There’s no good reason I can come up with for why Skip would be searching for details about my schedule.
I pick up the calendar and examine it closely. These days, surveillance techniques are so sophisticated that tiny cameras can be applied anywhere.
Nothing is affixed to my calendar, though. I search the entire room, running my fingers over every surface, checking the window blinds, and even peering up into the air-conditioning vent.
When I’m finally satisfied the room is clean, I sit down at my desk and review what I know about Skip. He told me he’s a commercial real estate developer, and that he owns a town house in the Palisades neighborhood in D.C.
I log into my laptop and plug his name into a search engine. There are dozens of mentions of Steven Pierce. I click on one of the hits, an article that appeared in a local glossy magazine called Washington Life. Accompanying the brief piece is a spread of photographs from the Allison Gala at the Four Seasons Hotel last September. Skip appears in one, wearing a tuxedo and smiling directly into the camera, and the caption confirms his name and occupation.
I scroll through another dozen hits until I’m certain he checks out. Skip appears to be exactly whom he claims; I can’t find a single loose thread. I finally stand up and walk out of my office, flicking off the light. But throughout the rest of the night, I can’t stop seeing Skip standing in that doorway, like an intruder.
My heart tells me Skip is a decent guy.
My gut tells me to never go near him again.
CHAPTER TEN
MARISSA
MARISSA FINDS HERSELF HUMMING as she leans toward the bathroom mirror to apply a creamy lipstick, one that complements the rose-colored silk sheath she picked up at Coco’s today. Her personal favorite of the many dresses in her closet is a black knee-length one, but Matthew prefers her in softer hues. He also loves how her legs look in high heels, so she slides into a pair of bone-colored pumps, even though she has been on her feet most of the day running errands and taking Bennett to a birthday party at an indoor trampoline park.
She desperately wants for tonight to go well. Matthew is still avoiding her, but Avery’s instructions mean they’ll have to talk over dinner. It’s reassuring to have their agenda predetermined. Marissa spent most of her spare moments today sifting through memories, finding the ones that seem right to share. She’s conscious of Avery’s critique from their first session—That’s an Instagram post—so she’s doing her best to ensure the emotions contained in the remembrances are textured and honest.
The doorbell chimes as she reaches into her side of the closet for a wrap. Bennett’s sitter, Hallie, must be here.
Unless it’s another mysterious delivery, her mind whispers.
The sender of the roses never came forward, and after her initial call to the florist, Marissa decided not to pursue her inquiries further. Surely it ended there, she tells herself.
Marissa steps into the hallway and hears Matthew say something and Hallie respond with laughter.
Marissa exhales and heads back into the bathroom to spray a bit of Matthew’s favorite perfume into the air and walk through the mist. She’s almost as nervous for this date as she was before their first one, more than two decades ago.
She picks up her clutch and wanders downstairs into the family room, where Bennett and Hallie are ensconced on the couch, the board games Marissa set out on the coffee table ignored in favor of Bennett’s Nintendo Switch.
As Marissa walks into the room, she catches sight of the back of their heads and freezes. Hallie has cut her waist-length hair; now it skims her shoulder blades. Hallie’s hair is dirty blond and straight and shiny, just like Marissa’s childhood friend Tina’s used to be. Now it is the exact same length as Tina wore it, too.
A memory slices through Marissa: Tina flipping her hair as she stood on her bed and sang along, completely off-key, to Mariah Carey’s “Vision of Love,” while Marissa danced around and provided backup.
Hallie’s voice interrupts the vision. “Hi, Mrs. Bishop!”
Marissa shakes off the memory. “Nice to see you, Hallie.”
“I told Hallie I still had twenty-six minutes left today,” Bennett says without looking up.
Marissa leans over and kisses Bennett’s head.
“Funny how you forgot to do your math homework yesterday but can calculate every second of screen time you’ve earned.” Marissa smiles at Hallie. “Twenty-six minutes. Then games or books.”
“I got it, Mrs. Bishop.” Hallie smiles, and Marissa is struck by the teenager’s sweetness. Hallie usually pours herself a glass of milk, rather than the LaCroix or Diet Coke the other sitters prefer. And instead of watching those inane TikTok videos on her phone, she actually seems to enjoy the TV shows Bennett likes to watch.
“Bye, Bennett, bye, Hallie,” Marissa calls as she heads into the kitchen.
“Bye, Mom!” Bennett calls back. Matthew should be standing by the door that connects the kitchen to the garage, his coat over one arm, scrolling through his iPhone as he usually does when he has to wait for her. But he’s not there.
She frowns and circles back, making her way to the formal living room off the front door. It’s empty, too.
She finds her husband in his office, seated in his favorite leather chair. At first she thinks he must be on a last-minute business call. Then she notices he’s simply staring into space.
Dread infuses her body.
She steps inside, quietly closing the door.
Matthew is dressed for a night out, wearing dark jeans, a button-down, and his navy blazer. He holds what appears to be a gin and tonic, but the glass is completely full. She wants to walk over to him and sit on his lap, running her hand through his thick blond hair. She wants him to hold her the way he used to, pinning his strong arms around her so tightly it stole her breath away. For a moment she’s tempted to try.
Then she notices he’s not wearing shoes.
“Hey.” Matthew looks up briefly before his eyes cut away, as if he can barely stand the sight of her.
“Matthew,” she whispers, a plea in her tone. “Are you ready?”
“I’m not going,” he says evenly, as if he’s simply informing her that the moon is out.
Her heartbeat accelerates. “What do you mean? We have a reservation.” As she speaks the words, she realizes how ridiculous they sound.
“I can’t do it, Marissa.” Matthew finally meets her gaze. “Every time I look at you … every single time … I just see you fucking that guy.”
“But we told Avery—”
He lets out a harsh laugh. “Avery’s not our boss. She works for us.”
Tears prick Marissa’s eyes. “Please, Matthew. Give this a chance. It’s only dinner.”
He leans forward, his expression tightening. “I drove by your gym today. I wanted to go inside and kill every single guy there. I lie awake at night imagining you with him. I just—” His explosive words abruptly cut off as he regains control. “I can’t do this. Not tonight.”
Marissa nods. Her throat is so tight it’s difficult to speak. Her life until now has felt straight and true. She worked hard, married the man she loved, built a family she cherishes. She can’t believe she risked everything so recklessly. So selfishly.