4. June
JUNE
The ankle monitor is going to take some getting used to.
That, and the media attention, the surprisingly large and not at all cheap hotel room, and my sister’s penetrating gaze.
And being accused of a crime I didn’t commit.
…And potentially being framed by my husband.
“June?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you wanna stop drinking for a second?”
“Not really.”
I put my glass down anyway, mainly because it started to feel too heavy to hold up to my lips. Wow, I’m exhausted.
Meredith has sunk into the armchair opposite me, her shirt as rumpled and disorganized as her hair, despite having attempted to tame it back into a ponytail. Sleeves rolled up and shoes that are completely the wrong shade of brown leather for her black pants.
She looks like she left somewhere in a hurry. She looks like an island girl masquerading as a mainland lawyer.
Not that I’m complaining. I’m just glad she had a pair of jeans that fit me.
“You look awful,” she says because I do. Because apparently, this level of exhaustion means we’re only capable of sharing a singular brain cell.
“Thanks. I was going for the whole Anna Delvey-chique thing.”
Her smile is a tired, tired thing. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you know?”
“Yeah, well,” I swallow. “I didn’t expect this would happen, or else I would have given you all a heads-up.”
“Expect?”
“Know,” I correct, narrowing my eyes at her. Cursing her lawyer brain, still trying to catch me out. “I’m kind of done with secrets, so if you could not interrogate me?”
Meredith exhales through her nose. “Right. Sorry, I’m just… trying to wrap my head around everything. How could this… when did you even have time to?—”
“Get married? Or start some kind of international forgery racket with my husband?”
She sinks deeper into her chair. “I can’t believe this is real life.”
The glass sits untouched on the coffee table. I pick at the seam on Meredith’s jeans until the thread pulls loose while my sister watches on without comment. Eyes glazed over.
I sigh. “You’re not going to ask?”
“Figured you’d tell me eventually. Maybe after like, forty-eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?” She just shrugs. “You’re the one who said no more secrets.”
“Thanks. I just… I’m still trying to figure it all out myself.”
There’s a pleasant kind of silence between us, underpinned by the near-silent hum of the fancy hotel AC unit in the corner. It’s quiet long enough for me to think that Meredith might have fallen asleep—her eyes are certainly closed.
Then: “Start from the beginning, maybe?”
I lie back on the couch so I can stare up at the ceiling. “Like from when I was a baby? Or?”
“Meeting him. I was in Nantucket then, right? Beginning of June.”
“We were barely talking then, you and me,” I huff out. The unspoken look at us now feels like an odd point to be proud of, considering the circumstances.
“He was a buyer at the gallery?” She prompts.
I stare at the near-invisible cracks in the plasterboard above. “A persistent one. We started dating after a couple of weeks. He was… it was nice. He was just there, you know? Promised he wouldn’t leave like all the others did.”
“He invested in the Shack.”
The statement cools something in me. “Will that come back to bite us?”
“Let’s not get into it now. Keep going.”
I rub my forehead. “Okay. Then we saved the Shack, and Trent showed up and I just… well, we thought it would be fun to just elope.”
Meredith is silent for a moment. “You eloped?”
“A little drunk. It was… impulsive.”
“Impulsive?”
“It wasn’t just—” I wave a hand. “Look, Sophie had just dropped the ‘I’ve had a kid for eleven years and didn’t tell you’ bomb, and I was angry.
Hurt. So, yes, I might’ve thought, why not do something equally insane to prove a point?
Was it a smart point? No, but in my defense, I didn’t think I’d end up here because of it. ”
Meredith’s sigh is both audible and long. “I’m going to regret asking this, but you did sign a prenup, right?”
“...I don’t know how to answer that without pissing you off.”
I risk a glance at my sister. No longer resting her eyes, Meredith has leaned forward to brace her entire head in her hands. “Did you at any point consider that people who don’t ask for prenups might have ulterior motives?”
“At the time? No. I was busy basking in the glow of romance and the prospect of buying a Lighthouse on Tom Nevers.”
“You should have told me.”
“The point was that we didn’t tell anyone.”
“I could have stopped–” Meredith cuts herself off and takes a breath. “Then what, he disappears back to New York?”
“Right after Mom’s 60th. He left early to catch his flight, and I was with you guys the rest of the night. We went to Birdies with Trent, remember?”
“And you stayed in touch?”
