Good as Dead(71)

I looked down at my son’s belt, with its monogrammed buckle, clearly linking it to him.

“Don’t,” Andy said sharply, and I spun to look at him. “You’ve held the secret long enough.”

My breath caught in my chest. I didn’t have time to wonder what my shrewd new investigative reporter colleague had pieced together. I couldn’t ask how and when he’d figured it out, or what the hell I would do about that. Answers to those questions would come later.

What I did know in that moment was that he was absolutely right. That secret had ravaged all our lives. It was time to set it free.

I looked back down at my son’s one-of-a-kind belt.

And I left it there.





EPILOGUE


Three months later


HOLLY

I woke up to see snow falling, sifting down onto emerald-green grass.

The first and last time I saw snow was on our family trip to Big Bear. Savannah was three, and she was absolutely charmed by it. As it swirled down from an infinite gray sky, she turned her little Kewpie-doll face up to greet it, opening her mouth to catch it on her tongue, then flapping her arms like a bird as if inviting it to play with her. Seeing her so completely delighted is one of my favorite memories of our time with Gabe. I was too caught in the moment to take any pictures that day, except in my mind, where the memory lives swirled with feelings of sadness and loss.

I remember thinking snow-covered trees were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I loved how the fluffy white confection balanced on the branches, like thick frosting on coffee-colored ladyfingers. Everything dark and dirty was hidden—at least for the moment—and the blur of pure, white heaven made me feel peaceful and free.

Evan saw me staring out our bedroom window and touched my face. He said it was a good thing I liked snow, because it snowed a lot here in New Hampshire. He had bought Savannah and me poofy parkas and cozy, fur-lined boots even before we had decided to move here, and they quickly became our daily uniform. It took some getting used to, having to bundle up every time we went outside, but it made coming home to the warmth of our cabin in the woods that much nicer.

I never thought I would love again, but who does when they marry their high school sweetheart? My feelings for Evan were not that urgent, hungry kind of love, but they anchored me, and my heart felt full and safe. I never in a million years imagined I would move all the way across the country to escape my past, but now that we were here, it made perfect sense.

I would never forget my husband and the life we had shared. But the woman who married him was gone now, like a tiny boat swept away by a storm.

I still carried her memories, of course. And her secrets. They jangled around in the pockets of my new life, gently reminding me that not all debts can be paid with money, but taking someone’s money always leaves you in debt.

They also reminded me to go forward in gratitude. Because I got my second chance, my emerald forest, with the one man who could know the real me—secrets and all.

And I wasn’t going to waste it.

EVAN

The first thing I did was quit my job.

My letter to Jack was short and to the point. “Effective immediately, I will no longer serve as your personal attorney.” I wrote it on my phone, from a chair next to Holly’s hospital bed, where I stayed until I convinced her to come live with me by the beach.

It wasn’t romantic, not at first. I worked hard to win her love. I knew I couldn’t do it with things—she’d had enough of shiny, new things. I would have to find another way.

I started by giving her the spare room in my condo for her and Savannah to share—no frills, and no strings attached. I no longer worked for Jack, so I made it my job to tend to their needs, getting up at five to drive Savannah to school, keeping the fridge stocked with their favorite foods, then leaving them alone to eat when they pleased.

About a month into our arrangement, I came home to a table set for three. Holly often cooked—a lasagna or beef stew, which she would cover with tinfoil and leave on the stove—but until that day, she had never invited me to sit with them, and I’d never asked. But that night they waited. We ate family-style, which I hadn’t done since I was a kid, passing clear bowls of salad and vegetables back and forth across the table, serving ourselves until we were full.

After dinner she asked me to go for a walk with her. As we stepped into the cool night air, she reached for my hand, and as I wrapped my fingers around her palm, I was careful not to squeeze too hard.

As we walked, she told me she had never been with anyone but her husband. She said it like an apology, and I told her we could take it slow, or not at all. She didn’t owe me anything. And then she turned to face me, wrapped her hands around my neck, and went on tippy-toes to kiss me. I tried not to seem too eager as I kissed her back, putting a gentle hand on her waist but resisting the urge to pull her in to me. That would come later that night, after she came to my room wearing nothing but a T-shirt, which she left by the door as I pulled back my sheet and made room for her beside me.

She apologized for not knowing what to do next, so I showed her. She cried a little after, and apologized for that, too. I thought she might leave, but she didn’t. I didn’t hold her as she slept, but she was touching my arm when I woke up, and when I kissed her good morning, she kissed me back. Then she asked about New Hampshire and said she would like to see it sometime. I didn’t know if she wanted to go to learn more about me, or escape what she knew about herself—I imagine it was both. We flew across the country on Savannah’s Thanksgiving break and never left.