“Unlike you.”
Matthew smiles, a proud, proprietorial smile. “Yeah, unlike me.” He leans forward. “You know, it’s a shame he hasn’t dated anyone seriously in a while. He’s the one I set up with Natalie, but they didn’t click. He’s a great guy. And I know he really wants kids.”
I cast back in my memory for what Marissa had said about the setup: that Natalie wasn’t interested in Skip because she wanted Matthew. What a strange gathering that must have been.
Marissa returns with a stack of three glasses, followed closely by Skip, who holds a cobalt-blue water pitcher. Instead of letting Marissa fill up a glass and give it to her husband, Skip does so.
Marissa sits back down—a little farther from Skip than before, and closer to me—and crosses her arms around her waist.
“Thanks, buddy.” Matthew is still the picture of ease.
“How are things going at Coco?” Skip asks, turning toward Marissa.
While she answers, I look at Matthew. If he is at all bothered by the way Skip is attending to his wife, he doesn’t show it.
For the next twenty minutes or so, the conversation ranges from the killer arm of the new pitcher of the Nationals baseball team to the weather to the top executive at Howard University who is considering a run for Congress. I join in enough to make it seem as if I were a full participant, nodding at the correct moments, and laughing along with everyone else when Matthew cracks a joke about politicians.
All the while, I’m cataloging clues being revealed in body language, word choices, and vocal tones. Earlier tonight, all I wanted was to get Marissa alone. But I no longer need the information I came here to retrieve.
Marissa’s sudden intake of breath causes my head to twist.
She’s staring at a stack of children’s games on the coffee table. They look brand-new in their plastic packaging.
“Bennett talked me into buying those when we were at Child’s Play,” Matthew comments. “We thought we’d have family game night.”
Marissa nods, but the motion seems mechanical. If she was anxious before, now she seems completely spooked.
I look at the games: Pictionary, Scattergories, and a kid’s version of Truth or Dare cards. What could possibly have triggered that reaction in her?
Marissa lifts a shaking hand to her mouth to conceal a yawn.
The gesture seems fake. She’s clearly trying to end the evening, but is it because of her discomfort with Skip, or something else?
Every single person here is concealing something, I realize. The velvety, expensive wine, attractive decor, and friendly conversation can’t mask the truth: ugly, explosive secrets are swirling around inside this room.
Still, I pretend to take the hint. It’s time to break up this little party; I want to talk to Skip alone.
“I’m always wiped out after a massage, too,” I tell Marissa. “And I must be keeping you all from your dinner. Thanks for the drink.”
I stand up, assuming Skip will do the same. Especially since Matthew indicated earlier that Skip was a surprise guest, too.
Skip remains on the couch, sipping his wine, the red wine he’d supposedly developed a recent allergy to. “Nice to meet you, Avery.”
Marissa looks at me, and I can see anguish in her eyes.
I need to decide if I’m going to save her from this situation or leave her to flounder.
The last thing Marissa wants is to be left alone with her husband and his old friend.
The one I’m now certain she betrayed Matthew with.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MARISSA
MARISSA FEELS AS IF she is struggling through a swamp; the air around her is heavy and oppressive, and her limbs are leaden.
She knew something horrible would happen tonight. And it has.
First Avery confronted her outside her home demanding to talk. And then when she pulled open the door, there stood Skip. Skip, whom she wasn’t supposed to see until Monday, when Avery would provide her with the magical elixir to fix everything.
Skip’s presence in her house—beside her on the couch, close enough for her to smell his aftershave—is almost too much for her to bear.
Does Matthew suspect?
She steals a glance at her husband, who is telling a joke about politicians, gesturing with both hands and smiling broadly. This is their home. They created it together, not only with bricks and mortar, but by building layers of memories. They chart Bennett’s growth on the door of his closet in different-colored markers every year. They play board games, assemble puzzles, and watch movies in this very room; they’ve shared tears and hurt feelings and hugs.