The Wife Between Us(80)

“Anything, my love.”

“Promise things won’t get bad for us again.”

“They won’t.”

It was the first promise to me he’d ever broken. Because things got even worse.


As our plane lifted off and began to head toward New York the next morning, I stared out the window at the topography that grew ever smaller and shuddered. I was so grateful to be leaving Florida. Death surrounded me here like concentric rings. My mother. My father. Maggie.

The sorority pin I’d thrown away hadn’t belonged to me. I was supposed to give it to Maggie after she was officially initiated into our house. But instead of the celebratory brunch we’d planned to throw for the end of pledge week, my sisters and I attended her funeral.

I’d never told my mother what happened after Maggie’s service; her reaction would have been too unpredictable. I’d called Aunt Charlotte instead, but I hadn’t confided that I’d been pregnant. Richard only knew part of the story, too. Once when I woke up in his bed after a nightmare, I explained why I wouldn’t walk home alone at night; why I carried pepper spray and slept with a bat by my side.

As I’d lain in Richard’s arms, I described how I’d gone to offer condolences to Maggie’s family. Her parents had merely nodded, so dazed they appeared incapable of forming speech. But her older brother, Jason, who was a senior at Grant University like me, had gripped my outstretched hand. Not to shake it. To pin me in place.

“It’s you,” he breathed. I smelled stale liquor on his breath; the whites of his eyes were streaked through with crimson. He had Maggie’s pale skin, Maggie’s freckles, Maggie’s red hair.

“I’m so sor—” I began, but he squeezed my hand more tightly. It felt as if he were grinding the bones together. Someone had reached out to hug Maggie’s brother, and he released his grip, but I felt his eyes following me. My sorority sisters stayed on for the reception in the church’s community room, but I slipped away after a few minutes and stepped outside.

As I walked through the door, I encountered exactly what I’d sought to avoid: Jason.

He stood alone on the front steps, tapping a pack of Marlboro Reds against his palm. They made a steady smacking sound. I tried to duck my head and move past him, but his voice stopped me.

“She told me about you.” He flicked a lighter and inhaled deeply as he lit his cigarette. He exhaled a stream of smoke. “She was scared to go through pledge week, but you said you’d help her. You were her only friend in the sorority. Where were you when she died? Why weren’t you there?”

I remember stepping back and feeling Jason’s eyes hold me, just as his grip had done.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, but it didn’t douse the rage in his expression. If anything, my words seemed to fuel it.

I began to retreat slowly, clutching the railing so I wouldn’t fall as I edged down the stairs. Maggie’s brother kept his eyes on me. Just before I reached the sidewalk, he called out to me, his voice harsh and raw.

“You will never forget what you did to my sister.” His words landed with as much force as fists. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I didn’t need his threat to hold on to Maggie, though. I thought about her constantly. I never went back to that beach again. Our sorority had been put on probation for the rest of the year, but that wasn’t why I took a job waitressing at a campus pub on Thursday and Saturday nights. Fraternity parties and dances held no more appeal for me. I set aside part of my tips, and when I had a few hundred dollars, I tracked down the animal shelter, Furry Paws, where Maggie had volunteered and started anonymously donating in Maggie’s honor. I promised to keep sending money every month.

I didn’t expect my small donations to absolve me of my culpability, my role in Maggie’s death. I knew I would always carry it with me, would always wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t veered away from the group of girls walking to the ocean. If I’d waited even just one more hour to confront Daniel.

Exactly a month after Maggie’s death, I awoke to hear one of my sorority sisters shrieking. I ran downstairs in my boxers and T-shirt and saw the overturned chairs, the shattered lamp, the obscenities spray-painted in black across our living room wall. Bitches. Whores.

And the message I knew was meant for me only: You killed her.

I sucked in my breath and stared at the three words proclaiming my guilt for everyone to see.

More girls came downstairs as our chapter president called campus security. One of the freshmen burst into tears; I saw two other girls pull away from our group and whisper to each other. I thought they were sneaking glances at me.

The smell of stale cigarette smoke permeated the room. I saw a butt on the floor and I knelt down to look at it. Marlboro Red.

When the guard arrived, he asked us if we had any guesses as to who might have vandalized our house. He knew about Maggie’s death—by then most people in Florida did.

Jason, I thought, but I couldn’t say it.

“Maybe one of her friends?” someone ventured. “Or her brother? He’s a senior, right?”

The guard looked around the room. “I’m going to need to call the police. That’s procedure. Back in a minute.”

He stepped outside, but before he reached for his car radio, I intercepted him. “Please don’t get him in trouble. If it was her brother, Jason . . . we don’t want to press charges.”