Cutting Teeth(64)

“We need to talk,” she says when he goes to the kitchen to get his vitamins, the element of surprise on her side.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” He looks like Griff again. Just the regular old Griff she’s known for eight years, not the glimpses of some alternate-universe version she’s been seeing parading around and out of their house at odd times of day.

“Who is Sarah?”

“Sarah?” he asks. “Sarah who?”

It didn’t occur to her to ask for a last name. “Sarah-Sarah. I don’t know. How many Sarahs do you know, and we’ll work backward.”

“Well…” He looks up, squinting. “One, I guess.” And then she clocks the moment he knows he’s been caught.

“I can’t believe you met a woman online. Don’t try to deny it. She told me. She didn’t even seem to know you were married.”

“Yes, she does,” he insists like that makes it better. “She definitely knows I’m married.”

Darby stares at him for a long beat. “Well, then she’s a bitch.” Darby was right the first time. This Sarah woman is a hussy and this time she’s not taking it back.

“Sarah isn’t a bitch,” he emphasizes. “She’s nice. She’s funny.”

“Why are you defending her to me?” Darby shouts because this warrants shouting even if she risks waking up both of their children, and that is saying something. “Is Sarah the only one? Is she even the first?”

But Darby suddenly feels like she knows the answer, like the pieces are falling into place.

“The only what? Friend I’ve met online?”

“Yeah. ‘Friend.’” Darby uses air quotes.

“No.” Griff shifts on his feet. He looks uncertain how to proceed, like he’s waiting for her to tell him, as always. He looks like that nervous man with no self-assurance who couldn’t order his own drink at the bar she met so many years ago. “This isn’t how this conversation is supposed to be going.” He gives his hair a little tug. “I had a way I was going to do this.”

“Oh! You had a way you were going to do this, did you? Well, too bad!” Her thoughts are spinning so fast they form a dust devil in her head. Around and around and around. She has to hold her temples like she’s just gotten off a teacup ride. She is totally disoriented. Where is she? Whose house is this? Who does he think he is? “Listen,” she growls. “I’m going to ask you again because now Lola’s involved. Did you or did you not have some sort of a private disagreement—an argument—with Miss Ollie a couple days before she died? At Little.”

“No,” he says, and he doesn’t even sound defensive. Is that good or bad? Should he sound defensive? Which way would be better? She doesn’t know. Maybe it would help if she were writing these observations down for later review. “We already went over this and it’s simply not true.”

“Which part?” she asks.

“All of it. Well, the part about Sarah. That’s true. But that— I think—”

There’s something about staying utterly still that makes Darby feel just the right amount formidable.

“You never mentioned going by the school, Griff. Not once,” she tells him. She wants to get all of her stuff in first. He should know the extent of the case against him. She isn’t going to be pushed around, especially by the least pushy person she knows. No, Griff. Not happening. “I can’t understand why you wouldn’t mention it.”

“Because I didn’t,” he implores her.

“Rhea saw you.”

All the signs were there.

“No, she didn’t.”

At times like these, Darby really does not recommend having a good-looking husband. Harder to stay mad at a face like that, but she’s managing. A Sarah will do that for you. “You know, Griff, it’s really not cool to gaslight women anymore.”

“I’m not.”

There it is, that smooth calm. That irritating calm? That creepy calm? God, how come Darby never considered that Griff’s steady demeanor might be a cover for all sorts of mistruths? Nothing to see here, Griff Morton would lead one to believe and, oh, how she was led.

“Do you even know what gaslighting means?” she asks. Darby’s not so sure she could offer a firm definition herself if pressed.

“Yes, Darby, I know what gaslighting means. I’ve been on Reddit. I’m an IT professional, remember?”

“Right. But—” Her lip quivers. She can’t look at him another second, can’t bear to. “I went to go talk to Miss Ollie.” She’s been so careful, so unbelievably careful to hold this in, but it doesn’t matter. Because Rhea’s onto something. It’s already out. “I’m not stupid, Griff. I’m not that kind of woman. You should know that by now. I was supposed to have a meeting with Mary Beth about the girls, but when she canceled, I went to go talk to Erin myself. And I was going to ask her, ask, you know, about why you came to speak with her. Go straight to the source. I figured it was about Lola. I know we don’t always see eye to eye about her.” This. She wants to tap her finger on that last bit for emphasis. The reason she jumped to the initial conclusion that her husband had headed her off, gone to get the first word in about Lola, perhaps requested the counselor evaluation without consulting Darby—which would have been bad enough, by the way—was not because she’s a naive twit; no, the reason she had ignored the late nights at work, the new emphasis on his appearance, all that, was because her mind was already circling around Lola. She was primed to ignore her husband. He was usually so ignorable in social settings.