Wish You Were Gone(34)
“Oh, Emma.”
Lizzie could hardly believe it. She’d had no clue. Not one single inkling. To her, Emma and James’s marriage had looked perfect. It was the thing that she and every other single woman on the planet aspired to. He was rich, handsome, doting. He had this amazing, glamorous job that took him all over the world, yet he always seemed to be there for the big events, always on and always charming. He’d chosen Emma and she’d chosen him and they were going to be together forever.
But apparently, it was all just a smoke screen, and one so carefully created that even Lizzie—who thought she knew everything there was to know about Emma—hadn’t suspected a thing.
“He came home three, sometimes four nights a week, so blitzed out of his mind he was barely coherent.” Emma’s gaze trailed away from Lizzie’s and came to rest on the dusty wood floor. “No. That’s not true. Sometimes, he was just drunk enough to be mushy. Overly attentive. Too touchy-feely and annoying. That was a normal Tuesday. It would get worse as the week went on. Wednesday he’d either be truculent or quick tempered. Thursday it was usually all-out war. Sometimes, on Fridays, like if Hunter had a game, he’d be close to sober, but if Hunter didn’t have a game… well… your safest bet was to be asleep by the time he got home.”
Lizzie’s heart felt sick. She touched a hand to her chest. “My God, Emma.”
“I know. Shocking, right?” Emma’s eyes welled and she gave a short laugh. “Apparently the whole town thought we were this perfect family. And why not? The man was all about appearances. Nothing worse than bad PR. Sometimes I wonder if he chose the most remote and private house in town just so he could hide it. But guess what, James? Driving your car through your own house is no way to fly under the radar!”
She looked at the ceiling as she said this, as if James really was haunting the place.
“Emma, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t know.” In that moment Lizzie felt so bad for her friend and so guilty for not being there for her. But there was also just the slightest touch of irritation. How could she be there for her if Emma never told her?
“Of course you didn’t,” Emma said, lifting a palm and then letting her hand slap down. She sniffled and removed her camera, placing it back in its bag on the floor. Then she dug in her purse for a Kleenex. Lizzie produced one first. Emma took it and blew her nose. “I’m sorry I never said anything.”
“It’s okay.” Lizzie reached for her hand, took it, and squeezed. “I know now. He didn’t… did he… hurt you? Or the kids? I mean, physically?”
“No. But he came close, so many times. He’d break… things. Glasses, doorknobs, windows. Once he hit a refrigerator so hard the details of his fist were embedded in the door for days. You should have seen the face on the deliveryman when he brought the new one and hauled the old one away. I cried for an hour afterward.” She turned toward the window, gaze unfocused. “Every time he came home and picked another fight I wondered, is this the night? Is this the time he goes too far? Will he hit me? Will he hit Kelsey? What if Hunter gets in the way? And then I’d wish I’d done something. Left him. Confronted him. Called the police. But it was always too late. And then it wouldn’t happen and we’d move on and I’d think it won’t be that bad again. It can’t. That had to be the last straw. And then he’d be normal for a few days. Sober. Sweet. Attentive. To me. To the kids. And I’d really start to believe that was the last time. That everything was going to change. But it never did.”
“Oh, Em.”
Emma turned into Lizzie’s shoulder and cried. Lizzie wrapped her arms around her as best she could and held on tight. All she could think was that the cliché was true—you never knew what went on inside someone else’s marriage; you never knew what happened behind closed doors. Maybe she’d dodged a bullet, here. Maybe all this time, she’d been better off alone.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said finally, wiping at her face with her hands. “What you must think of me.”
“I think you were in a shitty marriage and your husband took advantage of your goodness,” Lizzie said, handing her another tissue. “And I think you’re lucky you all came out of this alive.”
“Not all of us,” Emma said grimly.
“Well.” Lizzie sighed.
For a few minutes Emma blew her nose and they listened to the scream of the wood-chipper.
“I just wish you had told me,” Lizzie said finally.
“The thing is, Lizzie,” Emma stared at the mottled tissue in her hands, “it turns out I’m really good at keeping secrets.”
EMMA
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Lizzie told Emma, surveying the spread on the kitchen island.
Emma smiled. She was feeling pretty proud of herself, actually. This morning she’d whipped out all her favorite recipes—bacon and Gruyère quiche, arugula salad, Greek bruschetta, and pumpkin muffins. It was as if not cooking for the last few weeks had caused some kind of culinary buildup inside her brain, and once she started, she’d been like a whirling dervish. Totally focused, nonstop action. It had taken her mind off things for a few hours, anyway, and she’d felt more like herself than she had in weeks.
“Please. You guys have done so much for me since… well, I owed you both.”