40. Alice Backfired
Alice Backfired
I don’t know when the anxiety started, exactly. It certainly intensified after Jeremy died. I’d wake up in the night, sweating, panting after having dreams of trying to save him, of that moment he stepped onto the gondola to go up the mountain, the last minute I ever saw him. What if I had kissed him goodbye one more time, and he had missed the ride? What if, instead of veering left at the top of the mountain, he had veered right? Had he fallen? Hit his head? Died right away? Had he screamed for help, suffered, suffocated? I always felt like that was closure I needed, but, then again, maybe knowing would only have made it worse.
That said, this feeling of being followed wasn’t a new one, I thought as I walked down the beach, trying to clear my head. Neither was the idea that every time I went to church, every time I did a good deed, I was working off a little bit of my sin. Or, in a larger sense, that maybe I was making people see that all those things they said about me weren’t true. I often wondered: If they knew just how much it hurt, would they continue?
If I looked deep down, maybe that was the impetus for starting the mommune. Certainly, I did want to help my niece and her kids. And I wanted to help sweet Merit and Emma. But I also wanted the town to see how kind I was, how giving, that I hadn’t killed my husbands for their insurance money or whatever they thought. How could a woman who opened her home to people in need do that?
But then, of course, that had backfired. And rumors about the sinister things going on within our four walls started.
I climbed the steps from the beach and opened the door. I put Charlotte’s phone back in our storage spot and grabbed my own.
“Hello!” I called as I walked inside. No answer. Grace must be at the grocery store. She went to the grocery store every day. I was a make-a-list-and-go-once-and-get-it-over-with kind of shopper—well, back when I used to do the shopping. I guessed that was another thing I’d have to get used to doing on my own again.
I went upstairs and walked into my bedroom, glancing at the church bulletin in the corner of my mirror. Today had soothed me. When people found out, when people knew I had not retaliated against Bill when I found out that he had stolen more than half of my last husband’s money, the money I had invested with him—no, the money I had begged to invest with him—surely they would see how giving I was and it would clear my name. Bill was a New York broker with a big reputation. He was notoriously hard to get in with, so when he called saying that someone I was certain I didn’t actually know had suggested he call me, I had jumped at the chance to become one of his only Juniper Shores clients; I had even boasted about it to friends. I had felt so proud that the famous Bill Sitterly had deemed me worthy of his skills.
Man, that had backfired. But I had done nothing. I had remained calm in the face of losing what was most of my retirement. Not only that, but I had taken in Bill’s wife and child. Surely people would see that, and I would be vindicated. I couldn’t wait for that day.
I put my shoes in my closet, trying to ignore what I had seen on Charlotte’s phone. It wasn’t like I didn’t know my first father-in-law had a hedge fund. It wasn’t like every now and then I didn’t google Jeremy’s parents to see what was going on in their lives. Over the years, they had started a scholarship in Jeremy’s name, named a tennis court for him at a park, had a tree lit at the hospital in his honor. Never once had they invited me to celebrate and remember him. That hurt almost as much as losing him. Why had they just abandoned me?
But what I couldn’t figure out now was why someone had sent Charlotte Dan’s fund information. Did they know each other? And, if so, did Dan know Charlotte was living with me? Was Dan up to something? I decided that I needed to put those thoughts aside. Grace had offered, but maybe I would go pick the little girls up from school. Nothing brightened my day quite like their three cheerful voices chittering and chattering about every detail of their days.
As I came down the stairs, anxious to text Grace to tell her, I heard a knock on the back door. I didn’t even think; I just opened it, wide and fast and free like the world had never hurt me, like I’d never been a victim, like I’d never been tricked or taken advantage of. I was used to the safety of all these people under one roof; I was used to knowing that I had somewhere to turn.
Did I recognize the man at the door instantly? I’m honestly not sure. But what I do know for certain is that, the minute I saw him, the world went black.
