“When did it happen?” I repeated Kira’s question. “With you and Connor?”
She heaved a sigh and looked off at the ocean. “It happened about a couple of years ago. Cameron and I were dating, but we were in a bad spot. I had found some texts on his phone from an old girlfriend. He insisted that texts were all they were, but I was pissed. I went out that night with a friend, to a hotel bar downtown. To be honest, I wanted to be hit on. I wanted to be reminded that I was hot. That other people would want me, too. That I had options. I was in a total screw Cameron kind of mentality. But I never actually wanted anything to happen.”
She inhaled deeply. “My friend went home. I stayed. I drank too much. But you know what?” She looked at us intently. “I didn’t drink that much.”
We paused for a moment, taking in the weight of her comment.
“I know myself,” she said, “and my limits. I’m well practiced at being careful. And I only had three or four drinks that night, over the course of several hours. And yet, I remember what happened with Connor only in flashes . . . I know I was upstairs in his hotel room, but I can’t ever remember agreeing to go up with him. I know we had sex, but I just can’t believe I’d . . .” She trailed off for a moment, face furrowed with hurt and confusion. “Drunk or not, it doesn’t seem like me. Like something I would ever, ever do. And the next morning, I was incapacitated. I felt like I had a concussion. I was bedridden for the next two days. And I always thought . . . I thought maybe he gave me something. But I convinced myself that I was wrong, that I was just looking for a way not to blame myself.
“I never said anything to anyone—I mean, for one thing, I didn’t want to have to tell Cameron what had happened—but I’ve always wondered. And now—knowing more about him, the kind of guy he is—I think my hunch might have been right.”
“I’m so sorry, Selena,” I whispered, my anger for what had happened to her making my blood bubble like the jacuzzi jets.
Selena nodded at me. “Me too,” she said.
“What an absolute prick,” Kira said, squeezing Selena’s shoulder. We were all silent for a moment.
“As horrible as he is . . . ,” Kira continued, bringing us back to the topic at hand, “and don’t get me wrong, he’s obviously beyond horrible—I mean, like a sociopath, right?—I’m still not sure I can agree to murdering him.” Panic returned to her face. “Again, I still don’t really get why she can’t just divorce him and move across the country or overseas or something, like a normal person?”
“It would never be that simple now that there’s a child involved,” Selena admitted, though she’d advocated for the same solution earlier.
I nodded. “I really felt what she was saying about how she couldn’t allow him to be Naomi’s father. I would do anything I could to protect Clara from someone who would be that kind of toxic presence in her life. We know how he is with women. Who knows what kind of damage he might do to a child.”
The hot tub’s heat couldn’t fully account for the flush surging into my face, the spots that floated in my vision. I took a gulp of wine and went on.
“If Isabel says that divorce won’t cut it, even if she were able to get one, I want to believe her. I do believe her.” I heard myself say these words but was shocked at how much I sounded like I was arguing in favor of killing him. Could that actually be what I wanted?
“Still,” Selena said, shifting her position in the jacuzzi, “does that give us the right to just remove him from the world? Play God? I don’t know that it does. Besides, how do Isabel and Vanessa know for sure that we won’t get caught? They don’t. Anything could go wrong. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in jail.”
“But if we do decide not to—if we say no,” Kira said, “do you guys think that Isabel and Vanessa will just let it go? Or are we in some kind of danger here? I’m not sure that we’re really in a position to just walk away.” She rubbed her head with both hands and then stretched her arm out to grab her glass of wine, taking a long sip.
I had been wondering the same thing. “I guess we’re taking a risk no matter what we decide. But—and I almost can’t believe I’m saying this—the only way to make sure he never does this to another woman is to do what they’re asking. And I want that. I don’t want any more of us out there.” It felt like an out-of-body experience, listening to myself tout the pros of killing someone. And yet, I was pretty sure that’s what I was doing.