A Year Later
A YEAR LATER
Marcus comes into the room and offers me a mojito with fresh mint from the garden and garnished with a lime from a tree in our yard.
“Thanks, babe.” I take the drink from him and aim the remote at the TV. “I kind of want to play it again.”
Marcus laughs. “Twice wasn’t enough? Anyway, aren’t you meeting Aimee in South Beach?”
“No, I changed my mind. We’re meeting at La Mar. I want to show her the best of what Miami has to offer. But you’re right. I should go shower.” I take a big sip of the drink and kiss Marcus deeply. “It went well, though, didn’t it? I mean, I seemed sympathetic, right?”
“It rocked. You sounded great, and you looked hot.”
My eyes shift past him to the azure waters of Biscayne Bay. Great and hot were not adjectives Anton would ever have used for me. If he had seen my interview on Dateline , if he had read my book, he would have offered hours’ worth of analysis. Is it weird that I wish my dead husband could read the book I wrote about his murder, so we might have an intelligent discussion? No, I don’t think so. We always want what we don’t have.
I take my drink up the floating staircase to the main bedroom. The house I share with Marcus is huge, big enough for all three kids to have their separate spaces, although Rafi and George still insist on sharing a room. Anton’s life insurance paid for it, and thanks to my book’s success, and the speaking fees I can command, I won’t ever have to work in a PR firm again.
Some might think it’s gross that Marcus and I are together. But spouse swapping is not as odd as it sounds. It happens sometimes when couples socialize a lot together—they fall for each other’s others. It’s a story as old as time. There was that Canadian country singer, Shania Twain. When she found out her husband was cheating on her with her best friend, Shania ended up marrying the other woman’s husband.
“I am actually grateful for what I’ve gone through and wouldn’t change a thing,” she wrote in her autobiography From This Moment On .
“We slowly became very, very good friends,” she had told a talk show host about her new husband. “We had many months of just trying to make sense of everything.”
You could sort of say the same thing about Marcus and me. We were both stunned and devastated by Lisa and Anton cheating on us. At least something good has come out of the whole debacle. He really is my rock, in a way that Anton never was.
And now, I am finally getting to see my best friend for the first time in almost a year. My favorite person.
When I arrive, Aimee is already seated at an outdoor table overlooking the water and the sun setting over the Miami skyline. I would be able to spot her a mile away. With her slightly frizzy brown curls, her freckled skin, and blue cotton shirtdress, she stands out among the deeply tanned and the scantily clad.
“Oh my God!” I squeal, and she jumps up when I get close. She gives me a hug and then pulls back, holding me at arm’s distance to examine me.
“My gosh, Gwen, you look ten years younger.”
“Do I? It’s living by the water, I swear.” I sit down. It’s being free, is what I really mean. Not under Anton’s spell, not under my mother’s thumb. That and a few units of Botox.
“I’m so glad you came down,” I say. “I wasn’t sure if you really would.”
“Of course. It’s been way too long. I’ve been meaning to come earlier, but I’m here now.”
The waitress comes by, a slinky feline of a girl in a napkin-sized skirt and a tube top.
“Two pisco sours,” I tell her, winking at Aimee. “And let’s start with some conchitas and the cebiche clasico. Thanks!” Once the waitress is gone, I turn my full attention on Aimee. “The food here is to die for. I hope you don’t mind that I’m ordering for us.” I’m already buzzed from the two mojitos that Marcus made earlier, but I’m all nerves. I’ve missed Aimee so much. It’s so much more fun to celebrate your wins with your best friend. But I know the last year has been tough on her, and I’ve tried not to push. I’m hoping that her being here means life is back on track for her.
“So, how are you and Scott doing?”
“We’re taking it slow,” she says. “He still has his own place. The trial starts next month, and he’ll have to fly back to California to testify, of course. The kids love living near the Chesapeake Bay. And Noa is thriving in her new school. They are so good at supporting neurodivergent kids.”
“You must be so relieved that he doesn’t have to do any prison time.”
“I am. We both are.” Aimee leans back to allow the waitress to put down the drinks.
I hold mine aloft. “Cheers!”
We clink glasses.
“To your book. Such a success!” she says.