I don’t know how long it was before I realized that I was on the floor, how long it was before I willed myself to scream. But I trusted him, didn’t I? Was I sick? Was I dead? I had a vague notion that a man’s hands were trying to lift me up.
But that could just be the dreams again. Some days I had to stay in that other world to get by. Some days I had to tell myself lies to get out of bed. When you live like that, sometimes it’s hard to know what’s just another figment of your imagination and what’s the truth.
“Alice,” a voice I would have known anywhere said. It was gravelly and deep with a touch of Southern drawl. It was a voice I heard often in my dreams. But right now, for some reason, I didn’t want to sink into it, didn’t want to stay with it.
“Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up,” I said three times out loud, as if I were Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz . If that didn’t work, maybe I should try There’s no place like home next. I was looking up at the ceiling, trying to avoid the face that was so close to mine, the minty breath, the scent of salt and musk that I remembered somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind. Because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
“Alice, you’re awake. You have to believe me. You are awake already. I know it must be kind of a shock, but this is happening.”
I shook my head back and forth, my skull pressing into the hardwood. “It’s not happening because you are dead!” I screeched the word dead a little louder than I meant to. I searched my mind for explanations. One thing was clear: Jeremy wasn’t alive. So, either I was asleep, I was dead, or this was an impersonator who looked a lot like him.
But as he pulled me into a sitting position, he said, “You did it, Al. You bought our house. I can’t believe it.” He put his hand over his heart. I had never told anyone that we had dreamed of buying this house together.
As he pulled me into him, as I felt my body go limp with fear and dread and maybe a little relief, I knew it was him. Every cell in my body recognized that this was Jeremy, my love, my husband, the one I had pined for every day for eighteen years. “I love you,” he said in my ear. I realized he was crying. “I’ve loved you all this time, and I’ve been counting down the moments until I could come back here to get you.”
“Jeremy,” I whispered, breathing him in. I closed my eyes to savor the smell of him, the feel of him, his beating heart, his living body. Maybe I couldn’t reconcile what was happening, but all the same, tears of relief poured down my face. This was obviously a dream, but it was a good one; it was a dream I wanted to stay inside of.
I grasped his shirtsleeves, balling them in my hands, trying to figure out whether he was actually flesh and blood and here.
I pulled away. This was completely inexplicable. I was torn because I wanted to relish the feel of him, the sound of him, but I needed answers. It was too much to handle. “I don’t understand. You died. In an avalanche. I was there. I was at your funeral. I have cried and mourned you for eighteen years.” I paused. “Your mother and I send each other flowers every year on the day of your death and your birthday. You are dead, Jeremy.”
He shook his head. “Oh, Mom. So dramatic.”
It wasn’t dramatic for a mother to remember her son’s birth and death days. Finding my strength, feeling like I needed to be in a position of power, I stood up, still weak and woozy. Weak and woozy but undeniably awake. It wasn’t dramatic for a mother to do that unless… “Your mother knew you were alive.” Not a question.
He stood up too and tried to pull me back to him, but I pushed away. He scratched his chin. “Well, baby, see, I was in a little bit of trouble. I got mixed up in some bad deals with some bad guys, and this was the only way we could figure to get me out of it. You understand.”
I was aghast. “I what? No, I’m sorry. I do not understand .” I paused, thinking. “Jeremy, that avalanche was real. Other people died in it.”
I hated how gleeful he looked. “I know! I couldn’t have planned it any better. We weren’t planning for me to disappear that day, but it was the perfect out.” He hesitated. “Look,” he said, “I will explain everything later. But for right now, we need to go. I have a plan. We can restart our lives together.”
Now I was really confused. “What are you talking about?”
He put his hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I’m just so excited to see you that I’m jumping all over the place.” He wrapped me in his arms again and planted a kiss on my lips. I was so unsuspecting that I let him. “There’s so much to do, Al. We can get our life back.”
