Chapter 29 Thérèse
Thérèse
Now
Any place would feel dull after Paris, but the house seems dreadful as I park my car out the front. Before going in, I spin the flowerpot and grab the spare set of keys, the one the Realtor used to get in. I’m not interested in receiving visitors.
Everything is quiet inside, just as I—we—left it. The smell of rotten leaves and pollen from all the flowers Cassie spread around the house for the wedding fills the air, making me want to retch. I haven’t slept a peep since I left Olivier, and only picked at the meal I was served on the plane.
For the next hour, I focus squarely on settling back into my life.
Good Taylor’s life. I take off my clothes—the jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket I wore when I left—and have a shower.
The rest is still in Paris. Before leaving the hotel, I folded all my new clothes and wrote a note to the cleaning staff that they should enjoy them.
It killed me, but I couldn’t take anything back.
Olivier was clear about that: there should be no trace of me, no signs that I was ever there.
I only kept the cap, which I wore until I got into my car at JFK airport.
I dumped it in a trash can when I stopped for gas on the way home.
Of course, if it ever came to that, the police could check my travel records.
But they’ll only do that if I give them a reason to.
I can’t help checking my phone every few minutes.
He can’t call me. We won’t speak until it’s done.
Where is he now? Has he alerted the police yet?
Did he get that far? Yes, he did. I have to stop doubting him.
My job is to act like everything is normal, like I didn’t disappear off to the other side of the world to follow my sister on her honeymoon.
Like I haven’t always, to some degree, wanted her dead.
My eyes heavy with sleep, I make a batch of brownies and don’t even wait for the dish to cool down.
Instead, I grab my keys and head over to Ms. Richardson’s house.
It’s a little late, almost dinnertime, but hopefully she won’t mind.
Madeline is one of the town’s notorious gossips, so visiting her is the quickest way to spread the word.
She must have seen me through the window because she opens the door before I even knock. She’s been expecting me, I guess. I never called her back.
“Taylor, you changed your hair!” she says as she envelops me in her frail arms. Her fragrance is strong, something floral and too much of it.
“Oh, um, yes.” I’d forgotten about that. “I felt like trying something different.”
What if she asks where I got it done? There are only two hair salons in town, and Madeline maintains her red mane religiously.
“I brought you something,” I add, meaning the brownies. She waves me inside, and I follow her toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you back. It’s been a busy few days.”
“Of course!” she says, looking over her shoulder.
“With the wedding and everything. If you can call it that. All that beer…at a wedding? Pizza slices? Phew, Cassie’s friends are a loud bunch.
Anyway I’m sure you had a lot to do with the planning.
I bet it was you who made the finger food and arranged the flowers. ”
“Maybe.” This is Good Taylor speaking, with a heartfelt smile. It doesn’t matter how hard she works, she always deflects. I can’t say I missed her in Paris.
Madeline’s kitchen is cozy and bright, with cupboards painted canary yellow, a green tiled backsplash, and an assortment of tea towels featuring illustrated cats.
“You know I always appreciate a visit,” Madeline says, retrieving two tall glasses. “I get lonely in here. The children don’t come anywhere near as often as I would like.”
I’m grateful for the change of topic. “How old is little James now?”
“Two and a half. Such a sweetheart. I’m hoping for more grandchildren, but I try to be good and wait patiently.” She mimics zipping up her lips, as if she hasn’t badgered her son to have babies since the day he got engaged.
I lean back against the counter while she pulls a jug of iced tea from the fridge. She cuts out two brownies, and we mosey over to the porch at the back of the house. It must have been hot all day here because the air is stuffy, almost suffocating.
She waits until I take my first sip to launch into the matter at hand. “I was worried about you. First, I didn’t see your car and then—”
I smile brightly. “I really should have called you back. The thing is”—I scrunch up my nose, like I’m so excited I can barely contain it—“I didn’t want to say anything before I knew it was serious, but I met someone.”
Madeline chokes on a piece of brownie, unable to contain her surprise.
