6 months later
I’m starting to get used to waking up next to Freddy Ruggiero again.
He always sleeps with one arm over his head, like he’s raising his hand with an answer he knows in class (a rare occurrence back when we were in school). He always keeps the other hand on me. At the beginning of the night, he’s got me pulled close to him, usually with some sort of spooning action going on. But even if we separate during the night, he always manages to keep one hand on me. Like he’s afraid I’m going to drift away.
I watch him sleep for a little while. His black eyelashes are like soot and unfairly long for a man. It’s the only pretty thing about Freddy.
I never thought we’d get back to this point. With all the fighting and debt and the guilt over losing the baby, I thought we would never get back to the point where we loved each other again. Where we dared to talk about a future that didn’t involve working our butts off for a minimum wage.
My alarm clock goes off and Freddy’s pretty eyelashes flutter. He rubs his eyes with the hand that was flung over his head while keeping his other hand squarely on my thigh. I shut off the alarm.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
He groans and rubs his eyes again. “It’s so early…” Freddy is not a morning person. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“But it’s Saturday!” His dark brown eyes blink open. “And I was in class till ten o’clock last night!”
You could have knocked me over with a feather when the guy who graduated high school by the skin of his teeth and vowed he was done with school forever admitted that he was taking night classes to get a degree in computer engineering. Freddy has always been decent at computer stuff— he always knew what to do when mine broke down. So the field fits him. And it pays way better than the blue-collar jobs he’s had since high school.
The amazing thing is that he’s talked me into going back to school too. I’m going to start taking classes in the fall. Believe it or not, I’m really
excited. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but it will be nice to have options.
I lean forward and kiss him on the nose. “I have to go somewhere. But you can stay in bed.”
He pulls me close for a deeper kiss. I swear, Freddy is the only guy in the world who doesn’t have morning breath. “Be home before dinner?”
“You bet.”
An hour later, I’m taking the D train into Manhattan. While I sit on the subway, I browse the Internet on my phone to pass the time. As has become my habit, the first thing I do is check on the news sites for mentions of Adam Barnett.
After Freddy found Adam pointing the gun at me in the shed, he called the police. At first, Adam tried to lie his way out of the whole thing, like he always did. But the evidence was overwhelming. Ultimately, Adam pled guilty to the murders of Glen MacNeil and Irina Brunner. It was the smart thing for him to do. In exchange for his confession, they didn’t pursue him for the attempted murder of Victoria… and avoided an extended media circus that was sure to result when a bestselling author murders two people. There was also an agreement that there wouldn’t be any further investigation into the deaths of his parents and brother.
Adam is currently serving two consecutive sentences of twenty-five years to life in a New York state prison. So there is a tiny chance of him getting out of jail eventually. When he’s eighty-five.
I find one news item about Adam, but it’s a small one. All the proceeds for The Vixen are going to be donated to a charity to benefit battered women. I suppose it’s a start.
My destination when I get off the subway is a little brunch place out in Manhattan. I’ve been working so hard lately and spending most of my free time with Freddy, so when Maggie texted to invite me out for brunch, I jumped at the chance. I haven’t seen her since Victoria’s funeral. Last I heard, her boyfriend got a job closer to the city and they moved.
I make it to the crowded diner by a quarter to ten, just barely beating out the brunch rush. Maggie told me this place has the best French toast, although I’m partial to an omelet. Anything but oatmeal. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat oatmeal again.
Maggie has already gotten us a table. She’s squeezed into a corner, somewhat isolated so that we can have a quiet conversation. Her red hair is loose around her face, and she looks prettier than she used to when she was cleaning that big house. Her green top is very flattering and she’s got a beautiful sparkly necklace that I’ve never seen her wear before. She waves excitedly when she catches sight of me.
“Sylvia!” she cries. “Over here.”
I squeeze past a family with their four young children and about two waiters carrying full trays of food to get to the table. I start to slide into the seat across from her, but before I can, she jumps up and hugs me. Typical Maggie.
“It’s so great to see you!” she says excitedly.
We both settle down into our seats, and I peek at Maggie over the brim of the menu. She looks incredible. I can’t get over it. Whatever she’s doing right now agrees with her. I think something in that house in Montauk must’ve been sucking the life out of her.
“How is the new job?” I ask her.
Maggie told me in our last phone conversation that she has a new cleaning job out in Queens. She seemed happy enough about it. “Oh, you know. The usual. Nothing too creepy. How about you?”
“Just waitressing,” I say. I don’t mention the fact that I’m going back to school. I don’t want Maggie to feel guilty she isn’t doing the same.
Our waitress comes by and takes our orders. French toast for Maggie and a western omelet for me. After the waitress is gone, she leans in and lowers her voice.
“Have you been to see him?” she asks. “Who?”
She gives me a funny look. “Who do you think? Adam.” I shake my head. “No. Of course not.”
I saw the news stories in which they showed Adam receiving his sentence, and he looked like death. A man like Adam won’t do well in prison. He looked like he wished he were dead. If New York had a death penalty, he might have found a lethal injection preferable to spending the rest of his life behind bars.
“Have you?” I ask.
She toys with the diamond charm hanging off her necklace. There’s something about that necklace that looks so familiar—it’s bugging me. “Once,” she admits.
