A week later, I sat on a bench near a playground where I used to take my children when they were little. It featured a huge plastic jungle gym in the shape of a castle, along with swings and slides and assorted climbing apparatuses. It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, warm but with a slight breeze that kept it from being too hot. It had the feeling of being the last day of spring before the sweltering summer heat would arrive, engulfing us for the next four months. The playground was crowded, teeming with children, while their parents—mostly mothers, with a few dads sprinkled about—sat on benches, armed with juice boxes and bags of Goldfish crackers.
“Alice,” a familiar voice said.
I looked up, shading my eyes with one hand, and smiled when I saw who it was.
“Hello, Kat. I’m glad you could make it.”
Kat did not return the smile. “You didn’t give me much choice. You said you’d go to the police with what you know if I didn’t. Why did you want to meet here, of all places?”
I’d forgotten that small children irritated Kat, almost to an irrational degree, but it was a bonus to having chosen this spot.
“I thought after how things went the last time we were supposed to meet, it was probably a good idea to pick a public place,” I commented. “Who was the man you sent to the lighthouse that night?”
Kat sat down next to me. She was wearing a loose cotton blouse, skinny jeans and enormous sunglasses. She crossed one leg over the other.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She was uncharacteristically terse, her usual vivaciousness set aside for the moment. “And how do I know you’re not wearing a wire?”
“I’m not, but feel free to pat me down if you want.”
Kat shook her head. “That’s okay. I certainly don’t plan on saying anything that would incriminate myself. Why did you want to meet?”
“I’d like some answers. I think I deserve them after everything that’s happened.”
“You can ask what you like.” Kat tossed her hair back. “But I’m not promising I’ll answer.”
“Why did you have me arrested?”
“Have you arrested?” Kat laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. “You did that to yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“You told the police Howard had been having an affair. That just fueled their suspicions of me.” Kat’s tone was sour. “The detective, especially. He suspected me right from the beginning.”
“I had no choice. I told them about Howard’s affair only after you told them I was one of the only people with access to the house. Howard’s girlfriend would have had access to the house, too.”
“I didn’t know that pervert across the Intracoastal would be watching my house through his telescope,” Kat snapped. “Or that the police would be so fucking incompetent, they wouldn’t manage to figure out a little sooner that his brain had turned to Jell-O. Christ, it would have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
I was determined to stay calm, but this rankled. “Both of us? You weren’t the one who was arrested for murder and had to spend a night in jail.”
“You should have kept your mouth shut,” Kat said in a hard, cold tone of voice I’d never heard her use before. “And since you didn’t, I had to give them an alternate suspect. By the way, that female cop? She really didn’t like you. In fact, she hated you. She was all too willing to believe that you killed Howard, especially after I hinted that you might be in love with me. You should have seen her. She ate that up.”
Fury washed over me. “You told her I was in love with you? You know that’s not true.”
Kat sighed as if I had disappointed her. “You’re entirely too caught up in worrying about truth and lies, Alice. The reality is, no one cares.” Kat shook her head. “Life goes on.”
“It doesn’t go on for Howard.”
“People die all the time. And trust me, no one is mourning Howard. Except maybe his girlfriend, but probably not even her. He wasn’t that good a lover.”
“What about Amanda? She was heartbroken that her father died,” I snapped. I didn’t want to give Kat the satisfaction of knowing she was getting under my skin, but her callousness was hard to take.
Kat stiffened but then waved a hand as though she were swatting away a fly. “Howard wasn’t her father. And if she was upset at the funeral, it’s because she was romanticizing his role in her life. God, I was dumb to get knocked up by her real father. I thought he was going to be someone, and instead he was just another weak, stupid man. Do you know that when I told him I was pregnant, he started to cry? It was embarrassing.”
“He was probably worried his wife would find out and it would end his marriage.” I shook my head, wondering how I’d managed to spend so much time with Kat without ever really seeing her for who she was. What she was.
“It was supposed to. That was the whole point of my getting pregnant in the first place. He wouldn’t leave his wife for me, so I had to give him a nudge. But instead of being strong and doing the right thing, he started blubbering and begging me to get an abortion.” Kat shook her head with disgust.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’m not sure. I certainly didn’t have any deep maternal instincts at that point.” Kat exhaled deeply. “But it seemed like the best play at the time. And if he had gone on to run for president like he planned, I would have had quite the little poker chip in my pocket.”
I still didn’t even know who this mystery politician was. Or if he was even real. I wouldn’t have put anything past Kat at this point.
“Amanda’s real father wanted to run for president?” I didn’t bother trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
“Oh, he tried, but it turned out he wasn’t as talented a politician as he thought he was. He crashed and burned right out of the gate. And then it was too late. Amanda was already born,” Kat said. She waved her hand again. “Enough about that. It’s in the past. Are we done here?”
