the boys, helped with the housework more than most, did the dishes after she cooked dinner. But his efforts were fractional compared to hers; and her praise was equal in measure to the encouragement she doled out to the children for their drawings that showed little talent, their stilted piano playing, or middling efforts on the soccer field. Not lies, exactly.
Then there were the big lies like Graham’s, like her father’s.
Infidelity. Secrets. Sins of omission.
But worst of all were the lies she told herself.
She knew what her husband was, didn’t she, even before they got married? His eyes followed other women. Once, even very early in their relationship, she’d seen him talking to another girl outside the bathroom in a club. He’d leaned in to her in a way that wasn’t appropriate when you’d come with someone else.
If she was honest with herself, the challenge of Graham excited her at first. She amped up her fitness routine, wore the sexiest underwear she could find. She made him chase. Blocked his calls sometimes, even stood him up once. Once upon a time, she’d been the woman sending dirty texts.
His excitement excited her.
That’s why she thought she’d left Will for Graham. Because Graham excited her. Because life with him, what it would be, could be, seemed like a mystery, an adventure.
But maybe, she thought now, pulling into her own driveway, maybe, it was the lies.
Her dad was a liar, a cheater. He was a vacant father, a man-baby always looking for his own pleasure. And Graham, apparently, was just like him.
So, on some twisted, subconscious level, maybe that’s why Selena had chosen him. Because that’s what she knew about the love of a man, that’s what she craved. It was sick. But maybe they were all sick, acting from impulses that were barely conscious.
She killed the engine, drew in another breath and released it.
The house sat dark, deserted. It was funny how an empty house could radiate a kind of loneliness. The energy of their life, their family, their love was gone. It was a body without a soul. She felt the threat of tears, the wobble of a breakdown. But she fought it back.
Not here. Not now.
She needed to change, get a coat. She needed money; she kept a stash of cash in a lockbox in the closet. In that box, there was also a gun, a small off-duty revolver with five shots. She knew how to use it. When Detective Crowe asked her if anything was missing, she’d thought of that box. But when she checked, it was back deep on the top of the closet, buried beneath clothes. It hadn’t been touched since the last time she put some money in there—more than a year ago, she thought.
The gun had been a gift from Graham after they bought the house, along with lessons at the range. She’d been uncomfortable with it at first, but found she’d enjoyed the target practice, the instructor who taught her how to aim, breathe, fire. It felt good to know that she could defend herself if she needed to. But she never thought she’d use it; the whole thing was more of a novelty, a very Graham type of gift.
Once she had those things, she would meet Martha—or Pearl, or whatever her name was—and figure out what the woman wanted. She hadn’t texted back, and Selena had no idea how to find her, but she knew the other woman was waiting. That she wanted something and that she’d come after it. It was only a matter of when.
One more text: I’m waiting, Pearl. Just tell me what you want.
No answer.
Finally, Selena exited the car, the air around her cold on her skin. She was going to take control of the situation and do what was necessary to salvage what was left of her boys’ lives. Maybe it would be easy; maybe Pearl just wanted money. Selena would give it to her. Whatever she had to, she was going to do that. There was a surge of power in the decision.
As she walked toward the house, the trees whispered their little secrets, all the things they knew and had seen. Other homes were warm with landscape lighting, glowing windows. Safe, normal lives being lived in relative peace. Or at least that was the facade. That’s how it seemed from the outside looking in.
Her house was quiet, and she didn’t bother flipping on lights as she jogged up the stairs. In the master bath, she mopped