“Every day. Calls, texts, emails. The occasional video chat when he wasn’t too busy. The last I heard from him was the day before the relaunch of the Shack,” it feels like years ago, not days. “He promised he’d make it back in time to catch the close.”
“Okay,” Meredith says, straightening again. “Okay. There’s just one other thing. You were painting at the gallery, I remember you telling me. The paintings the feds found… June, they don’t look good.”
“They’re pastiches, Mere,” I argue back. “Interpretations of classic works, they were like my thing back in college. They’re not forgeries.”
“But you’ve not picked up a paintbrush since Dad–”
“Ashton found me a buyer,” I admit. “Someone who was interested. Said I was doing him a favor. And no, I don’t know who the buyer is, I didn’t think to ask because I trusted him like a complete idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she says, although it comes out strained.
“Yeah, well. In this case, better an idiot than a criminal.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m just trying to figure out whether you’ve been framed, or you’ve been played.”
“Why not both?”
She doesn’t answer that. She just sits back, succumbing to her exhaustion once more. She looks as if she’s had about as much sleep as I have.
“So… what happened when I left? How are Sophie and Trent?”
Meredith’s expression shifts like she’s bracing for impact. “I, er… left for Boston not long after you were arrested. I needed to get things sorted for your defense. Sophie’s… not thrilled with me for leaving her in the middle of everything.”
“Not thrilled with you,” I repeat flatly. “Translation: she’s furious at me, isn’t she?”
Meredith’s wince confirms it. “I think you should let things cool off before trying to call her. Give it a week. Maybe two.”
My stomach twists. “Right.”
“She’s just worried about Trent,” Meredith says diplomatically. “That and the whole getting-married-without-her thing seems to be a bit of a sore spot.”
And whose fault is that?
I bite my lip. That’s not fair. Meredith is here, now, when it really matters. And that counts for something. A lot of somethings.
“Speaking of marriages…” I lean back, folding my arms. “Why exactly is my lawyer your ex-husband?”
Her face goes a shade tighter. “Mark is the best federal defense attorney I could get on short notice.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
“That, and he offered to take your case pro bono. Which is all I could afford.”
I snort. “Right, because this hotel room just fell from the sky?”
Meredith presses her lips together before admitting, “Mark’s paying for it.”
My eyebrows climb. “Of course he is. Nothing says ‘amicable divorce’ like footing the bill for your ex-wife’s accused felon sister.”
“Don’t start.”
“Not starting. Just… appreciating the irony.”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t answer. It’s a strained kind of silence, one that makes me more than a little curious.
“He said you were his wife.” I make no pretense of not prying. “In court, I mean. He told the Judge.”
“I know, I heard him.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“So why would he say that when you’re divorced?” I push. “Or did you make up all that stuff about his assistant and being forced out of the firm?”
“Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ bitterly. “Thanks so much for the reminder, though, I appreciate it.”
“You’re being sarcastic, why are you being sarcastic?”
“Because, June, it was humiliating walking back into that place and having to see my ex-father-in-law and perfect Carmen and that asshole William all over again. I don’t really want to talk about it if I’m honest.”
“But why–”
“June.”
I sit up abruptly, turning to face her. “I’m sick of people lying to me, Mere.”
She stares at me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Finally, she sighs. “I filed the divorce paperwork at the beginning of the summer, and there’s a 120-day standard cool-off before it’s official.
Technically, Mark is correct. Legally speaking, he’s still my husband until…
” she trails off to count. “Well, the end of September.”
“So about a month.”
“Give or take.”
“So why bother mentioning it to the judge?”
Meredith grimaces. “Without Ashton in custody, you were a flight risk by association. I imagine Mark wanted to give as much credibility to your supervision as possible, and being both a lawyer and his wife… it gives off a perception of stability and willingness to comply.”
“I can buy that, sure,” I wave it off. “But the hotel? The pro bono?”
Meredith looks away, mouth souring into a tight line.
“Mere, please. No more secrets.”
“It’s not a secret… It’s just a working theory. Speculation at best.”
I take in her stature, her awkwardness seeping through her tiredness. I half wonder if she’d be so willing to indulge this line of questioning if she weren’t half-asleep. The answer to my own question slowly begins to take form.
“You think he’s trying to win you back.”
She doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “Trying being the operative word.”
“But you’re not going to let him, right? After what he did to you?”
“Of course not, I’m not… I’m not Mom.”