“No. I have more questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like, did Howard really strangle you?”
I remembered every moment of that night. The night she’d begged me to help her. The night everything had changed.
“Just promise me this,” Kat had said. “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll be on my side.”
“Of course I’ll always be on your side,” I’d told her.
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
But the conversation hadn’t ended there.
“He told me he’s going to kill me,” Kat had said. “He told me so tonight.”
“He was drunk,” I’d said. “People say stupid things when they’ve been drinking.”
“He meant it. I could see it in the way he looked at me. His eyes were so cold, so...evil,” Kat had said, and she’d shuddered then, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m telling you, he’s going to kill me. And he’ll figure out a way to do it without getting caught. He’ll make it look like an accident.”
“I won’t let him hurt you,” I’d said.
Kat had suddenly reached out, twisting her fingers around mine. “You could kill him for me, Alice. No one would ever suspect you. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re the only one I know who could get away with it.”
* * *
Kat had lapsed into silence. I guessed she was weighing the pleasure of gloating over her machinations against not wanting to give me any more ammunition against her.
I thought back to all of the stories she’d told me over the years about her marriage to Howard. She’d effortlessly woven truth and lies together to create the semblance of a monster. And I’d believed her.
“So did he really strangle you, or was that just another lie?”
“I already told you—you can ask what you want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to answer.” Kat smiled her little devious, self-satisfied smile. I wanted to slap it off her face.
“And his affairs? Did you make those up, too?”
“God, no.” Kat laughed. “Howard was never very good at staying faithful.”
“But you didn’t care,” I said flatly.
“Oh, I did at first, although I have to admit that I was more angry than brokenhearted. I’m Thomas Wyeth’s daughter. Howard was damned lucky to have me, to have married into my family. How dare he cheat on me! But, no, by the end, I was well past caring about who he stuck his dick into,” Kat agreed.
Her lack of remorse chilled me to the core. “Do you want to know what happened that night?” I asked.
After a long, charged pause, Kat said, “Not really.”
But I had no intention of letting her off the hook that easily.
“I picked a fight with Todd over a credit card bill. I’d known about it for a while, but I put off confronting him about it until that night so I’d have a good excuse to storm out. I drove over to your house and let myself in with the key you left. The alarm was off, which was helpful. I was hoping Howard wouldn’t hear me, but I brought my pepper spray with me just in case. You were right, by the way. Howard was already really drunk. When I found him, he was lying on top of your bed, still fully dressed and snoring. At first I was worried that he was unconscious and I wouldn’t be able to wake him up. I shook his arm. When he opened his eyes, I told him you needed to speak to him.”
Howard had been confused when he woke to find me peering down at him. He’d left the lights on, so he couldn’t tell what time it was. He smelled of scotch and sweat, and his forehead was damp as though he’d been out running and not just sleeping off a bender. But he was so drunk, he hadn’t questioned why I was there in his bedroom, jostling him awake.
“Kat needs you,” I’d said.
“Kat?” Howard looked up at me, his eyes bleary and unfocused. When he spoke, he slurred his words. “She’s not here, is she?”
“She is. She’s outside, waiting for you. She needs you, Howard. You have to get up. Now.”
He struggled to get out of bed. I rested a hand under his elbow and steadied him as he got shakily to his feet.
“Where is she?”
“Outside,” I said, gesturing with one hand toward the balcony. “Out there.”
Howard staggered out there. “Kat,” he called. “Kat?”
“She’s down by the pool,” I said. “Look down and you’ll see her.”
“She is? I thought she was somewhere else. Out of town.” Howard lurched toward the balcony, gripping the metal railing with both hands.
“No, she’s home, of course,” I said in the same soothing voice I used with Liam and Bridget when they were babies and getting fussy. “She’s down there. Can’t you see her?”
Howard clung to the railing and leaned over it, peering down at the patio with landscaping lights that shimmered and reflected on the surface of the pool.
It wasn’t as difficult as I had expected. I pushed him with both palms splayed, hitting his upper back. He fell forward, throwing his arms out to regain his balance. But it wasn’t enough. He swayed for a moment, confused about what was happening, but not capable of resisting, either. I pushed him again, harder this time.
For a long moment, Howard was almost all the way over the railing but hadn’t yet fallen. He made an odd noise, like an injured animal crying out in pain. His hands grasped for the railing, trying to hold on to it.
He looked at me then, his expression one of fear and confusion.
“Please,” he said.
I stepped forward and gave him one final push.
And then he was gone.
There was a terrible thunk that reminded me of the sound of a coconut falling from a tree and hitting the pavement below.
