“I just spoke to Skip. I told him I know what happened between the two of you and that he needs to stay away from us.”
“How did he take it?” she manages to ask.
“He apologized. He seemed to understand. But he’s been acting so unhinged lately, I don’t think we can count on this being the end of it.”
An image of Skip flashes into Marissa’s mind: Skip at seventeen, gently cleaning away the blood on the back of Marissa’s hand from the oyster shell cut. I’m not hurting you, am I? he’d asked.
She would never see Skip again. Never hear his voice.
A deep sense of loss sweeps through her.
Matthew is staring at her. “Everything okay?”
She nods because it should be, but it isn’t. Matthew is so close she feels as if she is inhaling the breath he exhales; her lungs are growing tight.
An almost overpowering sense of claustrophobia grips her as Matthew reaches out and strokes her hair.
“Oh, I just remembered!” Marissa’s voice sounds strangled; she clears her throat. “I need to call Charlie’s mom to make sure Bennett turns in the permission slip tomorrow for his field trip.”
Matthew’s hand dips down lower and he begins to massage her back, his fingers digging into a painful knot in her right shoulder.
“I already told her.” Matthew’s fingers are too strong; it hurts.
She winces and pulls away. What Matthew said makes no sense; she’s the one who filled out the permission slip and tucked it in the pocket of Bennett’s backpack. She wasn’t even aware that Matthew knew about the field trip.
“You did?”
Matthew responds with a question of his own: “Why are you so tense, sweetie?”
She can’t stop seeing that white rope in his desk drawer. If Matthew would just back off, she could try to make sense of the puzzle. Then he finally does move away, and she gulps in air.
He walks around to the other side of the island and pulls out a bottle from their wine rack.
“I thought we could have a drink before we leave.”
“Sounds nice. I’ll get the glasses.” Marissa starts to get up, but Matthew waves her away; he’s already taking them out of a cabinet.
Before she can do anything, he’s back beside her, pressing in even closer than before, his legs against hers. He pours them each a glass. She reaches for hers with a trembling hand. The last thing she wants right now is alcohol; she has to keep a clear head.
Matthew clinks his glass against hers. “To my beautiful wife.”
His words sound false, as if he’s reciting lines.
He stares at her, as if trying to gauge her reactions to his toast. She feels an overwhelming desire to push Matthew away so she can finally get off this barstool.
She takes a small sip. Matthew is still standing; she has to crane her neck to look up at him. He’s smiling broadly.
Given the news she delivered last night, something seems off. He’s too happy, too carefree.
Too perfect.
“I almost forgot.” He moves away from her again, and she sucks in another gulp of fresh air. Why is it hard for her to breathe when her husband is near? She doesn’t know how she’s going to get through the rest of the afternoon and evening with him.
That white length of rope; she last saw it in Skip’s hands on the night they slept together. He was absently toying with it while they spoke. Then, he set it down on the end table, right before he leaned in to kiss her.
After Skip left, Marissa had hand-washed and dried the wineglasses they’d used, returning them to the cabinet. She’d buried the empty bottle of Malbec Skip had brought deep in the recycling bin. She’d tossed out the uneaten nuts from the little serving bowl, rinsed the bowl, and put the tin of mixed nuts back in the pantry. She’d fluffed all the cushions on the couch.
She’d erased the evidence.
Had she left the little white rope on the side table?
Possibly. It had seemed so innocuous.
Her pulse is pounding in her ears, making it difficult to think.
She sets down her wineglass. Matthew has gotten something out of the pantry and is back by her side. He’s holding a tin of mixed nuts. He pulls off the top and selects a Brazil nut, offering it to her. She shakes her head; she fears she’ll choke on it.
He pops it in his own mouth. “Mmm.” The kitchen is so quiet she can hear him crunching. He leans in and brushes a strand of hair off her face.
She instinctively flinches.
“How’s your wine?”
“It’s good.” She forces herself to take another small sip. Then another idea seizes her and she blurts out, “If we start drinking this early, tomorrow might be a little rough. Let me quickly call Polly and let her know I might be late.”
Inquisitive Polly will pick up on something in Marissa’s voice. Marissa can stay on the phone with her for a few minutes, coming up with some fabricated tasks she needs Polly to take care of in the morning.
Marissa would just feel better if she could speak to someone right now and let the person know she’s in the kitchen of her house with her husband, alone.
But Matthew’s next words drain every ounce of hope from her body.
“I already told Polly you’d come in a little late. I called her right after I dropped off Bennett. You need to relax, Marissa. I’ve taken care of everything.”
“You called Polly?” This makes no sense: Matthew has only met her new assistant twice, maybe three times, tops. She doesn’t even think Matthew knows Polly’s last name. So how does he have Polly’s cell phone number?
Matthew smiles. “Polly knows how worried I’ve been about you. And she’s been worried, too. All those hang-ups. That crazy note.”
He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and brings out a white piece of paper, folded into quarters. As he smooths it out, Marissa sees it’s been taped back together, like a completed jigsaw puzzle.
She releases a small, high sound. The last time she saw that note, it was in pieces in the trash can at Coco. She’d assumed it was gone forever. Polly must have fished it out of the garbage and reassembled it, before giving it to Matthew.
Have her assistant and her husband been meeting in secret?
“I asked Polly to look after you,” Matthew murmurs. “Kind of be my eyes and ears when I’m not around. To help me keep you protected. She took my request very seriously. You know Polly; she’s nothing if not overly conscientious. I suggested she keep a log of all the hang-ups and other incidents, since someone is clearly obsessed with you. Just in case.”
Marissa begins to tremble. The kitchen has two exits: the door to the garage, and the opening that leads to the hallway and front door. A knife is in the block by the sink. Her car keys are in her purse, which is sitting on the end of the island, a few feet away. Her cell phone is upstairs, in the charger on her nightstand.
She catalogs all of this information instinctually.
The wine bottle is within reach on the island. The glass looks thick and substantial, and the bottle is nearly full. Her hand creeps out toward it while her eyes remain fixed on Matthew.
“I’ll get that.” He scoops it up. “I made sure to buy a case of your new favorite.”
Matthew picks up the bottle and begins to slowly turn it around to display the label. She doesn’t need to see it; she already knows it is the same wine Skip brought over.