.”

  * * *

  So now she listened to everything he said, like an obedient child. When he told her to lose five pounds, she didn’t argue, even though she was back to her pre-baby weight already. When he called her “stupid” and “white trash,” she didn’t argue with him, but apologized for whatever perceived infraction she’d committed. He showered her with expensive clothes and jewelry, but now she understood that it was all for show. And in public they were the golden couple, she the adored and adoring wife, he the handsome indulgent husband.

  The sex became more demeaning and debasing—he’d demand oral pleasure from her when she was on her way out the door, or after she’d just gotten dressed, so he could make sure to leave his mark and humiliate her further. What had she ever done to deserve this? Life was so unfair. She’d worked so hard to escape her life in that wretched town where everyone looked at her like she was trash. Now she was Mrs. Jackson Parrish, one of the richest women in town, surrounded by the best of everything. And yet she was still being looked down on, still being treated like garbage. All she’d wanted was the life she deserved. It didn’t occur to her that she had gotten it.

  Seventy-Two

  Eight Months Later

  Daphne gripped the phone tightly in her hand while looking out the window of the New York cab. She’d been too nervous to eat anything on the plane, and her stomach was growling insistently now. Rooting through her bag, she found a mint and put it in her mouth. She took a deep breath and braced herself when they pulled up to the front of Jackson’s office building. After today, she could leave Connecticut behind her for good and get on with the new life she was forging.

  Once the divorce was final, Daphne had taken the girls and gone to see her mother at the inn. She hadn’t called ahead—she didn’t really know how to begin. After they’d settled in and the girls had gone to sleep, she and Ruth sat together and she told her everything from beginning to end.

  Her mother had been heartbroken. “My poor girl. Why didn’t you ever tell me? You should have come to me.”

  Daphne had sighed. “I tried. When Tallulah was a baby, I left. But that’s when he had me committed and put together all that evidence against me. There was nothing I could do.” Daphne reached out and grabbed her mo
ther’s hand. “And there was nothing you could do.”

  Ruth was crying. “I should have known. You’re my daughter. I should have seen through him. Realized you hadn’t really changed into the person he made you out to be.”

  “No, Mom. You couldn’t have known. Please don’t blame yourself. What matters is that I’m free now. We can be together now.”

  “Your father never liked him,” Ruth had said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I thought he was being overprotective. You know, just a dad not wanting his little girl to grow up. He thought he was too slick, too practiced. I wish I’d listened.”

  “I wouldn’t have listened. It would have only pushed us further apart than we already were.” She put her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I miss him so much. He was a wonderful father.”

  They’d stayed up all night, catching up and reconnecting. Her mother surprised her the next day with her decision.

  “How would you feel if I sold the inn to Barry and moved with you to California?”

  “I’d be thrilled! Are you serious?”

  She’d nodded. “I’ve missed enough. I don’t want to miss any more.”

  The girls had been ecstatic to learn that their grandmother would be living with them.

  Southern California had been good for all of them. The constant sunshine and happy dispositions of everyone around them had done wonders. The girls still missed their father, of course, but every day it got a little easier. They blamed Amber for the estrangement, and Daphne was happy to let them. When they were old enough, she would tell them the truth. In the meantime, the girls were healing, with the help of a gifted therapist, a neighborhood full of kids, and a yellow lab they called Mr. Bandit—renamed for his tendency to steal their toys.

  They’d found a lovely four-bedroom home in Santa Cruz a mile and a half from the beach. At first she was worried that the girls would find it hard to go from living in their estate on the water to this charming but cozy two-thousand-square-foot house. She had more than enough money from the settlement to buy something bigger, but she was finished living that kind of life. Her mother had sold the B&B to Barry and insisted on contributing to the purchase of the house. Daphne had put the money from the settlement in a trust for the girls, which provided enough interest for them to live on. Douglas would be taking the reins at Julie’s Smile, and Daphne would be on his board. She’d go back to working, of course, but not yet. Now was a time for healing.