I looked over the railing at Howard’s body lying prone on the tiled deck. A stream of blood was trickling away from his body toward the still, aqua water of the pool.
* * *
“I didn’t think he could survive the fall,” I said now, glancing over at Kat. She looked pale, I thought, but otherwise hadn’t reacted to my retelling of the events of that night. At least, not that I could see. She was still hiding behind her sunglasses. “But I thought I should make sure. A job well done and all that.”
“What do you want, Alice?” Kat asked abruptly.
“Want? I don’t want anything.” Then I considered this. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. I don’t want you to send another thug after me like you did that night at the lighthouse. That’s why I decided I need an insurance policy.”
Kat shrugged. “That picture you took doesn’t prove anything.”
“I don’t know about that. The picture, combined with your voice mail asking me to meet you that night... I think I could make a pretty compelling case to the police that you sent him after me. But to be honest, I’d rather not involve the police, for obvious reasons. So I made other plans.”
Kat tipped her head to one side. “Like what?”
“If anything happens to me, if I’m hurt or if I disappear, I’ve arranged for evidence to surface that you paid me to kill Howard.”
Kat inhaled sharply, which, I had to admit, was gratifying. I had succeeded in rattling her.
“What evidence?” she asked. “And who has it?”
I laughed. “As though I’d tell you that. But if anything happens to me, you’ll have a lot to answer for. You’d better hope I live a long and peaceful life.”
“It may surprise you, Alice, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. In fact—” Kat reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper “—this is for you.”
She handed it to me. I looked down at it. It had two lines of text on it, mostly numbers, interspersed by a string of random capital letters.
“What’s this?”
“It’s the access information for an offshore bank account in the Caymans,” Kat said. “There’s a million dollars. It’s all yours.”
I looked at this paper with its sequence of numbers and letters, all containing a future Todd and I had never imagined.
Or a future of trouble and possible incarceration, depending on who was watching.
I folded the paper in two and handed it back to her.
“No, thanks.”
“Take the money,” Kat insisted. “I know you can use it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want your money, Kat. I never did.”
Kat pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and looked directly at me for the first time since arriving at the playground.
“You never really did care about the money, did you? I always found that strange.”
I shook my head. “No. I was friends with you because of you. Or at least, the person I thought you were.”
“You know, it—the money—impresses most people. Even though it’s all just bullshit. But you already know that. You always did.”
I nodded. “Yes, I like to think so.”
Kat tucked the paper back into her handbag and stood. “I think we’ve said all we need to.”
I reached out and grabbed Kat’s wrist, stopping her. Her wrist was small, dainty even, and I could feel the fine bones under her skin. I squeezed tightly, causing her to inhale sharply.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’d do it?”
Kat looked down at my hand still gripping her. She was deciding whether to tell me this last secret between us.
“I see people,” she finally said. “I see them for who they truly are. It’s my one true gift in life. Although, to be honest, sometimes it feels more like a curse. I have to admit, you weren’t the easiest person to read. Not at first.”
I stared up at Kat, not quite sure I could believe what I was hearing.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Kat asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Kat smiled. “Fine, if you want to play it that way. You’re the one who’s always insisting on the truth. Are you going to let me go now?”
I opened my hand, releasing her. Kat rubbed her wrist.
“Goodbye, Alice,” Kat said. “I don’t imagine we’ll meet again.”
She pulled her sunglasses back down, then turned and walked away from me. And as I watched Kat’s retreating figure—her head held high, her dark hair glossy in the sunlight—I finally knew without a doubt what she was. Kat was a knave, a liar through and through.
She might even manage to one day convince herself to forget the night she’d told me Howard had threatened to kill her. The night she’d begged me to kill him before something terrible happened to her. She’d had quite a bit to drink, after all. Or maybe she’d remember it just enough to justify that she hadn’t meant it, that I must have been crazy to have taken her seriously. It was also how she’d justify cutting me out of her life, like a surgeon slicing out a tumor. Maybe she’d even turn fanciful, and the art curator in her would imagine me as a Picasso in which the parts were all there but didn’t line up quite right. An eye too high, a nose too far to the side, a soul too fragmented. She’d tell herself I was both damaged and damned to hell.
But as I sat on the hard bench and watched the children play, I knew Kat was wrong to think that. I wasn’t damaged, and I certainly didn’t believe in hell.
I believed in logic. The clean, clear sorting of facts. And when you stripped away those things that confuse the facts—passion and anger, sorrow and fear, love and hate—the logical conclusions are often breathtakingly simple.
Some people do not deserve to live.
