I rise to my feet, holding the pill bottles between my hands. I then decide to place them back inside the thermos, so the kids won’t see them when they get back and take the thermos with me downstairs.
I start cooking dinner, preparing everything while planning how to deal with this properly. I know he’ll be angry, but I’m done. This is it. I’m done being a victim. I need answers now. A plan has been brewing inside of me for days now, and as the afternoon progresses, I pop open a bottle of wine, then have a glass before the kids come home from school. I am very good at pretending like nothing happened, and they both grab a snack, then do their homework, and we take Isabella to cheer. Once we’re back, a few hours later, Ryan isn’t home yet, so I drink another two glasses while finishing dinner. When I hear his truck drive into the driveway and the garage door open, I place my phone in my pocket and turn on the Dictaphone Voice Recorder app I used to use for work. My plan is to confront him and then record his response. What I’ll do with it depends on what is on it. If I find it incriminating, I’ll go back to the investigator. At least, I think I will. If it’s not enough, then maybe I’ll just keep it and use it in case I need to fight for my children in court. No matter what, it is time to face the music.
I am done pretending.
Chapter 27
I pour myself another glass of wine, then down it fast before putting the empty bottle away. I am washing the glass when I hear his steps in the garage, and he opens the door.
“I’m home.”
I take a deep breath, then grab a mint from the drawer, so he won’t smell the wine on my breath.
“Honey?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” I yell back. He comes out to me, whistling happily.
“Today was a good day,” he says, smiling. I turn to face him, and he sees it on my face immediately. I am not even trying to hide it.
“What’s wrong?”
I grab the thermos and place it on the counter. It rattles as I put it down. “I wanted to wash this, but when I opened it, guess what I found?”
Ryan stares at the thermos. His smile is gone, so is the light in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, so I open it and pour out the pill bottles. They roll onto the granite countertop.
“Care to explain?” I ask.
He stares at me, then takes a step closer. I regret drinking all that wine since it makes it harder for me to evaluate the situation properly. I thought I needed it in order to confront him. I should have stopped earlier.
He shrugs. His eyes change as he stares at me. He gets that expression on his face, the one that makes my skin crawl.
“Do I care to explain? Me? You want me to explain these?” he says as he grabs a bottle and throws it at me. I duck, and it hits the stove behind me with a loud clang. “How about you explain why you’re snooping around in my closet, huh? How about you explain that?”
“No,” I say, staying firm. “Not this time. I’m not letting you make this about me. I asked you a question, dang it. Answer me. Why do you have these?”
He scoffs. “I was injured, remember? They gave me a medal and everything. Called me a combat-wounded war hero, remember that, do ya? Yes, they gave me pills for it, and yes, I have been taking them. I still do. I can’t seem to stop, even though the pain is gone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t I tell you? Are you freaking kidding me? It’s not something I am particularly proud of, Laurie. It’s quite simple. I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve had that look in your eyes for months now, and I can’t seem to shake it. You act weird around me like you’re afraid I might break or something.”
I stare at him. Now, I’m worried. I’m very concerned that I’m mistaken. Once again, I doubt my own judgment. I shake my head. No. I can’t let his words get to me. I saw him run out of Ted’s house. I saw the messages to Sandra. I know he met with her. It’s not just in my head.
“Okay, so tell me this,” I say. “Why did you meet with Sandra right before she died? And don’t say you didn’t because I know you did.”
“What on Earth are you babbling about now? I swear I don’t know what you’re saying half of the time these days,” he sighs.
“You were at her house, weren’t you? On the day she died. You were over there, having coffee with her, am I right?”
He pauses. He’s biting his lower lip like he always does when he’s pondering something serious—like when we got the news that Damian had a cleft palate and needed surgery at the age of only eight months.
But he’s not talking yet. I try one more punch.
“I know you were at Ted’s house too.”
“Excuse me?”
“On the night he killed himself. You were there both in the afternoon and then again later. I followed you when you left our house, drunk, and I know you went inside Ted’s house. When you left, I looked in through the window and found him dangling from the ceiling in his living room. Yes, that’s right. I was the one who found him. I never told you about it, but it was me.”
I stare at him, scrutinizing him. I can’t seem to read his reaction properly. Is he regretful? Is he surprised? I can’t tell.
“We…we went to the funeral and everything, and you didn’t even tell me this?” he asks, again trying to make it about me, but I’m not taking the bait. He wants me to be the small one because he knows I have the upper hand now.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Laurie. Do you hear me? I’m telling you… Back off now.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late. Cat’s out of the bag. There’s no way back now. And let me ask you this, Ryan because it has had me wondering for days now. If you went in there…if you were in Ted’s house and he had already killed himself, why didn’t you call the security forces? Why didn’t you call for help?”
He is staring at me, his fists clenched. I can hardly hear anything over my beating heart, knocking against my ribcage. I have no idea where to go from here, what to do or say next. I wanted to confront him because I thought he’d tell me the truth. I thought he’d come clean, and we would clear everything up. It was naive, yes, but somehow, that’s what I believed would happen.
Why doesn’t he at least try to defend himself? Why doesn’t he even plead his innocence?
But, of course, he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes the wine glass I just washed into his hand and throws it against the wall with a loud growl. As the glass rains onto my kitchen floor, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
That night, I am alone in bed. Ryan doesn’t come back, which is no surprise to me. I dream about Sandra for some reason. She’s alive and waving at me from the driveway across the street. I wave back but can’t understand what she’s doing here, how she is not dead after all. So, I go to see her, but as I cross the street, a car hits me. And as I turn to look at who is driving it, just before it hits me, I see Ryan behind the wheel, a grin on his face.
I am sleeping so deeply that I barely hear the footsteps as they come up the stairs and approach my bedside rapidly. I think they’re a part of my dream, and they move so fast that I don’t have time to realize what’s happening. I don’t react until a hand grabs my arm, and I am being pulled forcefully out of bed.