“Understood. I guess I’m the only in-law speaking then.”
“Unless you count Hannah,” he says, with a hard edge to his voice.
I almost spit out my coffee. “Hannah?What could she possibly have to say? She knew your mother for two days.”
And probably murdered her, I think.
“You’ll have to ask her. Or Nick.”
It’s clearly a ploy on Hannah’s part to cement the image of herself as the grieving future daughter-in-law.
“What’s your take on her, anyway?” I ask, feeling like he’s given me an opening.
He shrugs, his expression blank. “I don’t really have one. I guess you know I dated her briefly, but I haven’t said more than two words to her the entire time she’s been here.”
Should I tell him his pants are about to explode into flames?
Before I can craft the right response in my head, I hear the far-off sound of tires on gravel.
“Who could that be?” Marcus says, pushing back his chair. “Maybe it’s the truck with the rental tables and chairs.”
I trail him through the house to the living room and join him at one of the windows that faces the drive.
A cobalt blue BMW has pulled in, and Ash is already striding toward it, both dogs bounding along beside him. He must have been in the study, after all. I squint, curious about who’s here so early, and see Jillian unfold herself from the driver’s side, dressed in a sleeveless black dress and strappy sandals.
Ash closes the distance to the car, and as Marcus and I stand there watching silently, he takes Jillian into his arms and embraces her.
16
Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing,” Marcus says under his breath.
“I—”
But I’m at a loss for words. It’s like I’m watching a play in which all the actors have strayed disastrously away from the script.
When Ash and Jillian break apart and turn in the direction of the house, Marcus grabs my wrist.
“Let’s go,” he hisses. “We can’t let them see us.”
We hurry back through the house to the kitchen, making sure the swinging door closes behind us. Marcus’s cheeks have reddened from shock, and probably anger, too.
“Marcus,” I say, my voice low. “It might not be what it seems.”
“Oh yeah? You mean my father and his assistant weren’t really clinging to each other in the fucking driveway?”
“No. But maybe it was nothing more than a comforting hug.”
Do I actually mean that? I don’t have any idea. All I know is that I feel sick to my stomach.
“Bosses and employees hugging to comfort each other?” he says, his tone still brimming with sarcasm. “I didn’t think that was supposed to happen even before the Me Too era.”
“I’m not saying it’s common, but a director I once worked with bear-hugged everybody, and I doubt it was ever sexual. Your dad’s a paternal kind of guy and Jillian’s been with him for at least five or six years, right?”
From far off comes the dull thud of the front door closing, and we both straighten, but no audible footsteps follow. Chances are Ash and Jillian have retreated to the study, where they spent so much of yesterday, something that didn’t raise a red flag then but perhaps should have.
Marcus expels a long, rough sigh and sinks into a chair at the table. “Maybe. But...” His voice trails off and he kneads his temples with his fingertips.
“But what?”