“Really?” I look at her in surprise. “Why?” She shrugs. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
She snorts. “Come on, Sylvia. It’s me. You don’t have to pretend.” “Pretend what?”
My eyes go back to the necklace around Maggie’s neck. And then it hits me all of a sudden why the necklace looks so familiar.
It’s the snowflake. The same one Victoria was wearing on the day I first met her. The one Adam got her as a present.
How did Maggie get that necklace? Did she take it from the house? Of course, is that such a big deal? It was Victoria’s necklace and she’s gone now.
But something about Maggie wearing that necklace makes me feel very uneasy. I remember the word Victoria said to me that night during the first storm:
Mine.
It seems like Adam was very generous with his wife’s possessions.
Especially for certain women.
“Hey,” I say. “Can I… ask you something, Maggie?” She nods. “Of course.”
I study Maggie’s freckled face. There’s been a question swirling around my head since that big storm and I haven’t had the nerve to ask. Until today. “So you told me you saw Victoria throw a toaster at the wall, and that’s what made the dent in their kitchen wall.”
She laughs. “That’s not a question.”
I frown. “I guess my question is, did you really?”
All traces of humor disappear from Maggie’s face. “Did I really what?”
“Did you really see it? Or did you make that up?”
She stirs her water glass with her straw. “I don’t understand you, Sylvia. I thought we were on the same page.”
“Same page about what?”
“You know what I mean.” She shakes her head. “Everyone made like Adam was the villain in all this. But you and I know the truth. Look at Victoria. All she did was lie around and eat junk food. I saw it with my own eyes. And you… you saw the way he took care of her after she got hurt. Was she grateful? Of course not.”
“So… she didn’t throw the toaster?”
“No.” Maggie folds her arms across her chest. “She didn’t.” I feel dizzy all of a sudden, like I’m going to throw up. “What did you do?” I whisper.
“MacNeil was a big guy. It was too hard for Adam to get him into the shed on his own.” She sniffs. “Anyway, my job was to clean up for him. So when he asked my help cleaning up, I helped him.” She pauses. “Just like you helped him get rid of Victoria.”
For a moment, I can’t find my voice. “That was an accident.” “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
“It was!”
“Was it an accident when you slept with him?”
I don’t even know what to say to that. “No… but…”
“Hey, I can’t throw stones.” She shrugs again. “I had the same relationship with him that you did. Why do you think Eva hated us both so much?” She runs a finger along the rim of her water glass. “He’s incredible in bed, isn’t he? And so considerate. Every time there was a storm, he’d call me to make sure I was okay.”
My stomach drops. I remember when Adam was talking to his “mother” prior to the first big storm. But he couldn’t have been—his mother was dead.
He was talking to Maggie.
“Steve is a nice guy and all,” she goes on, “but there’s no comparison. I would have dropped him for Adam in a heartbeat if Adam asked me to.” She sighs. “Such a shame he got locked up. A crime, really.”
The waitress comes by with our food. She drops the western omelet down in front of me and I stare down at the yellow lump of food. Maggie digs into her French toast with gusto, but my appetite is gone.
“I… I have to go…” I manage.
Maggie looks up sharply. “Sylvia, you’re not considering… We have an understanding, don’t we?”
I reach for my purse slung on the back of my chair. “I have to go.”
Before she can say another word, I race out of the restaurant. I hear her calling my name, but I don’t stop. I can’t breathe. I race across the street, hearing the cars honking as I dart in front of them. It isn’t until I get to the next corner that my heart rate slows down.
And then I feel something close around my wrist like a vise. It’s Maggie.
She followed me out of the restaurant. Her skinny white hand is gripping my wrist to keep me from getting away. I’m surprised the staff of the restaurant let her run out like that without having paid. Her grip tightens as she leans in close to me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I glance down the street to see if anyone is paying attention. Of course, this is New York. Everyone is minding their own business, like they did when that old lady dropped her groceries all over the pavement when I rescued her—that seems like ages ago now. “I just… needed some air.”
Maggie leans in closer so that I can smell cinnamon French toast on her breath. “You’re the one who killed Victoria. If you say a word about me, you’re going down too.”
Her brown eyes are like ice. Her fingers are biting into my skin hard enough to leave bruises. She must be very strong if she was able to help lift a guy like Mack.
“Understand?” she says. I nod. “Yes.”
“Say it. Say you understand.” “I understand.”
Her eyes study my face for a moment, then she lets me go. My heart is pounding in my chest so hard that I feel like I might drop dead of a heart attack. And the worst part is, there’s nothing I can do.
There’s no evidence whatsoever that Maggie did anything wrong. Like she said, Adam never breathed a word. I’m the one who pushed Victoria down the stairs. If anybody could potentially go to jail, it would be me.
It’s her word against mine.
Maggie gives me one last look and turns around to return to the restaurant and finish her breakfast. I watch her as she steps into the street. I see the Kia Sorrento that isn’t slowing down at the red light. I get a sense of
déjà vu, again remembering that fall day when I yanked that old woman out of harm’s way.
In the split second that follows, I imagine the blood all over the pavement. Screeching wheels. Screams from passersby. Then an ambulance. A firetruck. Or maybe just a trip straight to the morgue. I see it all unfolding in front of me.
I was a hero once and look where it got me. So this time I do nothing.
