Instead of heading to the hospital, Penny cruised home, parked the beat-up car that had been serving her well for the last few months at an expired meter in front of her apartment. She let herself inside, dropped her purse on the couch, and went to the cupboards. There, she found a stack of saltines and a jar of Nutella. She grabbed a butter knife and returned, taking a seat next to her purse.
Kicking her feet onto the lopsided coffee table, she balanced the jar of Nutella on her stomach. She thought back to her interview with the detective in an attempt to straighten everything out in her head. Roman wasn’t the only person who could lie. Penny lied too.
She’d lied about her contractions, for starters. She wasn’t in labor—not even close. She wasn’t due for another month. The baby had been conceived in August, not July. She’d just wanted an excuse to end the interview early.
As she flicked the television on to an old season of Survivor, she casually chomped through a line of saltines, watching as a group of pretty people duked it out in bathing suits for the chance at a million dollars. I could use a million dollars, Penny thought lazily. And she could lie, cheat, and steal her way to the top if that was what it took.
After all, Penny had gotten very good at lying these last few months. She’d lied to her friends. She’d lied to Roman. She’d lied to her mother and to herself and to the detective at the station. There were so many lies surrounding Roman’s murder, it was a wonder the detectives had been able to pin any sort of evidence on Eliza.
Which was the biggest problem of all. Penny suspected Eliza hadn’t killed her husband.
So why had she been arrested for a crime she hadn’t committed?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Two Months After
April 2019
Anne slipped a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and leaned against the exterior of her van, watching the youth softball game from the parking lot. As the two teams crossed paths at the switch of an inning, she let her gaze wander to the other end of the lot where Mark’s car was parked. Anne had gotten quite good at avoiding her almost ex-husband in public.
Mark hadn’t yet signed the papers, despite them being in his hands for several weeks. Anne’s phone was loaded with messages from him. In them, he begged her to talk, to listen, to give him another chance. Anne hadn’t been ready to talk. She still wasn’t. What could she say?
She hadn’t told her husband about the private investigator or Roman’s blackmail. Mark thought the divorce was because of the affair. It wasn’t, but there was no point in telling him that when the result was the same. Especially because Anne wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answers to the outstanding questions swimming around her head—questions like where he’d been on the night of Roman’s death.
Anne had other things to keep her busy now—her four children, for instance. Or finding a job that could pay for her new lifestyle as a single mom. Or the fact that her best friend, Eliza Tate, had just been arrested for murder.
Thankfully, Anne’s mother had agreed to help in the interim. Beatrice Harper was currently at home watching the three youngest kids while Anne forced herself to sit through Gretchen’s game—not one hundred feet from her husband.
The things she did to support her kids, Anne thought dryly. She’d rather stick a pen in her eye than talk to Mark, yet here she was, hidden behind sunglasses and a hat, as if a flimsy disguise could prevent her husband from recognizing her.
Still, the sunglasses came with an added bonus. Instead of watching the dugout where her daughter was getting ready to bat, Anne’s eyes flicked over to Mark. He stood against the fence, clapping and whistling. Gretchen turned a toothy grin toward her father, then gave a gigantic wave in his direction. She didn’t bat an eye at her mother.
Anne’s heart clutched. She’d imagined these days for years. Bright, hopeful years where she’d looked forward to having a family of her own. She’d longed to watch lovingly as her husband leaned over the fence at a softball game to cheer on his daughter. Pecked her forehead when she scored a home run. Stuck a Band-Aid on her knee when she fell.
Now here she was, complete with the kids and the husband, but it was all wrong.
Anne managed to dodge Mark’s gaze as the game finished. As soon as the teams wrapped up their mandatory handshakes, Gretchen sprinted over.
“Mom, please, please, please can Erica take me out to get ice cream? Both her mom and dad are going, and Violet is, too. Pretty please? They said they can drop me off afterward.”
Anne looked up to find Erica’s parents. However, instead of locking eyes with Erica’s mother, she got swept into a stare-down with Mark. Anne held his gaze for a long moment, her confidence fortified only by the fact that he couldn’t see her eyes behind the shades.
She felt Mark’s gaze following her as she broke eye contact with him. Anne dragged herself across the field to make plans with Erica’s family and was rewarded with yips from three young girls when it was all said and done. Gretchen barely remembered to wave goodbye to her mother before racing off with her friends.
After bidding Erica’s family goodbye, Anne spun around on impulse. She no longer sensed Mark’s gaze on her. For some reason, that bothered her more than if he’d been watching.
Guilt wormed its way through her stomach. Was it possible she’d been too harsh on him and had finally pushed him away? For how hard she’d fought to keep their family together, in the end, she’d given up. She felt uneasy thinking of herself as a quitter, but what other choice did she have when all the evidence was stacked against Mark?
Still, she found herself moving toward her husband’s car, briskly at first, then at a jog as she saw him sliding into the driver’s seat. She was breathless by the time she reached his window, and she didn’t know exactly why.
She raised a hand, knocked.
Mark rolled the window down, a reluctant question in his eyes. “Anne?”
Anne pushed her sunglasses onto her head as if that would reveal her true identity. “I’m ready to talk,” she said finally. “Can we go somewhere private?”
_______________________________
Mark led the way to a small rental home he’d booked when Anne had asked him to leave. She’d been out front several times to drop off or pick up the kids, but she’d never stepped foot inside.
Her husband led the way, moving silently. Anne felt as if they were strangers navigating a somewhat awkward but not entirely horrible first date.
She kicked off her shoes in the entryway and studied the small space. It was neat, sparse. Mark had kept it clean. The only signs of someone living in the space were a single dish, a single glass, a single spoon, a single bowl on a drying rack. The very singleness of it all broke Anne’s heart.
Mark grabbed two bottles of water and led the way to the back patio. Two chairs were perched around a card table. He plopped the waters down, then waited until Anne took a seat before easing into the one opposite her.
They sat in silence, sipping their waters, for a long minute.
“Do you have something stronger?” Anne muttered.
Mark sucked on his lower lip. “Are you sure…”
He trailed off. Looked into Anne’s eyes.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I promise.”