Take Howard, for example. He had been a sadistic, bullying drunk who had contributed little to the people and world around him. Even if he hadn’t yet physically abused Kat, he probably would have eventually. He might even have killed her if he could have figured out how he could get away with it. His death was a benefit to everyone who knew him. Except, perhaps, to Amanda. She was the one good thing Howard had left behind.
If I’d known then that Kat had been manipulating me, I wouldn’t have killed him. But I also wasn’t going to pretend that he was an innocent.
And then there was Brendon, Todd’s older half brother. Early in our marriage, Todd had told me about an ugly footnote in his family’s history involving Brendon when he was a teenager. Todd hadn’t known the details, only that there had been an accusation that Brendon had hurt a younger female cousin. It was only many years later, when Todd was an adult, that he figured out the assault had been sexual in nature. She was a troubled girl who grew up to be an even more troubled adult—drugs, commitment for her mental illness. Todd wasn’t entirely sure what had happened as they’d lost touch over the years. No formal complaints had ever been filed against Brendon.
But years later, after the children were born, we’d spent Thanksgiving weekend at Todd’s parents’ house in St. Augustine. Brendon, who lived in Gainesville, and whom I’d never before met, had shown up unexpectedly for Thanksgiving dinner. He was in his late forties by that point and had not taken good care of himself over the years. He was overweight, with puffy, pallid skin and the sour smell of someone who didn’t wash as often as he should. I could tell that Todd’s mother—Brendon’s stepmother—was not happy to see him, and even less happy when he asked to spend the night on the sofa after drinking too much to be able to drive home safely. I had also noticed during dinner that Brendon’s eyes kept drifting toward Bridget, then seven years old and beautiful, with her large eyes and long curls.
Long after Todd fell asleep, I stayed awake, listening. Just past midnight, I finally heard the footsteps creaking on the stairs. I slipped out of bed and opened my door in time to see Brendon reaching for the doorknob of the guest room my children were sharing.
I stepped out into the hall, and he, sensing the movement, turned and saw me. For a few seconds, we stared wordlessly at one another, predator and mother of the prey. Brendon’s hand dropped from the doorknob, and he began shuffling toward the staircase, which was located in the middle of the hallway, equidistant between where he and I stood.
I moved quickly, surprising myself.
Surprising him.
But then, Brendon was drunk, and I was not.
Just as he reached the stairs and was about to descend, I gave him a good, solid push from behind. I had slipped into Todd’s and my bedroom and back into bed next to my sleeping husband before the sound of Brendon’s body hitting the floor below wakened anyone else in the household.
Would Todd have made the choice I had if he’d been the one to see Brendon poised at our sleeping children’s door? Perhaps. And yet somehow I doubted it. People like Todd and Kat might believe a person deserved to die, might even want someone dead, but that didn’t mean they were capable of that final push. The action that sent a body tumbling off a balcony or down a flight of stairs. Even when that push was the only logical solution to the problem.
And then there were the times logic pointed to death not as a punishment but as a release. A kindness. A gift born of love.
Like when a mother sees her infant daughter dying in increments, her tiny body working against her gossamer-thin will to live. The doctors spoke words of hope to the mother, assuring her they were doing everything they could. Later, when she was feeding quarters into the vending machine for a cup of the acrid coffee that would keep her alert as she stood vigil over her tiny charges, she overheard those same doctors discussing how bleak the situation really was. How the hemorrhage was not resolving on its own. How even if the infant did survive, which had become increasingly unlikely, she had almost certainly suffered severe brain damage. The baby would face a life not worth living. They would have to prepare the parents for the bad news, for the terrible weeks or months to come. Before they told her this, the mother did the only thing left she could do for her daughter.
As they sat together in a rocking chair under the dimmed lights of the deserted neonatal intensive care unit, the mother allowed her daughter to slip peacefully out of the world while being held in the arms of the person who loved her best, one hand pressed gently over the baby’s rosebud mouth and tiny nose.
* * *
I stood suddenly, blinking back tears. I’d always hated crying, hated its pointlessness. I was suddenly eager to leave the playground. I was tired of sitting on the hard wooden bench, tired of listening to the children, who were worn-out from their day of play and growing peevish. I was tired of how illogical the world could be, full of its frustrating inhabitants, people who claimed to want one thing and then changed their minds once they got it. Most of all, I was tired of Kat and her unrelenting selfishness. I was glad to be rid of her.
I turned and walked away from the playground, heading toward the parking lot. I was suddenly eager to be at home myself, to see Todd and the children. Maybe we’d go out to dinner. Liam and Bridget both loved the Japanese steak house, where the hibachi chef put on a show, his knife moving lightning quick to carve up the meat that would become our dinner.
Soon the sun would start its slow descent, leaving behind an inky dark sky. This day would be over.
A new one would dawn tomorrow.
There was no point in dwelling on the past.
* * * * *