“What are your college friends going to do?” I scoffed. “Alert the media?”
“Just be careful, Amira. Please.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, the refrigerator started rumbling again.
I heard the commotion from my bedroom. It actually woke me up, along withBinti, who trailed me down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“You stupid piece of crap.” I yawned at the chrome refrigerator, thinking back to that morning years ago when it last sounded like it was dying. Whatever Ali did to fix it that day, the noise had stopped permanently. Until now.
I pulled the door open. That killed the sound because the fan stopped whenever the door wasn’t closed. I shut it, and the rumbling restarted.
I sighed. My immediate instinct was to ask Ali what we should do about it. He’d say he’d fix the fan or that maybe the fridge wasn’t level, I’d grumble about how he was too cheap to buy a new one, and we’d go on about our day, with me confident that Ali would take care of everything.
But Ali wasn’t here to fix the refrigerator. Or anything else. Shit. Feeling sorry for myself, I swallowed the urge to cry.
Yawning, and muttering to myself about how much life sucked, I went to my office and powered up my laptop, intent on searching for how to stop the refrigerator commotion. But the screen seemed frozen. I checked the internet connection. There wasn’t any.
Great.
I looked at the tangle of wires and boxes on the floor by my desk. It was pathetic, but I wasn’t even sure which one was the modem. Whenever this happened, Ali or one of the kids would reset it. But there was no one else here to do it. So, feeling very inept and sorry for myself, I knelt down and investigated. Once I was reasonably sure that I’d identified the modem, I tried turning it on and off. Nothing.
Resisting the instinct to scream about how everything was falling apart, I went upstairs to retrieve my phone. I searched for info on how to stop the stupid rumbling. If only I’d paid attention when Ali fixed the thing. I couldn’t stand the noise.
Then it hit me. Ali wasn’t here anymore. I could buy the new fridge I’d been wanting for years. I didn’t have to ask for anyone’s permission. There was nothing to stop me from ordering the appliance online and scheduling delivery.
How old was the fridge? I thought back to when Ali had fixed it. I remembered it was around our fifteenth anniversary. Then realization dawned, slamming into me with such force that I almost dropped my phone.
Eight years ago.
Our fifteenth wedding anniversary. The weekend he went away. The supposed golf trip to North Carolina. Lizzie Martins moved into her North Carolina house eight years ago. And there’d never been another golf trip after that.
“Seriously?” I muttered into the silence. Had Ali missed our anniversary dinner in order to help move his ex-girlfriend into her house? I choked on a breath. My chest felt like it was caving in. I was such a sucker that I hadn’t been suspicious about his plans for that weekend. I’d been more upset about a stupid refrigerator than Ali going away on the Saturday we were supposed to celebrate our anniversary.
I should have bought the new fridge when Ali left that weekend as I’d fake threatened to do. Well, there was no time like the present. I searched the word “refrigerator” on my phone. Several came up. Aworld of possibilities laid out before me, with no one hovering over my shoulder telling me which one I could buy.
I picked the brand and model I liked best—stainless with French doors, a dual ice maker, and twin freezer drawers—without worrying about the price, which would make Ali roll in his grave. Punching in my address and payment information, I hit “Complete Order.”
There.
It was done. I’d have a new refrigerator within the week. Adrenaline surged through me. It was the most expensive thing I’d ever ordered on my own. I’d just made my first major purchasing decision at the age of forty-four. I really was a neophyte.
But as the buyer’s high wore off, thoughts of the weekend Ali went away consumed me. I couldn’t stand not knowing the truth. I was ready to burst out of my skin. There was only one person alive who could give me the answers, and I’d do whatever it took to get her talking.
I might not know much about Lizzie Martins, but I had learned one important thing. And I would use that information to force that woman into telling me what I needed to know.
I drove to Durham without telling anyone. A major advantage of living alone was that people never knew your business. As long as I answered my phone, no one would worry. I made good time, stopping only once to use the restroom, buy some coffee, and takeBintifor a quick walk at a rest area. She’d happily hopped in the van when we left home. She must have ridden in cars with her previous owner.
Dread slithered through me once I turned onto Cozy Glenn Lane. I had a passing moment of doubt. Intuitively, a part of me was afraid of the truth. What could have been so important to Ali that he was willing to lie to me? What was he hiding? Why hadn’t he trusted me with the truth?
As I drove up, the figure of a woman closed the gate in front of the house. I slowed, pulling over a couple of houses away. I was in luck. If you could call it that. Lizzie was actually home for once.
She got into a navy Volvo sedan and pulled out, driving slowly through the neighborhood. I followed, my heart pounding, maintaining a reasonable distance but staying close enough to keep her in my sights. Just when I started worrying about losing track of the Volvo, Lizzie pulled over. It was a cemetery.
I watched her park and cross through the grass amid the sea of gravestones. She had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder and wore a gray sweatshirt with dark leggings that showed off her legs. She still had good legs.
Lizzie stopped at one of the graves and knelt to pull some weeds. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew a cloth and some sort of cleaner. She sprayed and buffed the soft gray marble stone. Then she sat for a while, legs crossed. It looked like she was talking to whoever was buried there. After about twenty minutes, Lizzie grabbed her tote, got up, and strode back to her Volvo.
