Fool Me Once(28)

“Hey, you!” Eileen said.

“Why did you give me that nanny cam?”

Just like that.

Eileen stopped midstride. “Why? What happened?”

Maya looked for that feisty freshman. There were signs of her every once in a while. She was recovering, but time passes and wounds don’t fully heal. Eileen had been so smart and tough and resourceful—or so it appeared—and then she met the wrong man. Simple as that.

Robby had been so doting at first. He would flatter Eileen and brag about her. He was proud of her, telling everyone how smart Eileen was; then he became too proud of her, the kind of proud that plays on that line between love and obsession. Claire was concerned, but it was Maya who noticed the bruises first. Eileen had started wearing long sleeves. But neither sister did anything at first because they simply couldn’t believe it. Maya had figured that victims of domestic abuse were more . . . victim-y? Weak women get into these situations. Lost or poor or uneducated women, women with no backbone—those are the ones men abuse.

Strong women like Eileen? No way.

“Just answer the question,” Maya said. “Why did you give me that nanny cam?”

“Why do you think?” Eileen countered. “You’re a widow with a little girl.”

“For protection.”

“You really don’t see that?”

“Where did you buy it?”

“What?”

“The digital frame with the hidden camera. Where did you buy it?”

“Online.”

“What store?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Maya just stared at her.

“Sheesh, okay, I bought it on Amazon. What’s going on, Maya?”

“Show me.”

“Are you serious?”

“If you bought it online, there will be a record of it under past orders. Show me.”

“I don’t understand any of this. What happened?”

Maya had so admired Eileen. Her sister could be a bit of goody-goody. Eileen was wilder. Eileen made her feel good. Eileen got her.

But that was a long time ago.

Eileen angrily pulled off her gardening gloves and threw them on the ground. “Fine.”

She started for the door. Maya followed behind her. When she caught up, Maya could see Eileen’s face was set.

“Eileen . . .”

“You were right before.”

“About?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Robby. That’s how I got rid of him for good.”

“I don’t understand.”

The house was a split-level built in the 1960s. They stood in the den. One wall was covered with photographs of Kyle and Missy. No pictures of Eileen. No pictures of Robby. But it was the poster on the other wall that drew Maya’s eye. Claire had the same one in her den. Using four black-and-white photographs running left to right, the framed print showed the construction stages of the Eiffel Tower. Eileen and Claire had bought them on a backpacking trip the three of them—Eileen, Maya, Claire—took to France during the summer when Eileen and Claire were twenty and Maya was nineteen.

For the first week of their journey, the girls would meet up with different French men every night. They’d make out with them, no more, and giggle the whole night about how cute Fran?ois or Laurent or Pascal was. A week in, Claire met Jean-Pierre and started the perfect summer romance—intense, passionate, romantic, full of PDA (public displays of affection that made Maya and Eileen gag), and sadly forced to die in six weeks’ time.

For a fleeting moment at the end of their stay, Claire actually toyed with the idea of not returning to Vassar for her senior year. She was in love. Jean-Pierre was in love. He begged her to stay. He was a “realistic romantic,” he claimed, and so he knew the odds but he also knew that they could beat them. He loved her.

“Please, Claire, I know we can do it.”

Claire was simply too practical. She broke his heart and her own. She came home, cried, and then got on with her regularly scheduled life.

Where, Maya wondered, was Jean-Pierre now? Was he married or happy? Did he have kids? Did he still think about Claire? Did he know, via the web or whatever, that she was dead? How had he reacted to her death? Shock, anger, denial, devastation, sad shrug?

Maya wondered what would have happened if Claire had decided to stay with Jean-Pierre in France. In all likelihood, she would have had a few more weeks, maybe months, of romance before coming back home. She’d have missed a semester at Vassar, maybe, and graduated late.

Big friggin’ deal.

Claire should have stayed. She shouldn’t have been so damn practical.

“I know you thought that you got rid of Robby for good,” Eileen said. “And I thank you for that. You saved my life. You know that.”

The midnight text Eileen had sent Maya was simple: He’s going to kill me. Please help. Maya had driven over with this same weapon in her purse. Robby was drunk and raging, calling Eileen a dirty whore and worse. He’d been spying on Eileen and saw her smile at some guy at the gym. He was throwing things when Maya arrived, searching for his wife, who had found a hiding spot in the basement.

“You scared him that night.”

Maya had, perhaps taking it a step too far, but sometimes it was the only way.

“But when he found out you’d redeployed, he started coming around again.”