Confessions on the 7:45 - Lisa Unger Page 0,126

on the drive. She saved her work and headed downstairs in time to watch Will come through the front door, holding a large bouquet of tiger lilies, her favorite.

He’d recused himself as Graham’s lawyer to become hers after the attack. Another lawyer defended Graham when he went to trial.

Now, Selena and Will were—friends. She knew he wanted more. He knew she was nowhere near ready. She needed space to find herself. Finally.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking the flowers. She gave him a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s—you know,” he started. “Just something to brighten the day.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re good to me, Will.”

It was Friday. Will came over most Friday afternoons to play with the boys in the yard, then for pizza and movies. Sometimes, Marisol and her kids joined, as well. It was something they’d set up to create a sense of normalcy for Oliver and Stephen—and it seemed to work. Their therapist said that she was doing all the right things, that the boys were dealing with things in a healthy, normal way. Only time would tell.

But did Oliver seem more sullen and dark? Was the pitch of Stephen’s tantrums more desperate? Would any of them ever be whole again? Would the darkness from their father, from her own father, infect them? Was it wound into their DNA?

These were the things that kept her up at night, worrying about the contagion of secrets and lies, dark impulses, violent tendencies.

At the kitchen table, she and Will chatted a while—about her book, about a case he was working on, what movies they should watch tonight. When he offered to pick up the kids so that she could get a workout, she agreed. The boys were always happy to see Will; he filled a space that was empty in each of them now. And she was grateful for his friendship, to all of them. A good man, if flawed in some ways, if not a perfect match for Selena, an honest and respectful one. Paulo, too, was a strong and positive influence. Her boys had men to look to, role models of the kind of quiet strength that comes from integrity and a heart that can love women well.

When he left, she went upstairs and put on her running shoes, her workout clothes. Then she hit the rural road that led away from the house. The air was warm, and the sky clear. It took her a while to find her stride after sitting at her computer all day. But the music pumping in her headphones—Nirvana today, Kurt Cobain’s ghostly voice raw and wild—brought her energy up. She’d gone a mile when her phone pinged. She slowed to check it, in case Will had run into issues at the school.

Instead there was a text from an unfamiliar number. It wasn’t the first time. She hadn’t told anyone, but Pearl reached out to her every few months—usually coinciding with a news cycle that included something about Graham. There was a connection there, something strange but true.

I’ve been thinking of you. I’m happy-ish. Hope you are, too.

Selena never answered. She knew she wasn’t expected to. There wasn’t going to be more to the relationship than there was. Pearl had disappeared completely, gone without a trace. She was a wanted woman, charges pending for fraud, extortion, blackmail. Apparently, the list of people she and Geneva had scammed and conned was long—most of them men, most of those men guilty of something themselves. Selena was supposed to report contact to the police, but she wasn’t going to do that. In her heart, there was a painful kind of gratitude. She’d destroyed Selena’s life. She’d saved Selena’s life. She’d taken something. Given something. It was complicated.

I saw a picture of Graham in the joint. He really looks like shit. What did you ever see in him?

Selena laughed a little; sometimes Pearl was funny. Sometimes her texts sounded sad, lonely. Other times they were inane—a comment on the price of gasoline or some news event. Occasionally, she sounded angry. The day Graham was convicted: I’m glad he got what he deserved. Now you’re free. If she knew about the book Selena was writing, she hadn’t said. Selena imagined that Pearl would have a comment or two about that. But whatever the missive, Pearl always ended her communications the same way, a kind of inside joke.

Selena waited, watching the little gray dots pulse.

It’s Martha, by the way.

From the train.

* * *

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Every novel is a journey. It starts with a germ, a thought, a moment. And even though the writing of it is a solitary thing, a quiet and daily evolution from idea to finished novel, there’s a whole universe of people who help in all kinds of ways bring it out into the world.

For me, everything begins and ends with my husband, Jeffrey, and our daughter, Ocean. They fill my life with love and laughter and keep me grounded in the things that are important, offering endless support and encouragement. I would be a lesser person and a lesser writer without them.

My agent, Amy Berkower, her assistant, Meridith Viguet, and the stellar team at Writers House offer all manner of support, helping me navigate the big waters of the writing life. I am so grateful for their wisdom, organization, passion and dedication. I feel very fortunate to have such exemplary representation.

My deep and heartfelt thanks to my editor, Erika Imranyi. Her patience, wisdom, intelligence and loving editorial guidance took this book from the best I could make it to the best it could be. I am so grateful for her skills as an editor and her sterling friendship. The rest of the team at Park Row Books—from powerhouse VP of editorial Margaret Marbury to publicist extraordinaire Roxanne Jones to eagle-eyed copy editor Jennifer Stimson—could not be more thoughtful, engaged and dedicated. I am grateful for the vision of the art department, the tireless and often overlooked efforts of the production team and the intrepid spirit of the sales force.

I am blessed with a vast network of family and friends, who tirelessly brag about me and promote my books. My parents, Joseph and Virginia Miscione, and my brother, Joe, are out there endlessly spreading the word and facing books out on shelves across the country. Erin Mitchell is an early reader, voice of reason, champion and wonderful friend. Heather Mikesell has been one of the first readers of almost everything I have written. Nothing feels done until she has read it.

A writer is nothing without her readers. And I am blessed beyond measure to have such a warm, loving and supportive group of family, friends and faithful longtime fans who read, promote and turn up at events locally and around the country. Thank you for showing up, for spreading the word and for reading. It means more than you can know.

This is a work of fiction, but all fiction is rooted in truth, and research is a big part of my process. The Confidence Game by Maria Konnikova brought me deep inside the mind of the con artist. Liespotting: Proven Techniques to Detect Deception by Pamela Meyer, and the author’s fascinating TED Talk, informed my understanding of why and how people lie. That said, all mistakes and liberties taken for the sake of fiction are mine.

ISBN-13: 9780369700933

Confessions on the 7:45

Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Unger

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Park Row Books

22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor

Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada

ParkRowBooks.com

BookClubbish.com