“I don’t want to.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe he’s only here for another day or two.”
“He bought a house.”
“Maybe for someone else. I mean, why would he want to be in the same town where I am? By the end of our marriage, we couldn’tlookat each other. What does he think he’ll accomplish being here?”
“Don’t ask me that. Ask him. You need to talk with him—you know, get it all out in the open.”
“Talk about pain?”
“Yeah, well, it ain’t going away by itself. It’s festering in you, sweetie. I can smell it.”
“Smell it?”
“Not literally.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then, not caring that I soundedall of three years old, glared at Kevin and whispered, “I don’t want him here. I don’t want Officer Gill watching me. I don’t want to be frightened every time I see a camera.AndI don’t want people talking at the post office about how Grace could have let her son do what he did, because that’s where we’re headed. People speculate, and she’s next in their sights. Do they not have anything better to do? My eyes were on my GPS when I ran that stop sign. I admitted it. Know what the rumors were—no, you don’t, because you weren’t there, but every one of them got back to me. Either I was drunk—you know, a bored soccer mom taking shots at lunch. Or I was high on something. Or I was rushing to drop off my daughter so I could meet a lover.”
Kevin didn’t blink. “And you listened, why?”
“I thought friends were friends,” I said, feeling the betrayal like it was yesterday. “I thought loyalty mattered. I thought other mothers would understand how it had happened.” The pottery studio wasn’t the best place for this, and my voice was low enough, but the words continued to spill, which said tons about my emotional state. “Oh, they understood all right, only they needed to convince themselves that it could never happen to them, because they were better than me. They didn’t do shots at lunch or smoke weed before getting in the carpool lane, and they sure didn’t have lovers.”
“So what did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t fight the rumors?”
“What was the point?”
“Uh, killing them?” he asked, but I was shaking my head before his mouth closed.
“Rumors take on a life of their own. Besides, my lawyer told me to ignore them.” I snorted softly. “Lot of goodthatdid.”
“I hate it when you’re cynical.”
“So do I. It’s ugly and mean-spirited and lowering myself to their level—”
“I get it,” he broke in, squeezing my hand.
But I wasn’t sure he did. “I’ve lived through this, Kevin. Seeing reporters and hearing gossip and knowing, justknowingwhere it can lead.”
“Jimmy says the station is quiet.”
“Uh-huh. This is the lull when lawyers are plotting strategy. Jay Harrington amasses pro-Chris legal arguments, while prosecutors amass anti-Chris ones, butwewon’t see any of that. What we will see isn’t about legal issues. It’s about headlines. It’s about entertainment. It’s about sensationalism.”
“And memory,” Kevin said, returning the subject to me. “Confront them, honey.”
Well, there was that underlying theme again. It was easy to ignore my therapist, who had her head in psych texts. It was harder to ignore Kevin, who had a keen feel for real life.
That sent my frustration through the roof.“How?”
“Start withhim.”
9
