45. Chapter 45
Chapter 45
Stephanie
N othing in my life looks the way it used to. In some ways, I’ve been living in limbo for twenty years. The days I’ve spent at Mother’s have been quiet. Quiet sorrow, quiet rage, quiet shame.
Kathryn and I spoke once more after our initial conversation. We shared details about our lives with Alan and discovered that we have too much in common to be coincidence. Oldest daughters of widowed mothers, families with land or assumed assets to be inherited, mothers to daughters not sons, and absent ex-husbands. We also have similar features, including our blonde hair and blue eyes.
I haven’t figured out what it all means, aside from Alan being a controlling, psychotic bigamist.
After finding Maci and her boyfriend postcoital in the yard, I’ve not heard from her. I know she was surprised at my leaving abruptly, but I could hardly tell her what happened when James came by. It will only solidify her animosity toward me.
It’s not until Thanksgiving when I’m at my short-term rental enjoying a bottle of wine and a charcuterie tray that I begin to contemplate what I’m going to do with my newfound information. I still haven’t heard from Alan. Given what I’ve gleaned from Maci and Kathryn recently, my body tingles on and off like a live wire.
Alan has to be in control. He made a choice not to tell me about Colt, and now he hasn’t called me even though he must know I’ve left. It’s all indicative of a plan. So what is it?
Even after ten years with him, I still can’t anticipate his moves. Frustration fuels my focused thoughts today.
That’s ok. I have a plan, too.
Someone starts screaming, waking me. I jerk upright, finding myself still on the couch in my rental. The incessant noise isn’t a person, but my phone wailing on the kitchen island. I stumble to it, courtesy of my second bottle of wine.
“Hello?” I’ve never sounded this rough in my life.
“Mrs. Young, this is AYT Security. We received a fire alert. Do you need us to dispatch the fire department?”
Blinking to clear my blurry vision, I press a hand against the cool counter to maintain my balance. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ma’am, is your house on fire?” There’s an urgency to the man’s voice.
“Fire?” I scan the kitchen and living room. “No, I—Wait.” My brain catches up faster than my vision. “AYT? Is this about the house in Dallas?”
“Yes ma’am. Is your house on fire?”
“I’m not there. I’m in San Antonio.”
“Is anyone else at the house?” he asks, his tone remaining calm and insistent. This is exactly why my number is the primary, because I’m usually the one there. For once, I’m not.
“I don’t know. My husband might be there.”
“I’ll dispatch the fire department immediately.”
“Thank you.” I hang up before the man says anything else, dialing Alan. I haven’t decided if I care if he burns to a crisp inside the house or not, but auto-pilot directs my actions.
The phone rings three times before he answers. “Did your daughter try to burn my fucking house down, Stephanie?”
His question catches me off-guard, but I don’t have a chance to respond before he continues in a condescending tone. “She and her boyfriend threatened me, you know. If she thought I was going to sue her for every penny she has before, she’s in deep fucking water now.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he continues to spit anger down the line. I’m not convinced he even knows or cares if I’m still on the phone. “She’s going to jail, Stephanie. That little slut is going to jail. Murder. Arson. The judge will throw the book at her. She’ll never see the light of day again.”
Alan’s always had high standards for Maci, commented on her clothing choices, how much time she spent out, her attitude. But he’s never said such a disgusting thing about her. Not to me. Even the night they argued in our kitchen and she pulled a knife on him, he still pushed for the police and talked about her needing psychiatric help. Never something like this.
“I could have died! I probably have lung damage from smoke inhalation!” He’s roaring now. “It’s nothing but sticks now, Stephanie. There’s nothing left!”
Serves him right.
I wonder briefly if Kathryn did, in fact, burn his clothes? Has she kept our conversation under wraps?
Suddenly, the last ten years of bullshit that I’ve put up with rains down on me.
“You stupid prick. You have no idea what you’ve started. It’s too bad you didn’t burn to death in that house. You think this isn’t over because you’re not done with Maci? No. This isn’t over because I’m not done with you.”
I hang up before he can respond. I’d much rather he were bacon right now.