“That’s where I was the last few days. Amir—that’s my boyfriend—lives in Albany. Since I was off work for a few days, I figured I’d stay with him.”
“Your boyfriend?” She says, avoiding a repeat of her near spit take.
I came up with the boyfriend idea on the flight home.
Olivier and I didn’t have much time to work out the details, but he’s going to stay at the house when he comes back.
Of course he’d live in his wife’s home. But, after a while, people might get suspicious.
If they think I have a serious boyfriend, it’ll be easier to keep Olivier around.
“Yes, my boyfriend. Amir wasn’t at the wedding because I didn’t want to take any attention away from Cassie.”
Madeline nods. Everyone would expect Good Taylor to put Cassie’s needs first.
“We met at the bar almost three months ago,” I continue. “I know this might sound corny, but it was love at first sight.”
“Ooh!” Madeline says excitedly. “Just like Cassie and Olivier! By the way, have you heard from your sister? How’s the honeymoon going? I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”
My throat tightens. Suddenly I’m so angry for us, my fake boyfriend and me.
We can’t even get one minute in the spotlight.
It’s always Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. But once the rage clears, I see the opportunity.
And I take it. “It’s going great, from what I can tell.
And yes, we’ve been in touch. They seem really happy. ”
“Um,” Madeline says, taking another bite.
A few crumbs fall on her lap. “That’s good.
I keep thinking of what Rae would have made of this.
They did get married awfully fast. Sending invitations via text message?
With three days’ notice? I know people don’t send mail anymore, but still.
Does Cassie even know that much about Oliver? ”
“It’s Olivier, actually.” I can’t help with whatever he’s doing right now, but at least I can do that for him. “And yes, she does. The two of them are such a great match. It’s wonderful that they found each other. When you know, you know, right?”
I feel sick thinking about what is happening—has already happened?
—in Paris. In fact, I still haven’t touched my brownie.
But I have to do this. When he comes back, Olivier will be scrutinized.
They already talked so much behind his back these last few months.
The more people believe he and Cassie were the real deal, the easier it will be.
“It’s really noble of you to say that.” Madeline reaches over and pats my thigh like I’m an obedient dog.
I smile, resisting the urge to punch her in the face. Olivier is right. There’s nothing keeping me in this town. As soon as the dust settles, we’ll be in the city, where nobody knows us and no one can come and stomp all over our happiness.
“I mean it,” I say. “I’ve seen them every day these last few months. Cassie and Olivier really love each other.”
“Soon there’ll be wedding bells for you, dear. Everyone gets their turn eventually. Just you wait.”
Sometimes I think the worst people in my life have been the ones who pretended to wish me well.
The ones who felt, without knowing, that they could decide what was best for me.
Like the passersby who called the police when they saw me in the car.
If only they’d minded their own business.
Mom was going to come back for me. These assholes told themselves they were saving me, but all they did was ruin my life.
“I hope so,” I say, smiling so much my cheeks cramp.
“So what does Amir do?”
“He works at a bank. He’s very smart. I’m so lucky.” If I’m going to have a fake boyfriend, then I want a good one. “He makes a pretty decent living, too.” I look down, like I’m blushing.
“I’m happy for you, sweetheart.” Madeline glances sideways as if to check that no one is eavesdropping.
Over the fence, her neighbors are tending to their garden.
“When Cassie came back with Olivier, I couldn’t help but think…
I mean, he is certainly handsome. And he’s helpful, too.
He carried my groceries a few times, put them away and everything.
Good manners are important; I don’t want to discount that.
But he seems so out of place here. For a while I thought he’d run back to the big city as soon as the novelty of country life wore off. ”
I try to keep my face still, chasing away the image of Olivier finding country life novel. “He’s very invested in the inn,” I say. “It’ll look amazing when he’s done.”
“Hmm,” Madeline says absentmindedly. That doesn’t fit with her narrative.
“Well, I hope you’ll have a real wedding.
That party these two put on…” She grimaces.
“Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but in my time, people who got married so fast only did it for one reason.
