Skip is behind the wheel. He went to work today, too. But he left early to pick up Marissa and Bennett. Together they will drive back to his town house. She doesn’t know how long they will remain there, but Marissa can’t ever imagine wanting to go back to the house she shared with Matthew.
For the moment at least, the town house is their home. Skip took care of everything to make them feel comfortable there.
He’d picked up Sam and his cage, along with clothing and personal items for Bennett and Marissa, so they’d be surrounded by familiar things. He cooks for them—salmon on the grill, or simple pasta dishes—and talks easily with Bennett about the habits of hummingbirds and the mysteries of the solar system. At night, after Bennett falls asleep, Skip’s solid presence is a comfort to Marissa. Sometimes she talks to him about Tina, sharing some of the good memories she has of their friendship. They also discuss Matthew, reassembling the image of the man they both thought they knew.
Matthew knew how I felt about you, Skip told her. But when he offered me an alibi the night Tina was killed, he convinced me I owed it to him to let him have a shot with you. Skip had shaken his head. Turns out I was the one giving him an alibi. I always thought he was a jerk—but I had no idea he was evil.
As the days go by, they talk less about Matthew. More often lately, they’ve simply been watching television together, or reading side-by-side in the living room.
Skip has been the best friend she could imagine.
Nothing more than a friend, though.
Mourn your marriage—or what you thought your marriage was, Avery had said when they’d met for their ninth session. But don’t ever forget the possibilities life holds for you.
Marissa can’t think that far ahead.
But as she unfastens her seat belt and Skip comes around to open her car door, she does allow herself to recall this:
What did you say back when we were teenagers and you told Matthew how you felt about me? she’d asked Skip just last night.
He didn’t blush or look down. He’d simply replied, I told him the first time I kissed you, it was like the first time I saw the ocean.
Skip hadn’t asked why she’d burst into tears. He’d just hugged her.
At three o’clock sharp, the big double doors to the school open. Marissa scans the faces of the students coming down the front steps. A pack of rowdy boys are in the lead, with a teacher loudly admonishing them to walk, not run.
Then she sees Bennett.
He’s all alone.
Her heart leaps into her throat. She wants to race to him and throw her arms around him.
Then she hears a boy call out, “Bennett! Wait!”
It’s his best friend, Charlie.
Then another boy joins them: Lance, the baseball player who wears his sister’s hand-me-down pink cleats. They’re flanking Bennett, one on either side.
Bennett comes closer, and Marissa studies his face. His eyes are clear; his skin tone is even. There are no signs at all he has been crying.
She feels the tightness around her heart ease.
“Bye, Bennett!” a boy calls from a dozen yards away.
Then a small girl wearing a chic little leopard-print jacket calls Bennett’s name, waving. “See you tomorrow!” It’s Veronica, Natalie’s daughter.
As the crowd of kids disperses, Marissa sees Natalie a few yards away, leaning against her shiny Jaguar, surrounded by her usual hangers-on.
But Natalie isn’t talking to them.
Natalie is watching Bennett carefully, too.
Natalie seems to feel Marissa’s gaze. She turns and meets Marissa’s eyes.
Someday soon, Marissa vows, she will call Natalie and suggest they get together for a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine. But for now, she settles for mouthing, Thank you.
When Bennett finally arrives at the car, he is smiling.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
AVERY
YOU MIGHT THINK, WATCHING THEM, that they’re an ordinary mother, son, and grandfather enjoying a beautiful spring afternoon at the park. But the Bishops, like the rest of us, are far more complicated than they appear.
I slowly walk toward them, along the trail that winds through the Candy Cane City park, pausing every now and then to let Romeo sniff a dandelion or—and this bit of his progress delights me—wag his stubby tail at another dog.
Romeo is healing from his traumas, but he still bears scars.
We all do. Some of ours are just more visible than others.
Marissa puts an arm around her son’s shoulders and bends down to kiss the top of his head. I wonder if Bennett is recounting the story of his rocket getting stuck in the tree, and his dad lifting him up to retrieve it.