“Hi,” I said into the phone as I stepped into the living room. From my perch on the arm of the couch I could still see Theo. I wanted privacy but I had to keep an eye out, so hushed whispers in the next room would have to do.
“Things are really tense here,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.
“So I gather.” Zander stood up and threw his half-eaten pancake in the trash. All I had to do was wipe down the table and we could be on our way.
“So Charlie told you?” the voice said.
“That my mother-in-law is a lunatic? I think I knew that.” I muted the mic and called out to Zander: “Go put on your shoes, baby doll.”
“If you’re coming for me, it’s not going to happen,” the voice said. He didn’t want me to come because he knew he couldn’t resist me. There was no sense in pretending.
“We have no idea what’s going to happen,” I said. “I think the events of the last twenty-four hours have taught us that.”
“Marcela, please,” he pleaded, “the situation is complicated enough.”
I understood why he was pushing me away. He felt sorry for Charlie. They were cousins, he had loyalty. It was sweet, actually. But it was pointless to deny what we felt for each other. It wasn’t going away. And if my mother-in-law could just stay dead, we could finally move into our inevitable future together. Charlie would get his half of the money, and I would divorce him and get half of that. Overnight millionairess. Bing-bam-boom!
“I’ll see you in two hours,” I said, then hung up the phone.
“Ready!” Zander said as he appeared in the living room with his Nikes on.
“Be a good boy and get in the car.” I wiped down the kitchen and plucked Theo from his high chair. As I snapped my eighteen-month-old into his car seat, my body burned with frustration. I had just rounded the last turn of this grueling marathon of a marriage, only to be shoved back to the starting line. I didn’t want to go back now—couldn’t go back.
“Why are you crying, Momma?” I hadn’t realized tears were running down my face. I quickly wiped them away and kissed my son’s hair.
“Just missing Daddy,” I said, even though being married to his father made me cry every damn day.
CHAPTER 57
* * *
NATHAN
Shit, shit, shit! Why does Marcela have to come?
I hadn’t been in the same room as Charlie and his wife since the ski trip, which was a drunken blur for all of us. The fling was meant to be a one-off, a way to pass the time. Charlie and the rest of the fam are having their fun on the slopes, we’d told ourselves and each other. Why can’t we have some fun, too? I never would have indulged if I’d thought she would develop feelings for me. And now, on a day when things were already impossibly tense, I was going to have to deal with her, too? Shit, shit, shit!
I’d promised Charlie I would come “first thing” so we could call the police all together. I hadn’t told them the voice on my voice mail was Ashley’s because I didn’t want them to think I was in on it. Not that there was anything to be “in” on. Ashley hadn’t done anything except fall into a trap. But still, I figured it would be best to reveal Ashley as fake Silvia in the presence of a police chaperone. Because surely Charlie and Winnie would want to know when I had figured it out and would be pissed that I hadn’t told them immediately.
After telling the whole sordid tale to the police, I would have to do something equally fraught—go to Ashley’s to tell her that no, she was not imminently getting $10 million, and yes, we were a family of psychopaths. If, after hearing the truth about us, she didn’t punch me in the face, that would be a miracle. I didn’t believe in miracles, so I wore a dark blue shirt in anticipation of my nose exploding when she slammed her fist into it. Under normal circumstances I would have texted her to set a time to stop by. I also would have brought flowers, or coffee, or fresh-baked scones from the bakery down the street. Nathan 2.0 was a gentleman. Of course, after what Louisa had just done to this poor woman, there was no point in launching Nathan 2.0—he was dead on arrival. So no text, no flowers, no scones.
As I slugged back a cup of coffee, I grappled with whether it was time to tell Charlie the truth about having slept with his wife—not just how it happened, but why. Because I understood now. Up until recently, I’d blamed the altitude, the whiskey, the weather, everything and everyone but myself. I was trapped, I’d told myself. She got me drunk and threw herself at me. But I was beginning to think the truth was much more repugnant. Marcela wasn’t just any married woman, she was my cousin’s wife—my cousin with the charmed existence, who got his house and car paid for without having to work a day in his life. There was a reason I hadn’t skied on that ski trip: I didn’t know how. When I was a kid, my parents couldn’t afford lift tickets and private lessons with a fancy instructor from France. While Charlie was off skiing in Chamonix, I was in my backyard playing handball by myself. While my cousin was enjoying a tropical honeymoon （Barbados, I think?）， I was slogging through law school, amassing thousands of dollars of student debt. I’m not proud that I’d let his wife seduce me, but I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t understand why Louisa wanted revenge against her spoiled son. Because on some level, perhaps I’d wanted it, too.