We can get our life back . The idea was so tempting. For the briefest second, I could pretend that we were picking up where we left off, that I was a new bride, and I was finally going to get my happily-ever-after with the man I had fallen head over heels for when I was just a girl. So, no, maybe he hadn’t exactly been the man I thought he was. But who was when you got right down to it? Weren’t we all different from what we seemed?
Even in my haze, I thought of Elliott. Thinking of him gave me pause. I wasn’t in a rational enough head space to think clearly about what Jeremy being alive meant for me, for our future, for what came next. But rational or no, I did have the feeling that I didn’t want to be apart from Elliott. Then again, if Jeremy was really back, wouldn’t I have to at least try to make things work with him? I was so confused. And surely I’m dreaming. Right?
Jeremy took my hand and led me over to the dining room table. We both sat down. He looked around and said, “Wow. You really did it, babe. I just wish we could stay here.”
I took a deep breath. Focus, Alice . It was starting to occur to me that a man who had faked his death and had obviously been in hiding for nearly two decades was maybe not stable. Not even stable-ish. I needed to get him out of here—but my curiosity got the better of me. And, even more than that, I had pined for this man for most of my adult life. I loved him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t just walk away now.
“And why can’t we stay here?”
“Well, we’re going to have to leave the country.” He did this little half-snort. “I’m technically dead, if you hadn’t heard.”
“Where will we go?” I asked. I obviously wasn’t going anywhere with him. But as it was sinking in that he was actually here, I was beginning to be afraid of him. I needed to keep him here. Someone would come home eventually. Someone could help. If I got in a car with him…
“Panama,” he said. “We’ll eventually get you a new identity, but you’re fine for now.”
He said it like this was just so ordinary, like I was going to say, Sure, honey, I’d love to hop a plane to another country and change my identity . Well, if he’d been doing this for the past two decades, maybe it did feel ordinary to him. The thought sent a shiver up my spine. I had to stall. I couldn’t leave this house with him. Who knew what he was capable of?
“So where have you been all this time?” I asked as breezily as I could muster. “Panama?”
“Panama for a bit, the Caymans, Brazil.” He paused. “It worked pretty well because I was able to get a new identity—passport, the works—and manage offshore accounts for my dad.”
That was when the nausea set in. Dan Isaacs and Capstone and Charlotte and Bill were swirling around in my head. Jeremy was the missing connector here. I just couldn’t figure out exactly how.
“Have you been home to Juniper Shores at all?”
“I’ve been back now and then, yeah. Mostly because I was dying to see you.”
Recognition washed over me. “So I’m not crazy! I have been seeing you!”
He laughed and reached out for my hand. I wanted to snatch it away, but I couldn’t quite say why. Hadn’t I dreamed that this impossibility was somehow possible? And now, here we were. “Sorry about that.” He grimaced. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Al. Seeing you with other men hurt.”
I squinted at him. I wanted to say, I planned your funeral , but I didn’t want to get off track. “So you’ve been working for your dad?” I asked like we were estranged lovers just catching up.
“Yeah. But, well…” He bit his lip.
And suddenly, a switch flipped inside me. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t that kind, sandy-haired kid I’d fallen in love with. Maybe he never had been what he seemed. But a couple of decades and a lot of life experience had lent me the clarity to see that whatever was going on here wasn’t okay. And I needed to know every detail of it.
This was a part I had to play. I reached out and took his hand. “Jer-bear, you can tell me anything. You know that. I’m your safe place.”
I used to say this to him when we were kids, when we were just starting out. The words soured in my mouth now. I was trying not to be sick.
“Well, I might be in a little trouble, babe. And I need to get out of here before my dad finds out.”
That was when I knew for sure: whatever Bill Sitterly was in prison for was actually Jeremy’s fault. All the threads of my life were joining together, crossing. The patterns were repeating, the layers folding in on themselves. Somehow, even though I thought I’d moved so far past Jeremy and that life, he was back here. He was, quite possibly, responsible for this new chapter. I didn’t know how to fix it, how to make it right. So for now, I would ask as many questions as I could. I would remember every detail. And I might just free Bill after all.