“Yeah.” She gave me a wary look. “Why?”
“No reason.”
I enjoyed the tea and happily indulged in warm scones, delicate sandwiches, and tiny decadent desserts. After we sufficiently gorged ourselves, Lulu and I went shopping. We sampled different creams and eye shadows at the makeup counter and tried on ridiculously expensive loafers in the shoe department. By the time I got home at the end of the day, I was happily worn out.
My mood soured as soon as I entered the kitchen. The refrigerator was buzzing. It wasn’t the full-fledged rumble that drove me crazy all those years ago, but it didn’t sound good.
Something about that noise jolted me back to the past. To Ali. And made me think of the time he fixed the refrigerator. These days it was hard to think of my husband without my mind immediately going to why he’d kept secrets from me.
I reached for my phone and called Nasser.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Nasser asked as we walked up to a tidy white brick cottage in Arlington. The get-together was at Sara Carr’s place.
“Why not? What could be worse than losing my husband and finding out he had a secret house?”
He cracked a smile. “When you put it that way.”
“Maybe they can give me some of the answers that Lizzie won’t provide. Or, who knows, maybe Lizzie will turn up.”
Iwasnervous. I’d rarely interacted with this group in the dozen years since Ali and I had left the bar early. Most of the JMU friends had reached out in some way after Ali died. Some made it to the burial; others didn’t because we laid Ali to rest less than twenty-four hours after the accident.
Sara greeted me with a hug. “How are you doing? And the kids, how are they?” I was drawn to Sara and could see us being friends. Her warmth felt genuine. She’d gotten married since we’d last met at the JMU reunion. Her husband was an earnest guy with boy-next-door vibes.
One by one, Ali’s old friends approached me with hugs and words of support. To be here with Ali so conspicuously absent felt surreal. But surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. These people embraced me because of the love they’d had for my husband.
There was a lot of talk about Ali at dinner—old college stories I hadn’t heard before that made me smile. When Muslims bury their dead, there are prayers at the mosque followed by the burial. We don’t generally do memorial services, but that night at Sara’s, reminiscing with people who loved Ali, felt like one.
Throughout the evening, as I watched them laugh and eat and top off their wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if any of them, or maybe the whole group, knew about Lizzie. After all, she’d been part of their inner circle since college. Maybe they all saw me as the gullible wife who fell for every lie Ali fed me.
“Do any of you stay in touch with Lizzie Martins?” I asked as we finished coffee and dessert.
“I was wondering about her too,” Ian said. “I didn’t see her at Ali’s funeral.”
Sara sipped her wine. “I haven’t talked to Lizzie in seven or eight years.”
“What was she up to when you last talked to her?” I asked.
The people at the table exchanged glances.
I was so desperate for information that I decided to be honest. “Ali left a house to Lizzie.”
Sara almost choked on her wine. “A what?”
“A house that I never knew he owned. It’s in North Carolina.” I hated how high and thin my voice got. “I found out about the property after he died.”
The shock in the room was palpable. Everyone went quiet.
“Are you sure?” Ben asked after a long pause.
“Positive.” I pressed my lips inward, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I saw her briefly.”
“Who?” Ian asked. “Lizzie? Where did you see her?”
“At her lawyer’s office and at the cemetery. I found her visiting Ali’s grave site.”
“Lizzie was in town?” Ian set his coffee down. “For how long? Is she still here?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
