Morning light made its debut, leaking milky gray through the blinds. He moved closer to her, pulled her back from the edge of the bed, and draped an arm over her middle. She thought about pushing him away. But the truth was that his warmth comforted her. She stayed still, marveling at how she wanted to throttle and cling to him. Even though the weekend was hard, they still laughed at times, still parented, still cooked and ate. The truth was that it was everything—the beautiful and ugly all in one impossible tangle.
“I have no idea,” she admitted.
The workweek loomed ahead—though the office was an escape sometimes. She needed some help. Obviously, Geneva would have to be fired. Today. Which meant Graham needed to stay with the kids—which meant that she couldn’t kick him out permanently. Yet. Maybe she needed to talk to Beth; she’d have ideas on how to navigate next steps.
“We just go through the motions?” said Graham.
“For now.”
“Until what?”
“I don’t know, Graham,” she nearly yelled. Christ, he was like one of the kids. She took a breath, released it. “I’ll take the boys to school and then head into the office. You fire Geneva.”
He nodded but stayed quiet. They lay like that a moment, then she got up to take a shower before she had to get the boys started.
She liked the water hot, nearly scalding. She let it beat on her skin, fog up the bathroom.
She did her hair, her makeup, dressed in slim black pants and a blush-pink top, heels. By the time she exited the bedroom, Graham had roused the boys from bed. How nice that he chose this morning to finally step up.
“Good morning,” she said on her way downstairs.
Stephen and Oliver groaned at her like sleepy zombies, moving slow, dressing in the uniforms that she’d laid out for them last night.
By the time she came downstairs, Graham had set the table, waffles in the toaster, boys’ lunches packed. If only he behaved like this when their marriage wasn’t imploding. The fact that he was being so on point now only aggravated her more.
She poured herself a cup of coffee while he served the boys.
She hadn’t thought much about the text she’d received on Friday. She’d deleted it from her phone and blocked the number. Likewise, she’d purposely pushed it from her thoughts. Martha was going to get ghosted. That was that. She didn’t need more complications in her life.
When the doorbell rang, Selena startled, nearly spilling her coffee.
Shit. Geneva was early. She’d hoped to be gone with the boys before she arrived. In fact, as much as she had liked and appreciated Geneva before, she’d hoped never to lay eyes on Geneva again. She’d seen far too much of her already.
“Did you forget your key?” she asked, opening the door.
But it wasn’t Geneva.
At the door was a broad, clean-cut man, with dark hair. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but there was something official about him even before he held out his detective’s shield. A black sedan lurked in their driveway, and another man—older, rumpled, climbed out and approached them. The morning was alive with birdsong, the air warmer than it had been in months. Maybe spring would come early. Selena’s heart started to thump for reasons she couldn’t name.
“Mrs. Murphy?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Detective Grady Crowe, and this is my partner Detective West.”
She kept the door partially closed, her body blocking their view into her house. She fought the urge to call for Graham.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“Do you employ a woman by the name of Geneva Markson?”
“We do.”
“When is the last time you had contact with her?”
Detective Crowe kept a steady stare on Selena, but West’s eyes were everywhere else—around the stoop, past her into the foyer, inspecting the potted plants, the shrubbery.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Can we come in?”
Her mouth felt terribly dry. Was it just something about cops that made you feel automatically as if you’d done something wrong?
The boys went tearing up the stairs, not interested in who might be at the door. But Graham came up behind her as she let the detectives inside.
The detectives re-introduced themselves to Graham, who instantly slipped into charm mode. He had that way. He put on this certain expression, a kind of wide-open affability, and took control of the situation. He led the cops into the living room, offering coffee, man of the house. He was showered and dressed, hair combed. A small miracle considering the state