“When is this arraignment?”
“Monday.”
Hilary was quiet for another beat. “Take the affair off the table,” she said finally.
“Affair? What affair?” Gretchen asked, her heart surging beneath the hand she’d put to her chest. As though such an absurd thought never would have occurred to her. “Did Scotty say something about Richard and this woman having an affair?”
What if Hilary knew something truly devastating? Facts. Details. Specifics. What if Scotty had seen that same light in Richard’s eyes when they were on the mountain? What if he’d seen something more than that?
“No, no. Of course not.” Hilary recovered quickly, blinking innocently in the way she always did when she was lying. “I just…Well, you know how Richard is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Flirtatious, friendly—all those female friends…” Hilary was stammering. She’d talked herself into a corner, and she knew it.
“Oh, that’s just Richard.” Gretchen laughed, but it sounded brittle. “Come on, it’s when they’re hiding things that you actually have to worry.”
Hilary’s eyebrows knit together. “Right.” She forced a smile. “I guess I did always think the two of you…”
“The two of us what?” Gretchen crossed her arms.
Hilary looked down. When she eventually met Gretchen’s eyes, her own were soft and sympathetic. Gretchen would have preferred one of Hilary’s barbed retorts. Her pity was a very, very bad sign.
“Listen, you know how much I love you, Gretchen,” she said. “And I don’t want to say anything that’s going to make this situation wor—”
“Hilary, please, out with it.” Gretchen did not appreciate her marriage being judged by Hilary, of all people. It was the exact opposite of what Gretchen had come to expect from her.
“I guess I just—I always assumed that you and Richard had some kind of arrangement. I mean from way back before the trip to Africa. I know everyone jokes about the way he is, so charming and with so many friends and all that, but if I’m completely honest, I always thought it was a little…odd.”
“Ha!” Gretchen felt hijacked by rage. This was outrageous. “Did this occur to you because that’s the kind of arrangement you and Scotty have? That would certainly account for all your relentless bickering.” It came out in a burst of flames.
Hilary flinched, but just slightly. “Um, no, Scotty and I are just two boring old monogamists. We argue, but that’s what people who love each other do when they are honest about their feelings.”
“Oh, really? I thought that nonstop fighting was because you were about to get a divorce.”
Hilary withdrew her hands from Gretchen’s and pulled herself taller in her chair. She was clearly trying not to take the bait. But Gretchen wanted a fight. And why not with Hilary? But before Gretchen could open her mouth, Hilary slipped her fingers through Gretchen’s again. She lowered her head, a dog showing its belly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Gretchen. I shouldn’t have said that. But I’ve heard others say it, I thought in front of you. I thought it was just an accepted thing.” She offered this gently, which only made it worse. “And I’m open-minded. That’s all I meant. Who knows? Maybe it was just me letting my imagination run wild. You know I definitely do that!” She let out a laugh that seemed somewhat forced, then lowered her voice. “Most of the time Idothink that’s just the way Richard is—flirtatious, friendly, affectionate. Some people justarethat way. It’s not like I thought anything specific was going on. Besides, Richard is like that with men, too!”
It was true. It had always been true. But—an arrangement?
“Who else says that?” Gretchen’s humiliation was a lead fist in her stomach.
“Oh, I don’t even know. Maybe no one. Maybe it was just a sense I got.” Hilary’s face brightened suddenly. “Besides, Richard can’t even carve the Thanksgiving turkey! How could he kill someone? That’s the important part.”
Gretchen would never have made the connection between this peculiar delicateness of Richard’s and the situation they were in. But he wasabsolutelysqueamish about everything, the turkey being a perfect example. Scotty had to carve it every year because driving a knife into even a very dead, very cooked animal’s flesh made Richard feel sick. Also, Richard had nearly passed out at the sight of blood when Becks got stitches in middle school. The nurse at the hospital had to get a wheelchair for him. It seemed at odds, really, with how tall and masculine he was. But Gretchen suspected that, like many things, this could be traced back to his father. In addition to drawing Richard’s blood on many occasions, his father often took drunken tumbles. Once he’d cracked his head open on the corner of a coffee table in such a way that blood had poured out of him. Or so Richard said—he’d only been nine. He’d had to call an ambulance and apply pressure to the wound while they waited. He’d gone ashen recounting the details to Gretchen years later.
“Of course he couldn’t have,” Gretchen said, though dread still coursed through her. “I’m just not sure the police will take that as actual proof.”
“But that’s because they’re idiots,” Hilary added with a theatrical wave of her hand. “Did you, um, ever meet her?”
“No, no. They were only on the trip together,” Gretchen lied, waiting a beat. “I don’t even know what she looks—looked like.” The second lie was unnecessary. Gretchen wasn’t even sure why she’d added it.
Hilary reached for her phone. “What’s her name?”
“Frankie something,” Gretchen said. “Something with aC.”
FrankieCallahan. Gretchen knew that, too, of course. She’d known it long before the police ever knocked on their door.
