Chapter 15 #2
Whatever gossip was circulating, I blocked it out. How could I not?
But it wouldn’t have taken Meg much effort to get the whole story .
I’m not sure how to feel about that. Though I’ve done my best to chip away at the shame that’s calcified my heart, it’s there. Especially in moments like this.
“Doesn’t matter.” I step back.
With a sigh, she shifts sideways into the seat.
I shut the door and climb behind the wheel. Both of us roll down our windows, filling the cab with the fragrant afternoon breeze.
We’re nearing the end of Agate Beach Drive when Meg says, “It was our wedding anniversary. I was going to surprise Russel. He was flying a charter to San Diego, then he had a layover, so I got the time off, made reservations for dinner, and flew down there. It was tricky to keep it a secret. I kept thinking he was going to find out.”
The wind whips loose tendrils of her hair about her sun-kissed cheeks.
“Turns out I wasn’t the only one with a secret.
I went to his hotel and waited in the bar.
I was going to text him once he checked in, but I waited an hour, then two, and he didn’t show.
At first, I was worried. What if he’d been in a car accident on the way to the hotel?
So I checked his location, but he’d turned off tracking.
He finally texted me with a lie saying the charter got cancelled and he was back in Seattle.
That was when I knew something was going on. ”
I grip the wheel. Anger coils inside me, hot and slippery.
“I sat there in denial, nursing my iced tea,” she says, squinting at some distant point beyond the blur of passing trees outside the window. “But it dawned on me that it wasn’t the first time he’d been unreachable or had an excuse to not call when he was flying to San Diego.”
My thoughts spin back to that blue silk nightgown in the bottom of her pajama drawer. Could that have been in her suitcase for this surprise event turned disaster? And here I was, imagining her wearing it for my benefit.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She tugs a stray tendril of her hair from her lips and tucks it behind her ear. “Our jobs provide a great cover. We get delayed all the time. Plans change.”
I coast my truck into a parking lot and kill the engine.
She glances at me, surprised.
I turn to her. “I’m so sorry, Meg.”
“I wish I had figured it out sooner.”
“That kind of thinking will get you nowhere.” I run a hand through my hair as my own memories flicker to life. “Did you confront him?”
She sags against the seat. “Not…then. I was hurting, and I didn’t know what to do.”
I want to pull her into my arms. Even though I’m too late to make this all better, I want her to know that she’s not alone.
“So, you planned this sweet, thoughtful surprise. And then you got your heart flayed open. On your fucking anniversary. A day he should have been focusing on you . Making you feel loved and appreciated. What did you do once you realized he’d been lying?”
“I…” Her mouth hangs open.
“How did you handle your feelings?”
“I left.” Her face has gone pale.
“What about after? Who was there for you?”
She shakes her head, her eyes stricken.
Whoa. Why would she tell me this heartbreaking story only to hold back now? I reel in my rampant curiosity. As much as I want to know everything about her, she has to want it first. I won’t push.
“He’s a piece of shit, Meg.” Not touching her is creating a painful static energy inside me, so I brush the edge of my pinky to hers. “He never deserved you.”
She slips her pinky over mine. “I know.”
Does she ?
“Can I ask you something?” Just this tiny connection from our fingers is flooding me with a powerful warmth. I felt it in the hospital. She needed my touch then and she needs it now. Like she’s starved for it but is used to going hungry. Is that why I find it so easy to touch her?
“Feel free to tell me to fuck off if it’s too personal,” I add.
Her eyes glimmer with the hint of a smile, so I plow on.
“If he blew up your marriage, why is he acting like he wants you back?”
“He never admitted to having an affair, but when I asked him why he went dark every time he flew a charter to San Diego, he shut down. And I realized that having an affair might not be the worst thing he could lie about. That was the end for me.”
“So he’s delusional? Thinking you’ll take him back while keeping this other life a secret?”
“Quinn thinks he’s got unresolved power issues.”
Among other shortfalls. Obviously. “How long were you married?”
“Two years.”
I wince. I don’t have the heart to tell her that if he started lying to her from the very start, they never had a chance. It wrecks me that he crushed her big, soft heart, but at least Meg got out early enough that she can start over if that’s what she wants. It’s not too late for her.
“What’s it going to take for him to leave you alone?” I ask.
“We’ve only been divorced for two weeks.”
I give her a look. “He’s had plenty of time to get used to it.”
“If you’re still okay with being my fake date, that might send him a message.”
You think a backwoods hick like you stands a chance with her?
“But I don’t need you to kiss me,” she adds, though the way she’s biting her lip while not meeting my gaze tells me that might be a lie .
Does she want me to kiss her?
To distract myself from the way my heart is vibrating in my chest, I start the truck and pull back onto the road. “I don’t mind kissing you.”
She wets her lips with a flick of her tongue. “Okay.”
