Sweet Little Lies

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“Excuse me,” says the woman behind the shoe counter, her voice tinged with hesitation. “Ma’am?”

I snap back to attention. “Yes?”

I realize I have zoned out, staring at the wall of carefully arranged shoes behind the counter. The lack of sleep is catching up to me, fogging my normally sharp brain. I barely slept last night, tossing and turning as flashes of red hair invaded my dreams. Reese. She’s all I can think about. Dating my ex-boyfriend, flirting with my husband.

I also can’t shake that annoying feeling that Tucker has a thing for her. I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to dispel the thought. He said it last night: I’m marrying you, Charlotte. I love you. But it just doesn’t feel like the words are enough to convince me.

When I woke up alone, I realized the only thing that would make me feel any better was some retail therapy. I still needed shoes for Friday’s rehearsal dinner, so I decided to head into Charleston. So here I am staring into space as the saleswoman wraps up the most beautiful pair of strappy pearlescent heels I could find. I should be delighted, the rush of a new purchase flowing through my veins. Instead, I’m staring at the wall, my eyes glazed over.

“I’m sorry, your credit card has been declined,” she explains, her big, brown almond eyes meeting mine apologetically.

What? That can’t be right. My stomach clenches. “Run it again,” I demand, my voice tight. I glance over my shoulder at the woman waiting behind me. She’s looking down at her phone, but I know she heard everything.

“I’m sorry, it’s been declined again,” the clerk says softly.

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “There must be a problem. I’m sure it’s just…I’ll have to call my bank.” I open my bag with trembling hands. Thankfully, I have just enough cash to pay for the shoes. I place a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the counter, my face burning with embarrassment. I keep my eyes downcast as I rush out the front door.

As soon as I’m out on the street and out of earshot, I call my mother. We share a credit card tied to our family trust, so she must know why I’d be declined.

“Mother?” I say as soon as she picks up, my voice strained.

“Yes, dear, what is it? I’m in the middle of?—”

I cut her off, my words tumbling out in a rush. “My credit card was just declined at the boutique. What’s going on? Why was it declined?”

My mother lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh dear, don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m having lunch with Lucinda Caldwell. You know, Zach’s mother?”

I roll my eyes. Of course, Mother loves the Caldwell family and continues to have lunch with Lucinda once a month, even though Zach and I broke up years ago. Clearly now is not the time to discuss our financial troubles. We don’t need Lucinda spreading any gossip about the Spencer family trust issues.

“Yes, I know who she is, Mother. Tell her I said hello,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Call me as soon as you’re done, okay?”

I thrust the phone back into my bag and head to my car, my mind racing. Something’s up with Mother. As if the stress of the wedding isn’t enough, she seems to be stretching our finances to the brink of bankruptcy. Yet again. I bite my lip. I need to get this wedding over with so I can have some breathing room. I’ve been under her thumb my whole life, the trust fund hanging over my head like a dark cloud. Tucker has already agreed to give me a generous monthly allowance, so I won’t need the family money anyway. She can have it, to spend how she wishes.

And if Mother spends everything we inherit? She’s on her own.

The frustration with my mother churns in my stomach, and I realize I’ve hardly eaten anything since morning. I decide to stop at Gordon’s Gourmet just outside of Somerville to grab a quick salad and an iced tea. I park my car half a block down the street and walk up to the front door of the deli. A man holds the door open for me, and I slip inside, my eyes fixed on the display case of food. But something catches my attention from across the room—a flash of red hair, just like in my dreams last night.

I look over to the corner of the deli and stop cold. There, sitting at a tiny bistro table and leaning toward each other, are Tucker and Reese . Their knees are practically touching under the table and their heads are bent in conversation. He’s smiling at her, that same easy grin that used to be reserved only for me. And she’s laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm in a gesture that’s far too familiar for my liking.

My vision blurs with tears. They look like a couple. Like two people in love, sharing a secret joke. I stumble back from the counter, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Why is he here? Having lunch with her?

I can’t let them see me, so I turn on my heel and barrel toward the door. When I reach the sidewalk, I dare a glance over my shoulder. They are still there, talking to each other as if I don’t exist. This can’t be happening. My breath becomes ragged, and my heart pounds so hard that it feels like it may come out my ears.

He can’t be cheating on me. Not days before our wedding.

No. No. No.

I race to my car, desperate for a place to hide. Once inside, I press my forehead on the leather of my steering wheel. Maybe I just imagined it. I mean, I barely slept last night. And I haven’t been taking my anti-anxiety meds because I want to get pregnant as soon as the wedding is over. In fact, I hoped it would happen on our honeymoon. My doctor said it was okay, as long as I felt I could handle the stress.

But this? This is more than stress. This is my life being turned upside down. I feel myself panting again, and a sharp pain sears my chest. I turn on the car and blast the air conditioning. I try to take some breaths—four seconds in, hold seven seconds, eight seconds out.

Nothing helps.

I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head, that I’m reading too much into an innocent interaction, but I know deep down that I’m not. That the connection between Tucker and Reese is real, and it’s been growing right under my nose. How could I have been so blind?

I sit behind the wheel, my tears flowing freely now, my body racked with sobs. This can’t be how it ends , I think, my heart breaking into a million pieces. I can’t lose him, not like this.

Suddenly I spot the two of them leaving the deli. Tucker opens the door for her and she glides out, a wide grin on her face. She tips her head to the side as they chat on the sidewalk. Tucker leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Even from behind the glass of my car, I see her blush. It’s written all over her face. She’s in love with him.

I lean down in my car, careful to hide my face from view. Once the two of them are gone, I sit back up. I’m spiraling now, and my head feels light. Tucker has been so distant…and now I know why. It’s all because of her.

My eyes linger on the glove box of my car. I keep a set of razors in there, just in case. I mean, I never really planned on using them, but having them right within reach and not using them makes me feel like I’m in control. But any control I felt before is gone.

I reach over to the glove box with a shaky hand and pull out the little pink envelope. Inside is a shiny set of flat metal razors. As the light catches on the silver metal, I think of Tucker, my Tucker , in the arms of another woman. And I know it’s my fault. I wasn’t enough.

Despite looking the part, acting the part, giving him every bit of love I had, it wasn’t enough. I stare at the blade. The urge to hurt myself, to punish myself for not being enough, is too strong to resist.

I pull up my skirt and press the blade on the middle of my thigh, watching with detached fascination as the blood wells up in thin, crimson lines. The pain is sharp and immediate, a welcome distraction from the agony in my heart. I deserve this, I think as I make another cut, and then another. I deserve to suffer for being so stupid, so blind.

After a few minutes, I let out a huge sigh of relief. There, that’s better. I wipe the blade with a tissue and tuck it back into the envelope. It’s just enough to take the edge off. But as the initial rush fades, a wave of shame crashes over me. Years of resistance, undone in a moment of weakness. I suddenly feel sick, disgusted with myself . How could I fall back into this old habit so easily?

Despite the conflicting emotions, I force myself to start thinking about my next steps. If I’m going to save this wedding, I need to act carefully. I push aside the feelings of self-loathing and try to focus on what’s ahead. I’m going to need help from someone I can trust. And that’s a short list. I pull up my phone and reluctantly dial my mother.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice coming out like a squeak.

“Hello, dear. Is this about the credit card? Because?—”

“No, Mom, it’s—” I say, interrupting her. The calm I felt only a moment ago begins to evaporate. Before I can stop myself, I feel the tears coming again.

“Oh, my child, what is it?”

“It’s Tucker,” I say between sobs. “I think he’s having an affair.”