voice through the door. “Selena, it’s Beth. Let me in.”
Relief was a flood as she ran for the door, let her friend inside. There were shouts from the lawn.
What happened to Geneva Markson, Selena?
Did you know your husband was sleeping with the nanny?
Beth, blond hair tousled, clutching her tote tight to her body, moved inside quickly and pressed her back against the closed door.
“Is this happening?” she asked Selena, eyes wide. “Is this really happening?”
“It is,” said Selena. “This is my life right now.”
They stared at each other. They’d been in dark places together before, watching their dear friend die. Her grim funeral. The implosion of Beth’s marriage, the ugly, contentious divorce—luckily or unluckily without kids. A miscarriage Selena had before Oliver was born. The time Beth broke her leg while they were hiking, and Selena had to practically drag her five miles because they’d both decided to “unplug” and left their phones in the car.
“Shit,” said Beth. “Shit. What time is it? Can we drink?”
It was after three. “I have a bottle of cab.”
Selena didn’t want to drink, but Beth made her way to the kitchen, dropping her bag at the table. She poured them each a glass from the bottle on the counter, and Selena took a tentative sip, then another. She felt that familiar warmth, a softening of edges. Her shoulders relaxed a bit.
“Tell me everything, Selena,” said Beth. They sat at the kitchen table, the heart of any house. “Start from the beginning. All of it.”
She told her friend about the first time, the sexting, the Vegas incident, then how she’d moved the camera and caught Graham with Geneva. She told her about the woman on the train, about the late-night meeting, the texts she’d been receiving, all the things Detective Crowe had told her about why Graham really lost his job, about Geneva blackmailing the Tuckers. The dirty texts. About Will coming in for the rescue, her spending the night at his place. It all came out in a stream, Beth nodding, making all the right noises, reaching for her hand, giving Selena her unbroken attention.
“So, yeah,” said Selena when she was done. “That’s what’s been going on with me.”
“Why am I just hearing about all of this?” she said, incredulous. “Where were you keeping it?”
“Deep, deep inside,” she said. “Where we keep everything ugly, all the things we don’t want to broadcast, don’t want to deal with.”
Beth drained her wine, refilled both their glasses, gave a knowing nod. “I’ve been there. I know how much energy it takes to keep up a facade. How many years did I keep waiting for things to get better, rather than do what I needed to do? Get away from someone who was hurting me.”
Selena never once suspected that Beth and Scott weren’t happy—or happy enough. You learn pretty early in your adult life that few marriages are perfect. There are almost always secrets, negotiations between couples that no one outside the marriage would understand. Her sister, Marisol, endured her husband’s porn addiction, until he also developed a gambling addiction that almost ruined them financially. Only after she’d asked him to leave did she reveal the truth to Selena and their mother, Cora. Selena always thought the Tuckers looked so perfect, so happy and in love.
“Is it them or is it us?”
Selena looked at her friend, who was rubbing at her temples. She cocked her head in question.
“I mean—are some men just flawed by nature? Or do we enable their bad behavior, make it worse in a way because we hide it, and don’t demand better from them?”
“Maybe it’s some combination of both.”
“Because the women I know, they’re not creating damage in the lives of the people they’re supposed to love and protect. They’re not cheating, abusing, lying. Or worse.”
Or worse. Was it worse than she imagined? Was her husband a monster?
The wine was going down too fast. She couldn’t afford to get drunk, to not have a clear head going into the rest of the night. Selena pushed the glass away.
“What happened with you and Will?” asked Beth.
“Nothing,” she said. “He slept on the couch. The perfect gentleman.”
Beth circled a manicured fingertip around the rim of her glass.
“He still loves you.”
“No,” said Selena. “That’s ancient history.”
Beth gave her a look, and Selena offered an assenting nod. “Well, then, it’s ancient history for me.”
“But you went to him last night,” said Beth. “You could have come to my place.”