The Accomplice(108)

Irene


On October 7, 2019, at seven twenty-three a.m., Irene left the house without a word to her husband. This was not how she wanted it. Irene liked niceties, customs, simple rituals. She thought couples should kiss on the lips before they parted, even if the return was imminent. But Owen had set a precedent for something very different.

The first time Owen disappeared on Irene was six months into their marriage. Irene had last seen him in the kitchen. She went upstairs to take a shower and when she returned, he was gone. A mug of lukewarm coffee sat on the island; the sliding glass door to their back porch was slightly ajar; even the shoes she thought he was wearing lay marooned down the hallway. His car sat cold to the touch in the driveway. It seemed to Irene that Owen had simply vanished, taken by a supernatural entity. Owen had said nothing about an appointment or heading to the studio. When Irene called his number, it went straight to voicemail.

Whenever Irene needed Owen’s behavior explained, she’d go to Luna.

“Owen likes to disappear,” Luna said. “It can take some getting used to. If he’s not getting in touch, don’t assume he’s dead. That’s the best advice I can give.”

It took a full year for Irene to accept the fact that there was no curing Owen of this condition. Irene retaliated by disappearing herself, finding a small thrill in not having to tell someone where she was going or when she was coming back. When Irene and Sam started their affair, it was a seamless arrangement. She didn’t have to account for time or arrange alibis. It required no extra effort whatsoever. It was too easy, Irene thought. Then Leo found out by chance. He was driving by the Sleep Chalet and spotted her car. He parked and waited, because there was no good reason for her to be at a motel. He tried to take a photo of Irene and Sam leaving together, but he was terrible with his camera phone. Leo had the nerve to spend Irene’s money to hire an investigator to take proper, incriminating photos.

That night she planned to tell Owen she wanted a divorce. If she wasn’t married, Leo would think he had no leverage. The truth was, Leo didn’t even understand the leverage he had. Irene would have done just about anything to keep the affair from Luna. She wasn’t even sure Owen would mind. She only knew that the first person he’d tell was Luna.

Irene wanted one more normal day before everything changed. She put on a Fila tracksuit, along with a giant gold chain that Luna got her for her last birthday. Luna was always ridiculously amused when Irene wore that combo. Irene jogged over to Luna’s place, circled the house, and knocked on the back door. Irene wondered if it would be the last time.





November 2019


Luna was on her way to meet Griff when she made a detour onto Owen’s street and parked in front of his house. While Luna wasn’t certain she wanted to dive back into their friendship, she did feel lousy about her accusation and thought she ought to get her apology out of the way. She climbed out of the car and strode along the walkway in front of his house. She searched the sidewalk for the place she was shot, expecting to see a bloodstain. Instead, she found a layer of light-gray paint on cement. That must have been Maya, she thought.

“I was pissed off when she painted over it,” Owen said.

Luna looked up. Owen was standing on his porch in his bathrobe.

“I thought you’d want to see it first,” he said.

“You were right,” Luna said.

“It’s my sidewalk, right?”

“My blood,” Luna said.

Owen started to laugh, then stopped himself. He was feeling a slurry of conflicting emotions. Anger and guilt were primary, but happiness was also in there. The last time he saw her, she was in a hospital bed.

“They caught the guy because of her,” Luna said. “I’m inclined to forgive her other missteps.”

“Me too,” Owen said, taking a sip of his drink.

It was his second drink of the day. Luna’s arrival made him want another. He was trying to decide how he felt. He understood that he owed Luna an apology, but he also believed that one was due to him. He didn’t know if Luna was there to ask more questions or to make peace. She was eyeing the drink in his hand. He knew she was drawn to the sound of ice clinking.

“Don’t judge me,” Owen said.

Luna wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bathrobe at two in the afternoon or the drink. Luna didn’t have an opinion on either. Frankly, both sounded appealing.

Owen invited Luna inside by turning around and walking back into his house. Luna followed him into the kitchen. Half a pot of coffee was cold and stale on the counter. Luna took a mug from the shelf and poured a cup. She heated it in the microwave. The matter-of-fact way Luna made herself at home made Owen nostalgic for the days when he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Mason and Casey were over last night,” Luna said.

“I know. He texted me this morning.”

“How did you keep that from me all these years?”

Owen shrugged. The microwave beeped. Luna retrieved her coffee.

“It wasn’t my secret,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I came to apologize.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Luna had wanted to ease into it, wait for the right moment, but Owen seemed impatient.

“I’m so sorry about Irene,” Luna said. “That sounds so…How do you apologize for being the reason someone died?”