He should have taken her to Europe last summer. She was unhappy in the spring, despondent—well, they were all under a terrific strain at that time. And then she’d started volunteering at the hospital, and she’d seemed to come out of it and gradually became brighter again, more cheerful. Sometimes he’d catch her looking at herself in the mirror, straightening her shoulders, lifting her chin, tilting it this way and that. She’d always gone regularly to the gym, but then she bought new makeup, some new clothes to wear at the hospital. She started smiling more, humming while she washed the dishes. At first, he’d congratulated himself on not wasting the money on a trip to Europe after all—he doesn’t really like to travel. What a fool he was. And now she’s in love with someone else. Someone the police think murdered his own child. And he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying seeing her suffer. It’s a just punishment, isn’t it? For what she’s been doing?
When they go to church on Sundays, and he sits beside her in the pew, he doesn’t listen to the sermon anymore. Instead, he thinks about what’s going through her mind. Is she thinking about her lover? About what they do in that motel room? Is she asking the Lord for forgiveness? Does she feel guilty at all about the sin she’s committing?
Sometimes, beside her in church, he wonders if they’re both imagining the carnal activity that goes on in that motel room. Then he starts to look around the church and wonder how many of the women there are cheating on their husbands, and how many men are cheating on their wives, and still showing up at church every Sunday. He knows there is sin everywhere. He just didn’t think it was in his own house.
The truth is, Al has been afraid to confront her all these weeks because where his wife is concerned, he is a coward. He was afraid she would look at him, make a cool calculation, and decide that she’d rather leave him and get a divorce. They’d have to live apart and share the kids. She could continue to carry on seeing William Wooler and not have to bother with him. She’d probably be happier.
But now, Al thinks, maybe Wooler will end up going to prison for murder. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Al feels terrible about the little girl, but if this had to happen to anyone, he’s glad it’s happened to William Wooler. And Nora will learn an important lesson. The wages of sin is death. If the man she chose to fall in love with is a murderer, Al doubts his wife will ever cheat again.
The newscaster is now turning to the Avery Wooler disappearance, and Al directs his attention to the television. There’s footage of William Wooler coming out of the police station that afternoon, being accosted by media, looking shocked and haggard. Then a reporter standing live outside the police station, her hair blowing in the wind, says that a witness has come forward claiming to have seen Dr. William Wooler’s car entering his garage at approximately 4:00 p.m. the day before.
Al is surprised; this is new. They didn’t mention anything earlier about Wooler being home yesterday afternoon. They seemed to believe Avery had gone missing on the way home from school. If someone saw Wooler at the house that afternoon, that changes everything. He must have kept that from the police, and now he’s been found out. That must be why they’re treating the house as a crime scene.
He glances at his wife. She’s staring at the television, rigid, her face washed out in the pale light. He almost feels sorry for her. It must be hard, he thinks, realizing you’ve been sleeping with a murderer. That you’re in love with a monster.
* * *
? ? ?
Nora stares unblinking at the television. She’s so cold all of a sudden, as if all the warmth has gone out of the room. It can’t be true what they’re saying, that William was at home that afternoon. Why didn’t he tell them that in the first place, if it’s true? What’s going on here? William couldn’t have hurt his daughter. Not the William she knows.
She clenches her hands together in her lap, quietly panicking. She doesn’t want Al, sitting in the nearby chair, to see how much this upsets her. She’s almost convinced now that Al already knows about her and William, or at least suspects. The police will find his phone. The police might knock on her door any minute, wanting to talk to her. Al will know everything then. Never in all her worst imaginings of their affair being discovered did she imagine it unfolding like this.
If they come, what will she tell them? She won’t be able to deny the affair. But she can tell them the truth—she doesn’t believe for a minute that William harmed his daughter. She will defend him to her last breath. But her own life, at least as she knows it, will be over. What will happen to her? To her children? She will have destroyed her family, in the most shameful and scandalous way, and they will hate her for it.
Finally, she turns off the television and they go upstairs to bed. It’s not the first time that she wishes she and Al slept in separate bedrooms. For the second night in a row, she finds it hard to fall asleep, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, thinking about William. But this time she’s asking herself why he went to his house yesterday afternoon, and why he lied about it.
Sixteen
It’s late, and Gully should probably be at home, getting some much-needed sleep. But she’s called in at the station after being out with the search, trying to warm up with a hot chocolate, when Officer Weeks approaches her.
“Just had a call on the tip line,” he says. He seems excited. “Caller says she saw Avery get into a car at the end of the street yesterday, outside her house, where Connaught turns into Greenley, at about four thirty in the afternoon.”
Gully’s fatigue evaporates and her pulse begins to race. “She’s sure it was Avery?”
“Said she recognized her. Said she couldn’t see the driver but knew whose car it was. Belongs to a man who lives on the Woolers’ street.” He adds ruefully, “She wouldn’t give her name, and hung up on me.”
“Shit,” Gully says. Gully hates these anonymous callers. It could be a prank. But it could be a lead, and they need to check it out. Why did the woman wait so long to call? It’s been more than a day since Avery went missing. If the woman is telling the truth, she must be local, to have recognized whose car it was. She probably lives on the same long street.
Gully checks her watch. It’s after midnight, but she’d better call Bledsoe at home. “What’s the man’s name?” she asks Weeks.
“Ryan Blanchard.”
* * *
? ? ?
Nora is lying sleepless in bed, on her side, staring at the digital clock on her night table while Al snores loudly beside her. It’s 1:11 in the morning. When she hears the doorbell ring, she nearly jumps out of her skin. When it rings again, she quickly rises from the bed, pulling her robe on. Al is still sound asleep as she leaves the room. It’s the middle of the night. Who else could it be but the police?
She moves down the stairs in trepidation. She opens the front door and sees two people in plain clothes on her doorstep, a man and a woman, as the cold of the autumnal night creeps in. The man holds up his badge and introduces himself as Detective Bledsoe. She recognizes him from the television. She doesn’t catch his partner’s name, she’s too frightened for it to register. She holds her robe tight to her neck. She feels so vulnerable in her nightclothes.