Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
Agonize
Five years ago
lynda carlisle
Summertime, 1:16pm
Flowers in hand , cradled in her arms like a delicate baby, she steps up to the grave site. The emotion she holds each time she has visited never ceases to surprise her. Emotions are not something she is used to, yet here they are. With her every time she has taken in the gray stone of Holly Hatson, beloved wife and mother, just as she imagines Holly wanted it to say.
It’s difficult to describe the attachment she feels toward Holly, even now when her old friend no longer walks the earth. Some relationships are like that, she realizes. A visceral connection, like it or not.
It would have been so easy to cut Holly out of her world and her heart nearly a decade ago. Forget she ever existed and then move on with her life. She tried, Lynda truly tried. The claim had been sickening, a moment in her life she will not soon forget .
It was at a lunch when a woman broached the subject. A frequent guest at Carlisle parties, this woman was more of an acquaintance than anything else. Lynda winces to remember the conversation.
Your daughter, Jacqui.
Kneeling before a man.
Lynda had started to laugh at first. Tried to play it off that she wasn’t infuriated that her daughter had been caught pleasuring some high school boy at the Carlisle’s most recent party. Kids will be kids, oh the rash actions of young love.
Not a high school boy. A man, the woman repeated.
Frank Hatson.
To this day, all these years later, Lynda’s stomach still roils at the thought. Because as soon as the woman uttered Frank’s name, Lynda knew in her heart it was true. She excused herself quietly and scurried to the ladies’ room, fighting the contents of her lunch as they were threatening to evacuate her body.
She would kill him. She would kill Frank Hatson, make it look like an accident. Her fingers clutched the granite vanity as she stared at herself in the mirror. The perfect reflection of poise and grace, pearls and all. The life she had carefully formed for herself and her family, a far cry from the life she once knew. No one to hurt them, only comforts and happiness to be had.
Except, that wasn’t the case. Lynda stared at her reflection that day, her chest rising in explosive breaths as the color continued to drain from her face.
God, please God, make it all go away.
Where had she gone wrong? What kind of mother raises a child that falls prey to such sick and evil forces? Her mind reeled with the epic mistake she had made in allowing this man to enter their lives, their home. The lavishness she and her husband had shared with this man! The gifts and introducing them to their friends, the club, all of it! The generosity she had shown him, all because of her own foolish thoughts, wanting the friendship with a woman she felt so connected to. It seemed so perfect—she and Bill could shift gears and enter into this new business, expand their enterprise beyond the trading days they once knew. And for what!
They didn’t need another business. They had commercial real estate investments that paid handsomely, a strategic portfolio that only continued to build wealth. What had she been thinking in joining forces with this man and his ridiculous spa ideas that he so stupidly believed were something special and cutting edge?
She realized she didn’t only want to murder Frank Hatson, but she wanted to kill the version of herself that had made that decision to allow him into her life, her children’s lives. She could always spot a scoundrel like him, her instincts rarely ever betraying her.
And still, she went along with it, thinking it was a safe backup that could diversify their operations, a hand in something different, something easy. A win-win for both families.
Lynda blinks away the fury from her eyes and places her hand on the cool stone of her old friend’s grave. “Oh, Holly,” she says to no one. “Why the hell did you stay?”
As Lynda makes her way through the graveyard, carefully walking on tip-toes to prevent her heels from sinking into the lush grass, her phone rings.
She rifles through her purse, retrieving the device and seeing a most surprising name on the screen. The last time she received a call from Desiree Hatson, it was very bad news.
And here she was, calling again.