“I know this is a shock. It’s hard to think rationally at a time like this.” Empathy coated every word. “Once you’ve thought it through, you’ll havea different view. Who would it have served if Ali came forward? No one, that’s who.”
“It might have been the best thing for Ali,” I choked out. “For his conscience.”
“Maybe. That’s easy for you to say now. But think about it.” She toyed with the pillow trim. “His life would have been ruined. He could have been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. That’s a felony conviction. It would have hurt Ali’s chances of going to college. And do you think that fancy accounting firm of his would hire a convicted felon?”
“No, probably not.” But still, what they’d done to Ali was wrong. I tried to think rationally. To give Mrs. Martins the benefit of the doubt. She’d just lost her husband. Maybe she truly believed she was protecting Ali. Had they really acted in his best interest? Or had they sacrificed him for the insurance money?
“We were all in a state of panic and fear and confusion.” Lizzie released a long, trembling breath. “My father had just died. Everything was crazy. Maybe what my mother did was wrong, but she made the best decision she could at the time. She wanted to protect all of us, including Ali.”
I could only imagine the damage keeping that horrible secret had done to Ali’s conscience. “You mentioned he seemed anxious when you saw him several weeks before the accident.”
“We met very occasionally because I was the only person that he could talk openly with about what happened to my father. That was the only lasting bond we shared.”
“And when you had lunch together in Reston? What was that about?”
“Where?” Her brow crinkled momentarily but then cleared. “Oh, you’re talking about when we met at that restaurant by Lake Anne. That was near the anniversary of Daddy’s death. The anniversary always hit Ali hard. And me too, of course.”
“Did he go see you in North Carolina?”
“Once, when we needed to sign some documents related to the mortgage. He was on a golfing trip with his buddies. I only saw Ali for a couple of hours.”
“But you two talked regularly?”
“Not often. More so in the years since I bought the house on Cozy Glenn, when the secret seemed to fester in Ali. He’d call me to talk or meet up when he needed to unburden himself.”
Queasiness coated my stomach. I swallowed down against the rising bile. But it was no use. I surged to my feet and bolted to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I barely made it to the toilet before I vomited. My belly heaved and I retched, the sour taste filling my mouth as I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
Tears stung my eyes. My head pounded. I gagged until there was nothing left but dry heaves, my body trying to rid itself of a truth that there was no escaping.
Weak and spent, I slid to the porcelain floor, the chill of the tiles bleeding through my pants. I leaned back against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, shaking my head against the thoughts ricocheting in my mind.
I pictured Adam, our tall and gangly son still fighting the pimples that plagued him in high school. Adam was nineteen, no longer a boy but not yet a man. Ali had been a year younger when Lizzie’s father died, an unseasoned teenager faced with an unthinkable situation.
I believed Lizzie. It made sense for guilt to drive Ali to help both Lizzie and her brother. That sense of obligation, the idea that he owed them for killing their father, explained why Ali had risked his professional reputation to help Bill Warren. Why he’d put our marriage, and potentially his own happiness, on the line to help Lizzie buy her house.
There was a light tap on the door. “Amira?” Lizzie’s gentle voice. “Are you OK? Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I croaked, my throat burning. “Just give me a minute, please.” I hauled myself up and over to the sink. Turning on the water, I tried to rinse the bitterness out of my mouth. I scanned the personal-care productsscattered on the bathroom counter. Maybe Lizzie had something that would chase away the acrid taste on my tongue. Among the cosmetics, vials of prescription meds, and skin-care paraphernalia, I spotted a plastic bottle of green breath freshener.
Pouring some mouthwash into my cupped hand, I sucked it and gargled. My gaze wandered over the products on the counter as I swished the minty liquid around while silently counting to sixty. Lizzie took her beauty seriously. There were lots of eyeshadows and lipsticks, balms and lotions. All high end. I didn’t recognize any of the meds, which had long medical names I couldn’t begin to pronounce: escitalopram, alprazolam, citalopram. Why was Lizzie on so much medication?
When my count reached sixty, I spit out the mouthwash. At least my breath was a little fresher now. I splattered cold water on my flushed face, relishing the coolness against my hot cheeks. Grabbing a clean folded white washcloth, I mopped my face. I took a deep breath to fortify myself and went back out to join Lizzie. “I don’t want you to think this was easy on any of us,” she said. “I started having severe stomach problems after Daddy died. I still have to take all sorts of prescription meds to calm my digestive tract.”
It was hard to feel sympathy for her in that moment. People lost loved ones every day and it was a tragedy. I knew that as well as anyone. What wasn’t common was for a good man to live with the guilt of having killed someone as a teenager and never having the chance to defend himself.
I looked at Lizzie and found her watching me closely. I needed to escape. From her at least, since there was no getting away from the awful truth.
I grabbed my purse. “I have to go.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“I’m coming over,” Lulu said over the phone.
“No.” I groaned. “Don’t.” The last thing I wanted was for my sister to show up at my house. One look at my face and she’d know something was very wrong.
“You’re not yourself,” Lulu continued. “You haven’t left the house in what? Three days now?”
“I think I’m getting sick.”
