Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,78
hug them tight, together and in turn. They complain, of course: “Mom! You’re crushing me!”
“I don’t care,” I tell them. I just want to hug them forever. Luis just sits there scratching at the spot on the table but they don’t seem to notice. I cut up some fruit for them, ask them about their day. For once I’m grateful for their trite responses. Good. Fine. Okay.
Matti grabs a chocolate milkshake from the fridge and drinks straight from the carton. Carla goes upstairs to do some coding for her school project. Matti takes his milkshake into the living room, mumbling something about playing with his Xbox. Normally that would be out of bounds at this time of the day—or so I hope, I’m not usually here now—but not this time. I am so overwhelmed with love for them that it makes my eyes swim. I will never stop striving to keep my family together. It’s what courses through my veins, this craving to be everything that my mother wasn’t, to keep my children safe, and happy. My kids will never grow up thinking they’re unloved, or unwanted, or not enough for either of their parents. Anything I do to achieve that goal is, as far as I’m concerned, fair game.
My reverie is broken by the sudden sonorous tones of a news bulletin: Homicide detectives are investigating after a woman was found dead in her home—
Luis and I stare at each other, then rush to the living room. For a moment I’m confused, but it’s only that Mateo has set up his Xbox game on the TV set. I snatch up the remote.
“Hey!”
“It’s just for a second, Matti.” I switch channels until I find it.
—this morning. The woman was found just after 9:30 a.m. by a cleaner.
Luis is next to me, eyes transfixed by the screen.
The medical examiner’s office is yet to determine the cause of death. At this stage it’s not clear whether the police are treating the death as suspicious. Investigators did not release any other information.
My cell rings and I look for my bag, which I find hooked on the back of the chair in the kitchen.
It’s June.
“Hi.”
“I saw the news—”
“I know. It’s awful. We were just watching it as well.”
“—and I’m not comfortable about lying, about whether we were together last night.”
I walk out of the kitchen and through to the backyard. A gust of wind makes me shiver. I sit on a dry patch on the top step. “It’s not really lying, June.”
“Well, it is, actually. We weren’t together. I don’t want to make a big deal of it—”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I don’t know, Anna. I just don’t feel comfortable with this. If you haven’t done anything…”
I just can’t speak. I sit there, my head shaking like a broken toy. “I haven’t done anything,” I manage to say. “Did the police contact you?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, so there’s no problem then.”
“But there will be a problem, Anna.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the cops will want to know where you were last night. They’re going to ask you for an alibi and you—”
“Why would they do that?”
“Oh, come on. Because your husband was having an affair with her! If she was killed—”
“Wow, back up a second. Nobody said she was killed. They think it was an accident, okay? I mean, I should know, I’m the one who spoke to the police earlier.”
She waits a moment. “Look, I’m just not comfortable, that’s all. Wherever you were last night—”
“I told you, I was drinking. I went to a bar. Bars.”
“So you’re covered, then. Just tell them where you went. You don’t need me to lie for you.”
I rub my forehead. I need to think. I’m so tired and my brain isn’t working properly. Luis comes to the door, watches me.
“Can I come over? We could talk…” I ask.
“What, now?”
“Yes, please. Please, June.”
It’s raining again and I left my umbrella at home. By the time I arrive at June’s house, water is dripping down my neck and into the collar of my jacket.
I take off my coat and lay it on the back of a chair while June makes room for me on the sofa by grabbing a pile of magazines and articles and putting them on a table near the window. She disappears and returns with two mugs of something warm and caramel-colored.
I take mine with both hands. “Thank you, it smells delicious. What is it?”
“It’s a chai tea, with cinnamon. And a dash of bourbon.”
“Thank you. That’s