Chapter 3 The Warning
The Warning
Eliza
Saturday, mid-June
The lobster shack has new owners. There's a chalkboard sign out front advertising artisanal something-or-other, and the picnic tables have been replaced with wrought-iron bistro sets that look deeply uncomfortable.
I drove here alone. Of course I did.
Julian had a site visit this morning that couldn't be moved, and a call this afternoon that absolutely had to happen, and by the time he finished apologizing via text I was already in the car with the windows down and Fleetwood Mac turned up loud enough to drown out my own thoughts.
The coast road is beautiful this time of year, all salt air and wildflowers and glimpses of blue between the dunes, and I refuse to let him ruin it for me.
The new menu has twelve-dollar toast. I order it out of spite and eat it at one of the terrible bistro chairs, watching seagulls fight over someone's abandoned fries. The toast is fine. I would rather be eating lobster with my husband.
My phone buzzes. Julian: Just finished. Heading home. See you soon?
I consider not answering. I consider driving to Boston and hiding at Naomi's apartment until he learns what it feels like to wonder where I am. But that would be petty, and I'm too tired for petty, so I type back: On my way.
The drive home takes forty minutes. By the time I pull into the parking garage beneath our building, I've almost convinced myself that tonight will be different.
We'll open a bottle of wine, sit on the balcony, actually talk.
I'll tell him about the photo I saw, Margot's hand on his shoulder, his face lit up like Christmas morning.
Let him explain it. I want to hear what he says.
I take the elevator up, key in the door, and freeze.
Margot Hale is sitting on my couch.
She's got a glass of red wine in her hand, the expensive Bordeaux Julian saves for special occasions, and she's laughing at something Julian just said.
He's in the armchair across from her, leaning forward, animated in a way I haven't seen in weeks.
When he spots me in the doorway, something flickers across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or guilt.
"Eliza!" His voice is too bright. "You're back. I thought you'd be longer."
"Clearly." I set my purse down on the entry table and don't move further into the room. "Hi, Margot."
"Eliza." She smiles, all teeth and practiced warmth. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by. I was in the neighborhood and Julian mentioned you were out, so I thought I'd keep him company."
I look at my husband. "You mentioned I was out."
"She called while I was finishing the site visit. I said you'd gone for a drive." He stands, crossing toward me, lowering his voice like Margot can't hear from six feet away. "She's having a rough day. Richard sent another message about collecting his things."
"So you opened the good wine."
"It seemed like a nice gesture."
I look past him to Margot, who is watching us with an expression I can't quite read. Sympathetic, maybe. Or satisfied. It's hard to tell with her.
I leave my keys beside my purse. "The toast was disappointing. The new owners put avocado on everything."
Margot laughs, a little too loudly. "I've heard that place went downhill. Such a shame. Julian and I used to go there as kids, you know. His father would take both families on these epic coastal drives, and we'd always end up at that lobster shack, absolutely covered in butter."
"How lovely." I keep my voice pleasant. "Childhood memories are so precious."
Julian shoots me a look. I ignore it.
"Well." Margot sets down her wine glass and stands, smoothing her linen dress. "I should let you two enjoy your evening. Julian, thank you for listening. You're always so good at that."
She touches his arm as she passes, a gesture so familiar and possessive that my stomach turns. He walks her to the door, murmuring something I can't hear, and she laughs again before disappearing into the hallway.
The click of the lock sounds very loud in the silence.
Julian turns to face me, already wearing his explaining expression. "Before you say anything..."
"That's an interesting opening."
"She's going through a hard time. The divorce has been brutal, and Richard was... look, she needed a friend."
"And you're the only friend she has in all of Cape Avalon?"
"I'm the one she trusts." He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he knows he's on shaky ground. "Our fathers were close. You know this. Her family helped mine when we were starting out, and I owe them."
"You owe them." I cross my arms. "What exactly do you owe them, Julian? An open invitation to our home? Access to our expensive wine? My husband's undivided attention whenever she snaps her fingers?"
"That's not fair."
"You know what's not fair? I drove an hour to find out our favorite restaurant is ruined, and I came home to find another woman drinking wine in my living room."
"She's not 'another woman.' She's Margot."
"I know who she is." My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but I don't soften it. "She calls you at midnight, texts constantly, turns up wherever you are. And I'm expected to welcome her every time."
Julian's jaw tightens. "You're making this into something it isn't."
"Am I? I saw the photo from last Saturday. Her hand on your shoulder while I was waiting for you at home. You have more time for her feelings than you do for mine."
The words hang between us. Julian looks at me for a long moment, and I see something shift in his expression. Not anger, exactly. More like the first flicker of recognition that he might actually be in trouble here.
"What do you want me to do?" His voice is quieter now.
"I want boundaries. Real ones. The midnight calls need to stop. Ask before inviting her over. And save a bottle of that wine for an evening with me."
"Eliza..."
"I'm not asking you to stop being her friend. I'm asking you to remember that you're married to me."
He nods slowly. "Okay. I can do that."
"Can you?"
"Yes." He steps toward me, reaching for my hands. I let him take them, though I don't soften my grip. "I'm sorry. I should have realized how this looked. I'll talk to Margot, set some ground rules."
I want this conversation to matter. Will he actually say no the next time she calls?
But I've had this hope before. It keeps disappointing me.
I keep hold of his hands. "The yacht trip next month. The one you planned for early July. Margot's still invited?"
Julian's hesitation tells me everything.
"You said we would have time together." My voice is flat. "A weekend away. Time to reconnect. That's what you said."
"It was already arranged before I..." He trails off and looks down at our hands. "The Hales always join us for the Fourth of July week. It's been tradition for years."
"Would you uninvite her? If I asked?"
The pause stretches too long.
He looks toward the door Margot left through. "It would be awkward. She's already made plans around it. And after everything with the divorce, canceling now would feel like a rejection when she's already fragile."
I pull my hands from his.
"Then I guess we know where we stand."
"Eliza, that's not..."
But I'm already walking toward the bedroom, and I don't turn around when he calls my name.