We pass the rest of the short drive in silence. After I park the truck, I come around to help her down. But this time, there’s an electric charge between us when my hands slide around her waist.
“What’s the dress code for the party?” I ask, grabbing her crutches while she leans against the side of the truck. I’ve already checked my shift schedule to be sure I have the time off. Just in case she needed me.
We walk toward the entrance, heading for the ramp along the side instead of the stairs.
“It’s at the Bitterroot Country Club but keep in mind these are football people, so I would think jeans and a button-down shirt would do just fine.”
I will not be shooting for just fine , but I don’t tell her that.
“Think you can keep your hands to yourself if I dust off my suit?” The last time I wore a tie was for my day in divorce court three years ago. I might need to enlist Sepp’s help for this.
She barks a surprised laugh. “It takes a lot more than a suit to impress me,” she tosses back, but her cheeks have flushed crimson.
Inside the station, Everett leads us to the interview rooms, but to my disappointment, Meg and I get separated. Thankfully, Ev and Rex Rolland’s questions are routine and don’t steer into the weeds. When I’m released, Meg is already waiting.
“You okay?” I ask, opening the bullpen door for her.
She nods, but her eyes are glazed. “They asked about Russel, and me, like what happened.”
I glance over my shoulder, to where Zach and Everett are deep in conversation. Why would this be relevant ?
“And if he has any expensive hobbies.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “And I told them, duh, he’s a pilot.”
I push out the big glass door.
“Did they ask you about Trina’s friend, Stacy?” she asks.
“Yeah. But I haven’t seen her since Annaleise’s party.”
She glances up at me. “Do you think she’s all right?”
“I don’t know.” I definitely sensed Everett’s urgency to find her. But based on what I know about her lifestyle…Stacy’s the least likely person to come forward to help the police.
Outside the building, we nearly collide with Annaleise Bell, who is typing so furiously on her phone she almost brushes past us.
“You guys here about Trina?” she asks, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Yeah,” Meg says with a grimace. “Not that we have much to offer.”
Annaleise shoots me a pointed glance, then refocuses on Meg. “I think she was dealing at our party. It pisses me off.”
Her jab at someone who is now in the morgue sets my teeth on edge.
“Oh,” Meg says with a wince. “It’s still awful.”
Annaleise’s cheeks pale. “It is. I shouldn’t have said that. Especially now that we know who she is.”
She gives me one last glance before hurrying through the glass entrance doors.
We continue toward my truck, Meg swinging along beside me. “Any idea what she’s talking about?”
A flicker of unease licks up my chest, and I force out a heavy sigh. “I might, yeah.” I also have a feeling Annaleise is Meg’s source regarding me and Vance. I wish she’d show a little discretion. This is my life we’re talking about. Not some juicy scoop that’ll boost her ego.
Meg shoots me a curious glance. “Did you know Trina?”
“No. But I know some of her story.” I gulp a slow breath to stave off the coming buzz this conversation will trigger. “She escaped from a quasi-religious cult up north when she was fourteen. There was…abuse.”
“Mercy,” Meg says with a compassionate twist of her lips. “That sounds awful.”
We get to the truck, and I open Meg’s door. “Social services intervened, but healing from that kind of upbringing…it’s an uphill battle. I don’t think she ever got over it.” And me refusing to join her crusade certainly didn’t help.
Resting on her crutches, Meg exhales a slow sigh. “I don’t remember reading about a cult.”
“Her story wasn’t in the news.”
“Why not?” She hands me her crutches and I tuck them behind the seat.
“To protect her, I guess? She was fourteen, separated from her family, learning how to navigate a totally different world…” I always suspected there was more, but it wasn’t like I was looking for answers. And at the time, I was about to become a father, a husband, and start a new career.
“You’re probably right.” Her eyes meet mine. “What happened to the cult?”
“I don’t know.” And I don’t care.
I lift Meg into the seat, then carefully shut her door. If only I could shut the door easily on my memories.
“Knowing all of that about her makes her death even more sad,” Meg says when I climb behind the wheel.
“It does.” I pull out of my parking stall and cruise to the exit.
Meg leans her head toward her open window to squint into the breeze.
I focus on the drive, grounding my senses in the thrum of my engine beneath me, the cool air on my face, and the quiet.
But I’m jerked back to reality when I pull up to Meg’s with my phone buzzing. It’s not a number in my saved contacts, but the screen flashes with a “maybe Annaleise Bell” across the top thanks to how often she’s been blowing up my phone lately.
That’s what her pointed look was all about outside the station.
“Annaleise is calling you?” Meg asks, frowning.
“She’s a bloodhound.”
Meg’s eyes sparkle with a curious gleam. “It’s for a story? About what?”
I silence the phone and tuck it into my pocket on my way out of the truck. “I don’t know.” I have yet to talk to Annaleise, so it’s the truth. Just not all of it.
Because I have a pretty good idea what she’s uncovered. But she’s not going to get any help from me.