Little Secrets(60)

“I’m going to call the police if you don’t stop screaming, ma’am,” Gary said to her. He was balding, but what was left of his hair was sticking up in tufts. “Please go. I don’t want to make any trouble for you.”

The woman looked at him, and then at Kenzie.

“He’s my husband.” Her lips quivered. “We’ve been together for eighteen years. We have children.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was all she could think of to say.

“McKenzie, go inside and close the door,” Gary said.

She closed the door and locked it, pressing her ear to the painted wood. She could hear Paul’s wife wailing in the hallway as Gary escorted her to the elevator. Kenzie’s entire body was shaking. She had never before witnessed anger like that. Delirious, out-of-control, enough-to-kill-someone anger.

She and Izzy stopped speaking after that. Their friendship ended that night. Kenzie never forgave Izzy for not helping her, and Izzy never forgave Kenzie for asking her to. They managed to avoid each other for another couple of weeks, until one day Kenzie came home and Izzy’s stuff was gone. No goodbye, no note, just a check on the counter for her half of what remained of their lease. Later, she discovered Izzy had unfriended her on Facebook and unfollowed her on Instagram.

In the age of social media, that said it all.

When it ended with Paul not long after—badly, of course, because how else could it have ended?—Kenzie was desperate for a change of scenery. Going back home was not an option. She applied to grad school in Seattle and was accepted, and J.R. offered his spare room to crash in for a few nights while she looked for an apartment.

Her phone is vibrating in her pocket, forcing her back to the present. It’s a text. From Derek. Finally. Kenzie reads it quickly, then reads it again, feeling a dull pain in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t hurt with Paul, or Erik, or Sean, but it does with Derek. Like it hurt with J.R.

Which serves her right. This was never supposed to happen.

It’s really over this time, Derek’s text says. I’m sorry. Please don’t contact me anymore.





Chapter 18


From somewhere behind her, a twig snaps. Someone is following her.

Kenzie whips around, certain she’s going to come face-to-face with a bulky, dark-clad stranger with crazy eyes and large hands. But nobody’s there. The closest person is another woman, across the street and half a block down, waiting for the bus. But she can sense it, the presence of someone lurking in corners her eyes can’t find fast enough to expose. The body reacts to danger before the mind does, and it feels like someone’s breathing down the back of her neck, moving her hair aside to whisper in her ear. Only it’s nobody she knows, and nothing she wants to hear.

Five more blocks to go. Kenzie pulls out her phone, needing to hear a comforting voice as she makes her way home. It rings twice before J.R. answers.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?” He’s concerned. She rarely calls. Usually she texts.

“I’m on my way home from work.” Kenzie pauses at the intersection, where the light turns red as she reaches the corner. “I think I’m being followed.”

“Did you see someone?”

“No, I sense it.”

There’s a small sigh on the other end. “M.K., listen to me. You’re fine. Walk fast, and stay where it’s lit. I’ll stay on the phone with you till you get home.”

“Do you want to come over tonight?” The Walk sign lights up and she starts crossing the street. “We could do takeout, maybe watch a movie—”

“Where’s your roomie?”

“Avoiding me,” she says. “But also working.”

There’s a pause, and it goes a second too long, which means his answer is no. “I can’t tonight,” J.R. says. “I’m … actually seeing someone.”

Kenzie is so surprised she nearly stops in the middle of the street. “Seeing someone?” she repeats. “What do you mean, ‘seeing someone’?”

It’s the strangest thing to hear him say those words. J.R. is almost always “seeing someone” in the literal sense—her mother had branded him a ladies’ man, and was thoroughly disapproving of him—but to label it as “seeing someone,” as in a relationship, is another thing entirely.

“Yeah. I should have told you when we last hung out, but I know you don’t always like hearing about other people.” There’s an awkward note in J.R.’s voice that she’s also not used to hearing. “I’m hoping it might turn into something, so … you know.”

He’s hoping? “Really.” Kenzie forces herself to speak normally. “Um, since when? Who is she? What’s her name? How’d you meet?”

“Do you really want to know—”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Her voice rises an octave as the full weight of what he just told her finally hits her. “Since when are you seeing someone? You don’t do relationships, J.R., remember?”

“M.K.—”

“You know what, forget it. I’m almost home. I’ll let you go.”

“Wait,” he says, and she waits. “I agree my timing could be better, but listen to me. You’re anxious because Derek’s been distant, and it’s making you hypersensitive to everything else. When he calls, everything will feel back to normal. Trust me. And then we can talk more about … my stuff.”