For the next hour, I focus squarely on settling back into my life. Good Taylor’s life. I take off my clothes—the jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket I wore when I left—and have a shower. The rest is still in Paris. Before leaving the hotel, I folded all my new clothes and wrote a note to the cleaning staff that they should enjoy them. It killed me, but I couldn’t take anything back. Olivier was clear about that: there should be no trace of me, no signs that I was ever there. I only kept the cap, which I wore until I got into my car at JFK airport. I dumped it in a trash can when I stopped for gas on the way home. Of course, if it ever came to that, the police could check my travel records. But they’ll only do that if I give them a reason to.
I can’t help checking my phone every few minutes. He can’t call me. We won’t speak until it’s done. Where is he now? Has he alerted the police yet? Did he get that far? Yes, he did. I have to stop doubting him. My job is to act like everything is normal, like I didn’t disappear off to the other side of the world to follow my sister on her honeymoon. Like I haven’t always, to some degree, wanted her dead.
My eyes heavy with sleep, I make a batch of brownies and don’t even wait for the dish to cool down. Instead, I grab my keys and head over to Ms. Richardson’s house. It’s a little late, almost dinnertime, but hopefully she won’t mind. Madeline is one of the town’s notorious gossips, so visiting her is the quickest way to spread the word.
She must have seen me through the window because she opens the door before I even knock. She’s been expecting me, I guess. I never called her back.
“Taylor, you changed your hair!” she says as she envelops me in her frail arms. Her fragrance is strong, something floral and too much of it.
“Oh, um, yes.” I’d forgotten about that. “I felt like trying something different.”
What if she asks where I got it done? There are only two hair salons in town, and Madeline maintains her red mane religiously.
“I brought you something,” I add, meaning the brownies. She waves me inside, and I follow her toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you back. It’s been a busy few days.”
“Of course!” she says, looking over her shoulder. “With the wedding and everything. If you can call it that. All that beer…at a wedding? Pizza slices? Phew, Cassie’s friends are a loud bunch. Anyway I’m sure you had a lot to do with the planning. I bet it was you who made the finger food and arranged the flowers.”
“Maybe.” This is Good Taylor speaking, with a heartfelt smile. It doesn’t matter how hard she works, she always deflects. I can’t say I missed her in Paris.
Madeline’s kitchen is cozy and bright, with cupboards painted canary yellow, a green tiled backsplash, and an assortment of tea towels featuring illustrated cats.
“You know I always appreciate a visit,” Madeline says, retrieving two tall glasses. “I get lonely in here. The children don’t come anywhere near as often as I would like.”
I’m grateful for the change of topic. “How old is little James now?”
“Two and a half. Such a sweetheart. I’m hoping for more grandchildren, but I try to be good and wait patiently.” She mimics zipping up her lips, as if she hasn’t badgered her son to have babies since the day he got engaged.
I lean back against the counter while she pulls a jug of iced tea from the fridge. She cuts out two brownies, and we mosey over to the porch at the back of the house. It must have been hot all day here because the air is stuffy, almost suffocating.
She waits until I take my first sip to launch into the matter at hand. “I was worried about you. First, I didn’t see your car and then—”
I smile brightly. “I really should have called you back. The thing is”—I scrunch up my nose, like I’m so excited I can barely contain it—“I didn’t want to say anything before I knew it was serious, but I met someone.”
Madeline chokes on a piece of brownie, unable to contain her surprise.
“That’s where I was the last few days. Amir—that’s my boyfriend—lives in Albany. Since I was off work for a few days, I figured I’d stay with him.”
“Your boyfriend?” She says, avoiding a repeat of her near spit take.
I came up with the boyfriend idea on the flight home. Olivier and I didn’t have much time to work out the details, but he’s going to stay at the house when he comes back. Of course he’d live in his wife’s home. But, after a while, people might get suspicious. If they think I have a serious boyfriend, it’ll be easier to keep Olivier around.
“Yes, my boyfriend. Amir wasn’t at the wedding because I didn’t want to take any attention away from Cassie.”
Madeline nods. Everyone would expect Good Taylor to put Cassie’s needs first.
“We met at the bar almost three months ago,” I continue. “I know this might sound corny, but it was love at first sight.”
“Ooh!” Madeline says excitedly. “Just like Cassie and Olivier! By the way, have you heard from your sister? How’s the honeymoon going? I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”
My throat tightens. Suddenly I’m so angry for us, my fake boyfriend and me. We can’t even get one minute in the spotlight. It’s always Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. But once the rage clears, I see the opportunity. And I take it. “It’s going great, from what I can tell. And yes, we’ve been in touch. They seem really happy.”
“Um,” Madeline says, taking another bite. A few crumbs fall on her lap. “That’s good. I keep thinking of what Rae would have made of this. They did get married awfully fast. Sending invitations via text message? With three days’ notice? I know people don’t send mail anymore, but still. Does Cassie even know that much about Oliver?”
“It’sOlivier, actually.” I can’t help with whatever he’s doing right now, but at least I can do that for him. “And yes, she does. The two of them are such a great match. It’s wonderful that they found each other. When you know, you know, right?”
I feel sick thinking about what is happening—has already happened?—in Paris. In fact, I still haven’t touched my brownie. But I have to do this. When he comes back, Olivier will be scrutinized. They already talked so much behind his back these last few months. The more people believe he and Cassie were the real deal, the easier it will be.
“It’s really noble of you to say that.” Madeline reaches over and pats my thigh like I’m an obedient dog.
