Chapter 25 Willow Morrow
Willow Morrow
“We were called out to the Morrow house twice with reports of a domestic disturbance. Both times, they said everything was fine and sent us back home. I spoke to the wife myself, in both instances. When she ran off, that was the first thing I went back and checked. I just wanted to see the paperwork, see if I missed something there. And maybe I did. Or maybe she just did a really good job acting like everything was okay.”
It wasn’t Willow’s first look at Mark’s new wife, but seeing her in Willow’s old house was still jarring.
She was pleased to see that the woman did use filters in her online photos—her skin wasn’t as smooth, her browline as perfect, her lips as full.
But still, Katie was beautiful. More than Willow.
“Willow,” Katie breathed. The look on her face was really satisfying.
Willow had imagined for so many years how this exchange would occur, and while this one wasn’t the ideal—she had envisioned walking up during their anniversary dinner at Luciano’s and sitting down at their table, then reaching over and giving Mark a kiss on the lips—this was pretty good.
From the shock on Katie’s face, she’d believed that Willow was dead, and that filled Willow with a particular kind of perverse pleasure.
“What are you doing here?” Katie asked, gripping the banister tightly.
It looked like the blonde might faint, and Willow stepped forward, unsure whether she should take the steps up to her and help her down the rest of the way.
“I mean . . . I thought . . . I didn’t know what to think.
” She slowly sank down until her butt was on the step, and stared at Willow with wide eyes.
“Mark called me, so I thought I’d pop in. Stay a few weeks, just to make sure everyone knew that those weren’t my bones strewn all over the course.” Willow smiled, and maybe Katie didn’t get her brand of humor, because she only looked more stricken.
Or maybe that look was over the length of Willow’s visit.
She didn’t really need to stay for a few weeks, but who knew what the next few days would bring.
Mark couldn’t handle this police investigation on his own.
He could tell them Willow was alive until he was blue in the face, but if people didn’t see her in person, they wouldn’t believe it.
“Mark called you?” Katie whispered. “Mark has your phone number?”
Oh, if this sweet doe only knew what Mark had of hers.
Interesting that this innocent thing was what Mark had chosen as a second wife.
Willow thought of the bruises, the hidden cuts, the black eye that had taken a week to heal, and wondered if he had ever done any of those things with Katie.
Not likely. Not if Katie was cracking at the seams at just the sight of Willow and the knowledge that he had her contact info.
“Would you like a drink?” Willow gestured over her shoulder, to the kitchen. “I was just about to fix a cocktail. You look like you could use one.”
“Ummm . . . a water, yes.” Katie was still clinging to the banister column, so Willow headed back to the kitchen.
They’d replaced the countertops since she’d left.
White granite, which was an interesting choice—one that clashed with the walnut cabinets, but hey, she didn’t have to look at them every day.
She opened the fridge, and it was like looking through a kaleidoscope.
Some triangles recognizable, but a different perspective entirely.
There were the protein shakes that Mark loved, the Babybel cheeses he snacked on, his vials of medicine in the door.
But everything else was different. For one, the organization.
Everything—and truly everything—was in clear plastic or glass containers.
The grapes and strawberries. The sliced meats.
The cheeses, the eggs, the yogurts. There was a row of glass carafes labeled as milk, orange juice, cranberry juice, and creamer, and another row with all the condiments.
It was psychotic and pleasing, all at the same time.
Willow withdrew a water bottle, then a mini glass bottle of Diet Pepsi, and placed them both on the counter.
Crouching, she examined the produce containers and withdrew a container of limes.
Presliced. How fancy. After closing the fridge, she opened the double doors to the liquor cabinet.
Ah, home sweet home. Here, everything was chaotically the same. She pulled out the Boss Hog, sighing in appreciation for the expensive whiskey. It had been years since she’d had anything but Bacardi, save a few rare moments in bars when someone offered to buy her a drink.
Katie appeared, her steps slow and unsteady as she made her way over to the counter and pulled herself onto a stool. “Where have you . . . been?”
“All over. I’m a house and pet sitter, so I go where the jobs are.
I got lucky this time. I just finished a job in Las Vegas, so I was close by.
Got here in less than eight hours.” Willow grabbed a glass from the cabinet by the fridge, then opened the ice maker.
Nugget ice. Another luxury she had sorely missed.
She filled the glass and pushed the bottled water toward Katie.
“You sure you don’t want a whiskey soda? ”
“No, thank you.” Katie checked her watch, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Willow. Yes, it was ten in the morning. And yes, she deserved this. Honestly, a stiff drink would help Katie with processing this whole thing.
Willow studied her replacement while she mixed the drink. “So, how is Mark?” she asked in a singsong way.
“Uh, fine. I should call him and let him know you’re here.” Katie looked around, then started to rise. Willow waved her back down.
“Oh, I called him when I was coming in the neighborhood. He’s on his way.”
Katie looked alarmed. “What? He had a client-onboarding meeting this morning with the new Jets quarterback.”
“Well, he’ll reschedule it.” Willow shrugged and raised the glass to her lips.
“This is more important. I mean, how often do his two wives meet?” She grinned.
“We should totally fuck with him. Like, when he pulls in, I’ll be straddling you and we’ll pretend like we’re in the middle of a fight. He’d love that.”
If it was possible, even more blood left the blonde’s face. “Where are you staying?” Katie managed. “Maybe you could get settled and we could pick you up for lunch? There’s a great place that just opened in the town square. It has really good acai bowls.”
“Oh, I’m staying here.” Willow rolled her eyes as if this was obvious, and it should have been to Katie.
“I’ll take the green guest suite. I’m dying for a soak in that tub.
You know Mark wanted to put a claw-foot in there?
I told him if he ever touched that Jacuzzi, I’d kill him.
” She picked up the whiskey and topped off her glass.
“We did put a claw-foot in there. Last summer,” Katie said faintly.
“Fuck off, you didn’t.” Willow slammed the bottle down on the counter.
“Yes, we did.” The blonde pushed away from the counter. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little nauseous. It’s not you, I promise. I just need to lay down for a moment. This is a lot to process.”
“Sure, lay down.” Willow waved off her apology. “I’ll get my bags and bring them in.”
She considered bringing her drink but instead tilted back the glass and finished it off.
The whiskey was tart, and she shuddered as it went down, then let out a small belch.
After putting the glass in the sink, she put away the liquor and cleaned up the fixings.
When she looked up, the kitchen was empty and Mark’s delicate new wife was in the living room, as stiff as a dead body, lying on the couch.