I. That made us independent adults, not government spies or nefarious criminals.
But eventually I would break again. And back into the office I would go, tearing apart my marriage in search of answers to a question I couldn’t even ask.
What is the perfect marriage? Acceptance, I had thought. But I’d assumed it would be my husband’s acceptance of me. I’d never stopped to consider that maybe I’d prove incapable of accepting him. That maybe my mother, via the lie that had become my adult life, had warped me even more than I’d understood.
You can’t sneak around in a marriage forever. Sooner or later, no matter how careful you are, you’re going to get caught. Yet I couldn’t stop. It’s almost as if I wanted Conrad to figure out what I was doing. I needed our marriage to fall apart.
Except, suddenly, two made three.
Then my mistakes truly came back to haunt me.
• • •
I DON’T KNOW what to do. I can’t go outside. Even this late at night, the media vans remain a solid wall of high-powered lights parked just across the street. I’m too keyed up for sleep, my brain jumping between images of Conrad’s blood-spattered body and our home’s burnt-out shell. I should rest for the baby’s sake. I should flee my mother’s house for my sake. I should do … something.
But I don’t know what. Sixteen years ago, confronted by a similar tragedy, I’d simply done what I was told and taken the blame. Now?
I hate the lingering sense of déjà vu. And worse, the feeling of once more being helpless.
I hadn’t lied to the detective. I still don’t know what happened to my father. One moment, I had a dad, my hero, my rock, the man I could always count on. Then he was dead. Just like that.
My mom’s response upon entering the kitchen … it wasn’t horror; it was outrage mixed with hysteria. That he’d gone and died? Or that he’d gone and killed himself, which is what I’ve always wondered. At sixteen, shell-shocked and traumatized, I’d never thought to question my mom. If she said we needed to keep what happened between us, then we needed to keep it between us. Denial was what my mother did best.
I followed her lead that afternoon. It wasn’t hard. A terrible tragedy had occurred. In my own mind, it was easy enough to substitute myself with the shotgun, maybe even easier than contemplating my beloved father positioning the gun beneath his ribs. Standing grimly in front of the refrigerator, which offered the safest backdrop for gunfire (when cleaning the shotgun, he’d instructed, always aim it at the stainless steel appliance). Then, upon hearing the crunch of my mother’s car tires in the driveway, pulling the trigger.
No, it was so much easier to lie than to picture any of that.
For all my father’s brilliance, I’d seen the dark shadows that lurked in his eyes. The way he sometimes smiled but still appeared sad. The times he squared his shoulders before walking into his office, appearing less like a gifted mathematician off in search of answers, and more like a soldier burdened by a never-ending war.
The truth is, genius and depression have always gone hand in hand. Which was why I spent so many afternoons, sitting at the piano, playing and playing, because my father said my music soothed his spirit and allowed him to rest in a way a truly great mind could never completely ease. I did my best to music the sadness out of him.
And that day, walking into the kitchen, my father’s hot blood dripping down into my hair, I felt the weight of my failure. That I had loved this man so much, and tried so hard, and it still wasn’t enough.
Just like Conrad.
I hope my baby isn’t a boy, I think now. Because I just couldn’t take another such loss.
• • •
I SHOULD MARSHAL my resources, I decide. Money. I’m going to need some. Which is the first time I realize how lost I truly am. My wallet, cell phone, car keys, had all been in the house—which, according to the detectives, is now nothing more than a pile of charred ruins. I have a moment of growing hysteria: Next time you’re arrested for the murder of your husband, grab your purse!
But of course, I hadn’t, and the police certainly hadn’t offered to fetch anything. Meaning I have … nothing.
Not completely true. I have a head for figures. Including bank accounts. Just because I