ashen, my eyes are sunken from lack of sleep, and my hair is a mess. The woman I see in that reflection, in her dress and heels, looks like an imposter.
“The party is six o’clock Saturday night at the distillery, Coll. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’ve been debating canceling the whole thing. Under the circumstances, that might be best.”
“No, don’t cancel.” I look up at him until he meets my eyes. I can’t help but wonder if he sees me—really sees me—or if he’s like Dean, and Rachael and Travis, and everyone else. If he compares me to Joanna every second of every day and is keenly aware that I fall short. “It’ll be nice to have a night out.”
“If you’re sure it’s not too much.”
No, the party’s not too much. It’s everything—and everyone—else. Most of all, it’s Joanna. She’s too much, even in death.
But I can’t say that, so I kiss her widower instead.
RACHAEL
I pull into the driveway a little after three o’clock, and fight through waves of reporters to get to my front door. The news crews have been relentless, constantly firing questions about our relationships with Joanna, Michael, and Colleen. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve waved and smiled, turned my cheek to the ideal angle.
But not today.
He texted Joanna from February through July.
If Travis lied to me about that, who knows how long they were having an affair? It might’ve been—heaven help me—years.
Fuming, I charge up the steps, unlock my door, and practically fall inside before the reporters can formulate a single question. I can’t think about makeup or proper answers now. Not at a time like this, when I’m bursting out of my skin.
He lied.
He was seeing Joanna. All that time. Right up until she was killed. He didn’t slip up and make a mistake. They weren’t merely having fun. A few trysts. This wasn’t uncontrollable lust. Oh no. This was an everyday, emotional affair. She seduced him, lured him away from me.
At least Joanna got what was coming to her in the end. Stupid bitch.
Now, I have to deal with Travis.
The house is still pristinely clean, just the way we left it this morning. But as I fling my purse onto the counter, a blotchy yellow stain on the granite catches my eye. My heart starts to thud as I stare at it.
That wasn’t there before, was it?
After a frantic search through the kitchen cabinets, I’m armed with rubber gloves, a steel bristle pad, and three bottles of cleaners. I get to work fast, spraying the whole counter down. Then I clutch the scrub pad and scour until my fingers burn and my hand aches. That stupid stain won’t go away. It’s blemishing the flawless swirls of colors in the granite. For the life of me, I can’t get it out. I press down harder, scrub faster and faster, putting all my strength behind it.
He texted her frequently. I know what else they did frequently.
On a wild impulse, I jerk open the oven door and wipe the whole thing down. Top to bottom. It looks clean at a glance, but there, near the light, I find a discoloration. It’s slight, barely noticeable, but I see it. That means Travis will too. And at the bottom, something must’ve spilled. It was probably from dinner the other night when Colleen used the oven to keep the catering trays warm.
She was so eager—borderline twitchy, even, jumping at the chance to help me with something—and now look what she’s done.
I clean furiously, scouring until no trace is left.
He kissed me before bed every night…after kissing her.
Every night over dinner, Travis and I talk about our day. He never mentioned texting Joanna. He would’ve if they were innocent business messages.
It was only a few times. I won’t see her again. It’s over, Rachael. Stop overreacting.