All the Dangerous Things(85)

“There are some things you should know,” I say. “Things about Ben.”

“I’m … I’m sorry,” she stutters, clearly trying to shake off the shock. “I’m sorry, but I think you should leave.” She starts to close the door, but before she can, I stick my foot over the threshold, wedging it open.

“It’s important,” I say. “I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me?” she asks, her eyes growing wide. “Isabelle, no offense, but I think you should be worried about yourself.”

“Is that what Ben told you?” I ask, leaning forward. “That we weren’t happy for a long, long time? That he tried to help me but he could never get through? That he’s a good person and deserves to be happy, too?”

I see her expression waver, just for a second, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. I imagine Ben showing up to therapy, alone, eyes misty as he described me to her the same way he had described Allison to me on the side of that house: my hands on his cheeks, heartstrings pulled so tight they felt like they might snap. Painting a picture of me that cast me in the worst possible light: a broken woman, a lost cause. Someone he had tried to save.

Valerie’s eyes are on mine now, and I can see the questions swirling in her pupils. The questions I know she wants to ask. She’s curious about me the same way I had been curious about Allison. I think back now on that moment when Valerie and I first met—the moment I had stumbled into that room in the church and taken her by surprise. I think about the way she had looked at me and invited me to stay, almost as if she wanted to know my side of it, too.

“He’s not who you think he is,” I continue. “I just want to talk.”

I try to put myself in her shoes, wondering: If I had found Allison on my doorstep one morning, offering herself to me the way I am now to Valerie, would I have taken the opportunity? Would I have betrayed Ben for just the smallest peek into their lives together—a glimpse behind that carefully closed curtain that he would never allow me to push aside? After all, I had imagined it so many times: her, them, the way I’m sure Valerie has imagined us.

I think of Allison’s fingers on my arm, her lips on my ear. The goose bumps that erupted across my skin, the intrigue of being so close to someone I had spent so much time daydreaming about, wondering about. Obsessing about.

I would have done it. I would have let her in.

“Valerie,” I say, resting my hand on hers. She flinches, like she had expected my touch to burn, but after a few more seconds of silence, I can see her resolve melt. Like wax turning to liquid, malleable in my fingers, the curiosity overcomes her, the way I knew it would.

Then she cracks the door back open, her eyes on the floor, and gestures for me to come inside.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN




I step into the living room and take a seat on the edge of a slipcovered couch. The house is small but homey: a fireplace with a cluttered mantel, string lights illuminating a collection of candles and books stacked high in both corners. There’s a glass coffee table in the center of it all and a series of pictures clipped to a string with clothespins against the back wall.

She seems fun, eclectic. So incredibly young.

Valerie sits in a chair on the opposite side of the table, eying me from across the room. She doesn’t seem scared or suspicious; instead, she seems a little on guard, like I’m some kind of rabid animal she isn’t quite sure how to handle.

Like I might lash out and bite.

“First of all,” she says, crossing one leg over the other, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Isabelle. I told Ben that it felt too soon…”

She stops, diverts her eyes to the floor, fully aware of the role she holds in this relationship of ours.

“You just have a lot going on,” she continues. “And I’m sorry if the addition of me is making it worse.”

I’m quiet, not quite sure how to respond to that.

“Thank you,” I say at last. “That means a lot.”

“So, what is it that you’d like me to know?”

She leans back in her chair, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s about to read me like one of her patients. Like she’s inherently wary of what I’m about to divulge and she intends to analyze whatever comes out of my mouth next.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” I start, trying to keep my leg from bouncing. “But I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. With Ben.”

“Okay,” she says. “And what am I getting myself into?”

“Did you know he was married before? Before me, I mean.”

“Allison,” she nods. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

I try not to show my surprise at the mention of her name. For some reason, I assumed Ben would have hidden that from her. Less baggage.

“And did you know she died?”

“Yes. I’ve seen my fair share of suicide in this line of work, unfortunately. It’s tragic.”

“Well, an overdose,” I clarify. “Accidental or … otherwise.”

Valerie looks at me, her eyes squinting as she tries to dissect what I’m saying. “You really think it was an accident?”

“Honestly?” I ask, steeling myself. “I’m not convinced she did it at all.”