” She raises an eyebrow as if to check that I’m getting her gist. “Cassie’s pregnant, isn’t she? ”
My heart drops, my mind going to the question I’ve been avoiding all along. Did they sleep together in Paris? And then it hits me all over again. I slept with someone else. I betrayed Olivier and almost ruined everything.
“You’ll have to ask her,” I say at last. “All I know is that she might not have gotten the big wedding, but the honeymoon is more than making up for it.”
Madeline takes another sip of her iced tea, then stares at me for a while. “So, this Miles—”
“Amir,” I correct. “It’s an Arabic name.
His mother is from Morocco.” I don’t know if it was a trap, but I was prepared for it nonetheless.
I wonder what the real Amir thought when he noticed I’d checked out early.
He probably just moved on to the next lonely, screwed-up woman who came through the door.
Madeline puts a hand in front of her mouth. “Oops! Do we get to meet him soon?”
“Of course! I think you’ll like him.”
I haven’t decided what will happen to Amir yet. Will he have met someone else? That’s the obvious choice. But for once, just once, I’d like to be in charge, to set the rules of my own relationships.
I say my goodbyes to Madeline soon after, promising to return with a man who doesn’t exist or, at least, not on this continent.
But I don’t head home yet. Instead, I take a detour via Main Street.
I need to make sure people see me, if it ever comes to that.
I stop by the drugstore, the only one open late, exchanging a few words with Marco, the cashier.
When I exit, clutching a bag full of cleaning supplies I don’t need, I spot a familiar face on the other side of the street: Cassie’s ex-boyfriend Darren.
These two were an odd match: she the wild child who wanted to try everything, the drugs and the parties and the boys, and he the serious student who always said please and thank you and mowed his grandma’s lawn after church every Sunday.
Their endless cycle of breaking up and getting back together went on for so long I often lost track.
I wave at him quickly, only briefly making eye contact. I need to get some sleep before the police come.
“Taylor!” He’s crossing the street now, he and his determined gait catching up to me in no time. “Have you heard from Cassie?”
His face is one big frown. This isn’t a casual question.
“Of course,” I say with what I hope is a warm smile. “She’s having the best time in Paris.” I fight the urge to keep walking; I don’t want to arouse his suspicion.
“Right, but, um, have you spoken to her today? In the last few hours, maybe?”
I try my hardest to keep my face blank, even though of course I know Cassie hasn’t posted anything since she was in the bath. I have so little to go on, but that has to mean the plan is working.
“Cassie’s on her honeymoon. She has better things to do.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Then he smiles weakly. “I’ve been calling her, but she’s not picking up.”
I give him a pained smile. “Cassie’s married now. And they’re so happy together.”
“That’s not true.” Darren says. He sounds sure of himself, but at the time, I can tell he’s searching my eyes for validation.
Could it be that… Has something been going on between them since she came back home with Olivier? No, no, no, that will mess everything up.
“Haven’t you seen her pictures from Paris?” I say. “It almost makes me wish I was there.”
“I’m worried about her. Something’s not right.”
Crap. He needs to let this go. “I’m sorry this is painful for you, Darren. You’re a great guy.”
I wave at him again and get walking before he can say anything back.
I don’t really breathe until I’m home, dropping the shopping bag on the floor in the foyer and staring at myself in the antique mirror.
What was that all about? What does he know?
Like me, I’m sure he’s seen all of Cassie’s fun on his phone.
He might be jealous but there’s no reason he should be worried.
These thoughts play in my mind over and over as I make myself an egg on toast. I sit at the dining table and stare into the distance, letting the food go cold.
Was it fear I read in his eyes? But why?
His face keeps haunting me as I pace the room, replaying our brief conversation.
If anyone suspects Olivier and Cassie had a less-than-perfect marriage, this could create a real problem.
But what did Darren say, really? Maybe all the pretty pictures of the newlyweds got to his head. I can’t blame him.
And then, when I think my nerves can’t take it anymore, that I’ve twisted my brain into too many knots, something truly bizarre happens. I hear a key inserted in the lock, the latch releasing. I rush to the entrance as the front door opens, the hinges squeaking angrily.
Someone’s home.