We each take a big sip. “Good, right?”
“Mmm.” She nods in agreement. “I knew you had once wanted to be a writer, back before you worked in PR. But a whole book? Now, that’s impressive.”
“What, you thought Anton was the only one with talent?”
“No, it’s just a lot of work.”
“Between you and me, I hired someone, this quasi-successful thriller writer from Bethesda, to ghostwrite the thing. I mean, I gave her notes and lots of random pages, but she put it all together using articles and police reports. Stuff like that.” I think back on some of the suggestions that she gave me, and some of the changes she thought I should make. “She helped me see that I had to make myself look bad at some points. I mean, exaggerate some stuff, you know, just to make it more believable. People don’t like reading about perfect characters.”
“Makes sense. Will you sign it for me while I’m in Miami? I have a copy in my hotel.”
“Of course. Duh.”
Aimee takes another sip of her drink. “Some of the things you changed, right?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, you can’t really know that Lisa thought any of those things—about losing my friendship or being jealous of you.”
“I sensed it, you know? It was intuition.”
“And what you wrote about her sleeping with her college roommate’s boyfriend, was that true?”
I shrug. “Poetic license. People like an over-the-top villain. And it turns out you can’t slander the dead. Anyway, you can’t hold that against me. The bitch was sleeping with my husband.”
“True.” Aimee laughs. “Yet, you also wrote things from my perspective, and you couldn’t have known what I was thinking or feeling.”
“I did my best, Aimee.” I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I hope I didn’t upset you. I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship. This project was like therapy for me. I mean, it literally saved my life.”
“Oh, well, having my life put on display for the world to see… Why would I be upset?” She laughs again. “The only thing is, a couple of details left me confused.”
“Well, it’s fictionalized.”
“That’s not it.”
“Hmmm?”
“Like the journal, the one you found that had all of Anton’s interviews with Cathy Stocker in it? In the book, you say you left it at the house in Frederick when we went to confront Scott’s mom.”
“That’s right.”
“But you didn’t. You didn’t leave it there. I saw you take it.”
I blink twice. “I guess I thought it was more dramatic that way.”
“Right. Except why would that be more dramatic? So, I started thinking, why else would Gwen write that?” She snaps her fingers. “Because she wanted to explain why she couldn’t produce that journal later on. After all, I never saw it with my own eyes. You read to me from it in the car, but I didn’t see it.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just that I don’t really know what was in it. Or in whose handwriting.”
My heart starts to thump. “You’re so clever and quick. I miss you so much. These airheads down here.” I look around the restaurant, which is filling up. “Remember what it was like on Nassau when it was just our two families? I mean, before Lisa and Marcus moved in?”
Aimee nods. “Those were fun times.”
“We shared everything. SAGA time! Right? I still have my #SAGA T-shirt. I don’t wear it, of course, it might upset Marcus. There’s no ‘M’ in SAGA. But it was amazing. It was crazy that you and me both had twins. It was like fate, we were meant to be friends.”
“I thought it was interesting that you switched that in the book. You had Lisa and Marcus be the ones who were there first, when they were actually the ones who moved in later.”
“Oh, well, I thought it added to the story.” What did Aimee ever see in Lisa, anyway? She was tacky and loud and vulgar. But everyone thought she was funny and sexy like a cut-rate Sophia Vergara. I cringe at the memory of Anton practically drooling over Lisa when we first met in Aimee’s backyard. Her boobs falling out of her top like that. I knew he wanted her, but I didn’t think Lisa would take him up on it.
“Gwen, you were the one who wrote in that notebook, weren’t you? Those interviews with Cathy Stocker that you read to me,” she says. “It was your handwriting, wasn’t it?”
“Does it matter?” I can feel myself letting my guard down. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the thrill of having someone I can talk to. Aimee was there. She understands.
Aimee shrugs. “Maybe not. But it means that you were the one who was interviewing Cathy Stocker.”
“What’s the point of all this?”
“Curiosity. I want to know the truth.”
“Really? The last time you went in search of the truth, you found out your husband was a fugitive who had robbed a drug dealer.”
Silence, and then Aimee bursts out laughing. I join her. “Oh, Gwen, I miss you so damn much!”
