“He dropped you off at ten and went back out to confront Caleb. It’s on video, so you should be released as soon as we turn this video over,” I say, and he’s blinking as he stares at me like I am someone he’s never met before. This side of me he’s never seen was suppressed by years of self-doubt and insecurity, but now he’s seeing the real Cora. I gain more confidence as I see he’s catching on and this could work.
“So you can tell me the truth. You were covering for Lucas, right?” I say, giving him a look so piercing I think I will him into nodding his head, but he doesn’t.
“What?” He tilts his head. He’s smart enough to know he needs to pick up on something but doesn’t really have a clue what.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We know it was Lucas. The video shows it, so just stop. It’s serious now. You could be in real trouble if you don’t just tell the truth,” I say, and his eyes dart, his brow is furrowed. Then he nods and swallows hard. I know that it might work to say Finn drove him home and then Lucas must have left again, but it’s not a clean story. Between the DNA in our car and the front-bumper repair, I want to keep that out of it and create something that makes more sense, feels more seamless.
“You said you passed Caleb hanging out by those park benches at the neighborhood entrance on your way in, and Lucas said he wanted to go back and talk to him,” I say. “I remember you telling me that. We didn’t think anything of it then.”
“Right,” he agrees, still unsure.
“But now it’s time to tell the truth. You can’t protect him,” I say. “We’ll get you out of here.” Then I stand up and walk out. I relish the thought of being the one to save his ass. After everything he’s done to me, I had the last word. I had the knife at his throat, and I could have pressed it in, but instead I let him go.
He gets to watch me saunter out of his life with my head held high, not crying and begging the way I have done so many times—from the first time in an Applebee’s parking lot years ago when I found a text sayingCome over, babyand he said it was just his coworker making a joke to all of the times in between until the last when I flipped a table on the redhead at a wine bar and was scolded like a child all the way home. That woman doesn’t exist anymore. I feel him watch my back until I am out of the room, clicking the door shut behind me.
Realistically, they could both go down, and I hold the power to make that happen. What I just did was a kindness, yet somehow, the high road feels like the best revenge.
On my way to my car, I call Paige to tell her it worked, and I share the whole conversation: that he did exactly what we needed him to do, and we all agree it’s time for her to go to the police.
I don’t want to go home right away. I don’t want to face the empty house. I don’t want to fill it with mindless television and too much wine. And right now, I don’t want to be with Nicola. The talking about Lucas and planning and crying has all been exhausting. It’s almost over, and right now there is nothing more I can do.
I pull into the Moretti’s parking lot as dusk is settling in. The only time I have felt like myself in weeks, or maybe years if I’m honest, has been in the company of Grant. I long for a moment where I’m not worrying or mourning or angry—where I am just in the moment, feeling listened to and understood. Sometimes even feeling wanted.
I see him in the warm glow of the restaurant window. He’s in a white apron. He’s leaning on the bar, talking to a patron, a tall, bony man with a napkin tucked into his shirt collar. I can tell from here that he is describing, in too much detail, the bottle of wine he’s holding in his hand. I could turn off the ignition and go inside. He’d be surprised to see me. I could ask to talk to him privately, in his small office in the back, maybe.
I could start something we’ve both been resisting for a long time—something we both deserve. We wouldn’t talk. I wouldn’t answer him when he asks why I’m here and if anything is wrong. I’d simply kiss him, hard, against the wall until his surprise gave way to reciprocation and...
I stop myself then. I watch him pour the man at the bar a sample with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I am simultaneously angry at Paige for throwing him away and at myself for my willingness to betray her friendship after knowing what the deepest of betrayals feels like. I pull away from the restaurant and drive back to my lonely house.
33
PAIGE
After nightfall, Paige is putting a kettle on the stove to make tea and try to decompress her nerves, even if it’s just for a few minutes. When she walks into the living room to ask if Nicola wants some, she sees her standing at the front bay window, looking down across the street at two police cars, their red lights like a strobe in the darkness. Nicola’s hands are cupped over her mouth as she watches Lucas being forced into handcuffs on the front lawn. Paige looks out to see what’s going on, then she lunges at Nicola, tackling her to the floor. Nicola howls.
“Are you insane?” Paige hisses. “He could see you!”
“I—I... He didn’t. I just looked out when I heard the... It happened fast. I didn’t—”
“Stay down. The lights are all on. He could glance up here and see you,” she snaps, and Nicola’s eyes fill. She knows how careful Nicola has always been but is surprised she wouldn’t think about the risk, even if it’s unlikely he’d have the wherewithal to look at which neighbors are witnessing his humiliation.
“He’s getting arrested. I can’t believe it,” Nicola says from her crouched position next to a wingback chair.
“Well, after everything I brought them, they had to, but I’m surprised that they did it this fast,” she says.
“Make sure you see him actually go. Make sure they don’t let him do something—say something—to get out of it. That could happen,” Nicola says frantically. Paige watches out the window, a sense of satisfaction washing over her as she sees him struggling, arguing with the police.
“My wife is missing, and this is how you’re spending your time! You’re following ridiculous accusations. Stop! I demand to talk to the chief before—Stop!” he yells.
Then, his eyes dart around as he starts on another train of thought about calling his lawyer before they take him anywhere, and while he’s shouting and wriggling, he looks up. He looks right up at Paige, standing in the window, backlit by a table lamp.
She wants to smile and give him a small, condescending wave, but she resists the urge because it would give her away—could give Nicola away. Jail or not, she can’t have him know where she is. He’s too powerful. It wouldn’t be safe.
All his resisting and threats don’t do him any good. She watches them push his head down to duck under the roof of the car and into the back seat. She’s surprised when he looks out the window and up at her again, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s gone.
“Look, they’re gone. They took him. It’s okay,” she says, feeling a surge of emotion she swallows down. Nicola stands next to her at the window.
“You saw it. You saw him in the actual car,” she says, seeking confirmation.
