“Hi, Mrs. Donovan,” she said without looking up. Her phone sat on the floor beside her. Her mother must have told her I was here. “Guess you heard I’m not working at the sod farm anymore.” She kept her head down, pretending to be engrossed in her task. Her voice was flat, absent of that optimistic high note that always seemed to punctuate her sentences.
“Steven mentioned it a few days ago. He said the farm’s been struggling and he had to let some people go.”
Her snort was dry. “Typical,” she said under her breath.
“Steven’s never been the most forthright man,” I admitted. Bree had nothing to say about that, but I could sense something shift. She hadn’t once looked at me since I stepped inside that barn, but I felt a sudden curiosity under that prickly demeanor. I gestured to a column of buckets against the wall. “Mind if I sit down?”
She shrugged. I dragged one from the stack and set it upside down, taking a seat beside her.
“So I guess I’m not the only one.” Her short nails dug into the stubborn knot. They were bitten to the quick, raw and pink, her pale face clean of her usual makeup.
“The only one Steven’s ever hurt? No,” I said gently, “not by a long shot.”
A muscle tightened in her jaw. I wasn’t sure if this information made her feel better or worse, but she deserved this much. I reached into my purse and withdrew the photo I’d found in her library book, feeling her gaze shift as I held it out to her. “You left this at the trailer. It looked special. I thought you might want it back.”
She let go of the swing. Her eyes lifted slowly to mine. I saw a faint reflection of myself—the me from a year ago—in the hollows inside them. “Thanks,” she said, setting the photo facedown beside her phone. “Is that why you came? It’s a pretty long drive. You could have mailed it.” I didn’t think she was sassing me. Sarcasm didn’t seem to fit with Bree. This felt more like a nudge, an invitation to a conversation she didn’t want to admit she needed to have.
“I thought maybe you’d want to talk about what happened with Steven.”
“It had nothing to do with the farm,” she said through a heavy sigh. “Or the bad press or lost clients or Theresa’s arrest. We were having problems long before that.”
“What kind of problems?”
She picked at the fraying end of the rope, thinking. “I was trying to be patient. Things had been going really well for us since my dad got me the job at the farm. Steven and I … we connected instantly. And things just sort of happened from there.” Her cheeks flushed when I raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t like that. Not like you’re thinking. Steven knew Theresa was involved with someone else. He’d suspected it for a while, and it was making him crazy. Some nights he’d get drunk and that’s all he wanted to talk about. He said that’s why it was fine that we were sleeping—” Bree’s mouth snapped shut. She gnawed her lip. “He said that’s why it was fine that we were spending so much time together, because Theresa was cheating, too. I thought for sure if I just waited, eventually he’d call off the engagement and we could be together without having to keep it a secret anymore. But the longer I waited, the less sure I was that Theresa was the one he was really hung up on.” She glanced up at me through her lashes.
A shocked laugh burst out of me. “You thought he was hung up on me?”
“Maybe,” she said defensively. “I mean, you do have kids together. And you’re a lot nicer than Theresa, even if she is prettier than you.” Bree’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. “Sorry, Mrs. Donovan. I swear I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay,” I said, my laughter turning soft. “Theresa’s prettier than most people. I’m sure that’s why Steven left me to begin with.”
Bree frowned, worrying her lip between her teeth. “He’ll never admit it, but he’s always snooping around, checking up on you.”
My laughter died. “Checking up how?”
“You know, fixing your garage and paying your bills and stalking your social media to see if you’re dating anyone. For weeks, he had some bee in his bonnet because he got some crazy idea you were dating an underwear model.” She rolled her eyes. “Then you came to the farm that Sunday with Nick.” Her eyes brightened as she remembered him, the same starstruck expression I’d seen on the faces of women who’d ogled him in the hallway at Delia’s school. “You two looked so happy, and he was obviously so into you. And I thought, here was my chance. You were moving on with this amazing guy, and Theresa was having an affair with someone else. I thought for sure this was it. So I called Steven right after you left the office.” She ducked her head. “Maybe it was petty, but I couldn’t wait to tell him you and Nick were shopping for sod together—that you two were really serious. But when I did, Steven blew up. He came rushing out to the farm the second I told him. He had a freaking meltdown in the trailer, then he stormed out. He didn’t call me for two whole days. Granted,” she said, holding up her hands, “he was dealing with a lot. I mean, Theresa had been arrested and the police were all over the trailer with warrants, shutting down the office and digging up the farm. By the time he finally got around to calling me on Tuesday, it was to tell me not to bother coming back.”