“Mama?”
She turns around. “Sweetie, please, you have to go to sleep.”
But she crawls back in next to him, even though this violates one of her primary parenting rules, because she knows it’s the fastest way to ensure he’ll drift off.
Avery will be here in less than thirty minutes. Matthew still isn’t home. Marissa desperately wants the half glass of crisp white wine she left on the kitchen counter, which she intended to sip while she finished tidying up. She also needs to change out of the pants and top she wore all day and set out a pitcher of water and three glasses on the side table in the library, the spot she’s chosen for their session. Most important, she craves a few minutes to mentally prepare, to center herself for whatever this evening’s session will bring.
What will Avery think of their house? They moved in when Bennett was only a few months old, purchasing it after a builder razed two old, smaller homes to expand the property. He’d clear-cut towering oak and old maple trees and brought in a landscape architect to create a backyard oasis that featured multitiered decks, a pool and a hot tub surrounded by intricate stonework, and—Matthew’s favorite touch—a built-in grill and gorgeous gas fireplace with groupings of furniture beneath a pergola. They’d celebrated Bennett’s eighth birthday outside with a Star Wars–themed party. Matthew, wearing a Chewbacca mask, flipped burgers and hot dogs for the kids while Marissa served shrimp and veggie kebabs and negronis to the adults.
It’s an idyllic location, though that opinion isn’t shared by the neighbors, who tried to halt construction, even calling the police when bulldozers arrived to remove the trees. But the builder had secured the proper permits, and work proceeded.
The local paper published a small item after several neighbors filed a petition with the homeowners’ association. It would be easy to find, should Avery decide to look. Although Marissa and Matthew were identified as the purchasers of the new home, what the article neglected to mention was that they signed a contract after the demolition of the two old homes and mature trees. The destruction wasn’t done at their behest. Still, every time Marissa drives past one of the people whose names appeared on the petition, her stomach muscles tighten and she keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead.
Bennett rolls onto his side, releasing a little sigh, as Marissa’s hand begins to rub gentle circles on his back. Bennett is thinning out; he’s going through a growth spurt, and his shoulder blades feel pronounced yet delicate beneath her palm. Sometimes when she looks at him, she sees glimpses of his father; other times she recognizes touches of herself in his long lashes and high cheekbones.
He’s close to sleep; she can sense it.
A noise comes from downstairs. Her hand stills as she strains to listen, but there’s no alert chiming on her cell phone, or sound of the heavy front door shutting, or Matthew’s footsteps thudding up the stairs.
Only the wind, she thinks.
She steals a glance at her watch: 8:48. Twelve minutes until Avery arrives.
Where is Matthew?
Agitation roils within her body. She can’t face Avery alone. Plus, Avery made it abundantly clear that she won’t tolerate a lack of punctuality.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told Matthew about her disloyalty. Then this could have been an ordinary night, with her working on her laptop in bed while Matthew lingered at his business dinner. She could have greeted her husband with a quick kiss when he arrived home and continued selecting colors for handwoven silk scarves for Coco while he took off his suit and changed into boxers and a T-shirt in the walk-in closet. Some women wouldn’t have confessed; they’d talk to a therapist alone or confide in a friend. But when Marissa thought about the women in her life, there wasn’t anyone to whom she felt close enough to go to for advice.
Ever since the night of her betrayal, guilt had gnawed at Marissa; it was difficult to eat, concentrate, and sleep. She’d begun to busy herself with little tasks whenever she was around Matthew so she didn’t have to look him in the eye.
It was a partial confession, though. She hasn’t told Matthew everything. She can’t.
Is it truly over with the other man? Avery had asked.
I know I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t stop thinking about our night, he’d texted.
Marissa will never touch him again. That part of her vow she can keep.
But she won’t—she can’t—exist without ever seeing him again.
Marissa slowly counts to sixty, then gets out of Bennett’s bed again. She finally catches a break; he’s asleep.