My heart sings. There’s nothing better than Aimee’s laugh. “Me, too.”
“Did you cook up this whole thing yourself? I mean, were you the one?” She grins slyly. “I mean, Anton? Lisa? They’re not the brightest bulbs.”
“What, you don’t see Anton doing investigative journalism?” I giggle. “Well, he wasn’t Bob fucking Woodward, that’s for sure. He was so lazy.”
“So you did. Good for you!” Aimee raises her glass. “Men can be so disappointing sometimes.”
“Yeah? So you’re not mad about Scott?”
“No, I’m grateful that you found all this out. You’re a true friend. You were doing it to help me, right?”
“Yes!” I can feel tears of joy warming my eyes. “Thank you. I’m so glad you see it like that. You have no idea how anxious I’ve been about seeing you. I’ve always wanted to tell you, but things got so freaking out of hand.”
“Did Lisa or Anton have anything to do with the blackmailing at all?”
“No. They were in la-la land screwing each other. I’m the one who sent the original email to Scott from American University. Anton had no clue, not until the day he found my notebook. We got in a huge fight about it. I had to tell him what was going on. He got so self-righteous with me, I couldn’t believe it. That was the day we went to dinner at your place, and I heard him warn you. We got in a huge fight when we got home.”
“But how did you, you know…? I mean, there was Anton’s blood on Lisa’s car.”
I laugh. “Oh my God, I didn’t kill him. Did you think I killed Anton? No, I didn’t do that. The police would have been all over me. They were all over me!”
“You mean Lisa did kill him? But why, if they weren’t blackmailing Scott?”
I shake my head. I want to tell her, but it’s not my secret to tell. “I can’t tell you.”
“Please, Gwen, I’m dying here.” Aimee groans. Her hand goes to her neck, where she toys with the top button of her dress. Her skin is mottled pink, like it always gets when she drinks. She’s such a lightweight. “You can tell me. The case is closed. There’s nothing the police can do now.”
“Well, what can I say? I wanted to kill the bastard when I found out he was cheating on me, again. But I couldn’t. Then one night in the spring, I was walking Sababa, and Marcus was coming back from some event. He walked with me, and we just started confiding in each other. At first, we were just friends, two spouses being wronged, offering each other support. But then it grew into something else.” I shrug, letting her fill in the blanks.
“You and Marcus, all the way back then? I had no idea.”
“We were very careful. Marcus, poor guy, he felt so betrayed. Humiliated. I mean, so did I, but it wasn’t my first time being cheated on. He was really devastated. Neither one of us wanted a divorce. He would have lost millions. We decided to help each other out. I’d take care of Lisa, and you know…”
“He’d take care of Anton. Wow. That’s brilliant, Gwen.”
“The night Anton and me got in a fight? When he went to your house, I knew it had to be then. I was waiting at the door when Scott walked Anton back over. He was shit-faced. He started blabbering about how he was going to go to Villain & Saint and find Scott and tell him everything. I went straight to Marcus as soon as he left and told him he had to stop him. I remember saying, tonight’s the night .”
“So he took Lisa’s car to Villain & Saint? And he ran Anton down?”
I shrug. “I guess. I wasn’t there.”
“And Lisa? The night she came to your house?”
My skin begins to feel itchy. Something is off. “Why are you asking so many questions about the past?”
“Like I said, I want to know the truth, that’s all.”
The waitress arrives with our food and places it on the table.
“Do you ladies know what you’d like for dinner, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“A few more minutes,” I say, draining my glass. “And another round of these.”
Once she’s gone, Aimee pushes the plate of conchitas away from her. “It looks good, but I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be that way.”
She unbuttons the top of her dress, reaches inside, and pulls out a small black microphone, which she tosses on the table.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, recoiling.
“I think they call that a wire, Gwen.” From the table behind her, I can see a well-dressed couple stand and head toward us. To my right, I also see two uniformed police officers weaving through the crowd.
“How could you trick me like this?” I hiss. “We’re friends.”
“Don’t be mad,” she says, lifting her chin in defiance. “Just think what a great ending to your next book this will be. After all, your readers deserve to know.”
(THE ACTUAL END)