The Golden Couple(99)

The false alibi had seemed harmless when Marissa first heard about it from Matthew shortly after they started dating: Skip was scared. The police were questioning everyone. He came to my house to ask my dad for advice, but my dad was in the city. I knew he hadn’t done it, so I told him to just say he’d been with me at home watching a movie that night. My mom covered for him, too; she trusted me when I told her Skip wouldn’t hurt anyone.

The lie stopped seeming harmless when Marissa learned about that open window in Matthew’s office, and about the English teacher recanting his confession.

The fire makes a loud popping sound and Marissa flinches, but Matthew doesn’t even glance at it. He’s staring intently at her.

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

Marissa’s mouth is so dry she needs another sip of wine. “I googled the case this afternoon. Did you know our English teacher claimed the police leaned on him so hard he gave a false confession?”

Matthew reaches for her hand and begins to massage it. “Sweetheart, ask any man in prison if he’s innocent. They’re all going to say yes.”

“How well do we really know Skip anymore? We’ve only seen him a few dozen times over the past twenty years. He lived across the country until last summer.”

Matthew’s fingers stop moving. “What are you saying?”

Marissa begins to shiver. This reminds her of her first confession in Avery’s office, when she sat shaking from a combination of chill and fear.

Then, Matthew hadn’t responded to her discomfort.

Now, he wraps an arm around her. She leans into his warm, hard body and inhales his woodsy scent, trying not to think about how it could be for the last time. Then she pulls back to face him.

I have to tell Matthew the truth, she reminds herself, and not only because we can’t have a real marriage without honesty. Her simple lie has spread and morphed, like an invisible virus that sickens everyone it touches. And like a virus, the lie could turn lethal.

It would be one thing if Skip’s behavior had affected only Marissa. She could have thrown away the roses and note and soup and lived with the pressure and guilt as a kind of penance.

But if Skip is the one behind the vicious attack on Matthew and the apparent breakin this morning—she hates to think like this, but who else could it be?—then his escalation is downright terrifying.

She recalls a line she once read: You can never truly know what is inside another person’s heart or head. Perhaps Avery has been guiding me toward this moment all along, Marissa thinks. This could be the ultimate test. If Marissa tells Matthew the truth and he forgives her, they really could start to heal.

And if he doesn’t … well, it is far more important to protect Matthew and Bennett than to protect her marriage.

“Skip has been acting so strangely lately,” she begins.

“Yeah, it was kind of weird that he stopped by uninvited last night and then dropped off all that soup.” Matthew shrugs.

“It’s more than that. This is so hard for me to say. But I think Skip could be behind the other things that have been happening lately.”

Can Matthew feel her leg trembling against his? She swears she can perceive the shift in his energy; he must sense the grenade is in her hand.

“Why would you think that, Marissa?” Matthew’s tone is even and measured, the way it sounds when he’s conducting a difficult talk with a concerned client.

“Those roses … I called the florist the next day. The Venmo account was @Pier1234. There’s that long pier near where Skip and I grew up. He used to love fishing off it. And the note you and Polly found? Ray, the homeless man who hangs out by Coco, told me someone paid him to deliver it. The same man also gave Ray a pair of gloves. Gloves I know belonged to Skip.”

Matthew stands up and reaches for the poker. He jabs at the fire. A thick wave of smoke drifts toward Marissa, making her feel briefly dizzy as she inhales it.

“Matthew.” She takes another sip of wine for courage. “I lied to you. I didn’t sleep with a guy from the gym.… It was Skip.”

Matthew is perfectly still for an endless moment. Then he slowly turns to face her, the poker still gripped in his hand.

Half of his face is in the darkness, the other half illuminated by the flickering firelight, making him appear both familiar and like a stranger. Just like Skip looked on the night she first kissed him.

Matthew doesn’t speak. He stares at her, as if he is peering deep into her soul.

The first time I kissed you, it was like glimpsing the ocean for the first time. All these years later I still feel the same way.

Her husband will never feel that way about her again.

Tears spill down her cheeks. “Matthew, please say something! I’m so sorry.”

Matthew sets downs the poker.

He sinks back into his seat and stares straight ahead, as if he’s in shock.

“You and Skip,” he whispers. “Are you kidding me? How long has it been going on?”

“It only happened once; I swear.”

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” Matthew’s voice is preternaturally calm and soft. To Marissa it has the feel of the trembles that precede an earthquake.

“I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I told you, you’d leave me and I couldn’t bear that. But I should have. You deserved to know.”