Wish You Were Gone(88)

“I didn’t tell him until I was three months along. That was what all the websites and books advised. Don’t tell anyone until you’re sure the baby’s sticking around. I can still remember how nervous I was the day I went to his office to share the news. I was half scared he’d tell me to have an abortion and half hopeful he’d—”

Her throat closed over. It was unbelievable that it could still make her so emotional after all this time. But over the years the emotions had changed. At first it had been humiliation and anger that had made her choke up when she thought of that time in her life. Now she just felt sorry for the girl she’d been. There were so many things she would have done differently if she could.

“Oh my God. You thought he might want to raise the baby with you,” Emma said, and faced forward in her chair for the first time. “You thought he might ask you to marry him.”

Lizzie gave her friend a rueful look. “It sounds so stupid now.” She anxiously turned her tea mug around and around with her fingertips. “Anyway, that’s when he told me about you. He told me he was married and that you were pregnant, too. He basically told me to get the hell out of his office and not come back.”

Emma’s mouth hung open for half a second and then she closed her eyes. Lizzie almost ran for a bucket, because she was certain her friend was going to throw up. But then the moment passed. Emma took her first gulp of tea and winced. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands, elbows propped on the table.

“So what did you do? How the hell did you end up here? In our lives?”

The million-dollar question. “I was still living with my parents upstate, so they helped me through the birth, and right after Willow was born, I sent James a photo of her and a letter, asking for support.” She looked up at Emma. “I kept waiting for you to find that letter. You’ve been looking all over the house…” Her stomach twisted and she kneaded her fingers together. “But I guess he must have thrown it out.”

“So, he said no?” Emma said.

Lizzie gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “No, actually. He wrote back and said he would help.”

“What?” Emma was stunned.

Lizzie nodded. “He started sending me a monthly check, and then later it was direct deposits from Garrison and Walsh, as if I were an employee. And it helped me save enough money to eventually move here and buy this house.”

Emma looked flabbergasted. “How long did he…? I mean, was he still sending you this money?” She sat up straight again, her brow furrowed. “Is that why you were so interested in the will? Because without him here—”

“The checks were going to stop coming,” Lizzie finished. “Yes. There was part of me that thought… I don’t know… that there would be some lump sum or college fund or something in his will. I don’t know.”

Emma put her face in her hands again. “I don’t know what to say. Why wouldn’t he put Willow in his will? He obviously cared. If he was sending you money all that time.” She let her hands drop.

Lizzie felt horrible as she said, “That’s the thing, though. It turns out he wasn’t sending me that money all those years.”

“I don’t understand,” Emma said.

And then the doorbell rang.





GRAY


“Where is she?” Gray said the second Lizzie opened the door. She pushed into the house, shoving the hood of her raincoat down off her hair. It wasn’t as if she thought Lizzie was going to do Emma physical harm—there was no reason to at this point, and besides, Lizzie didn’t have the stones. Still, she needed to get Emma out of here, away from this woman. She needed to regain control of the situation. “Emma?”

“Gray?”

She was sitting at the kitchen table, jacket on, hair wet, a mug of tea in front of her. There was another mug across the table and a packed bag on the floor. A cozy little cup of tea before they embarked on their trip. At least she’d gotten here in time.

“Come on.” Gray waved her hand in a let’s go gesture. “I’m taking you home.”

“Why?” For the first time Gray noticed that Emma seemed drained, her skin glossy and wan.

“You can’t trust her, Em,” Gray said. “She’s been lying to you for ten years.”

“I know,” Emma said.

Gray barely heard her, didn’t register the words. “Willow is James’s daughter.”

“She knows,” Lizzie said, coming up behind Gray, hugging herself with her hands tucked under her arms. She was wearing some sort of weird afghan poncho thing that was far too garish and far too large.

“You know?” Gray breathed, placing her hands on the back of an empty chair. “How?”

“She just told me,” Emma said.

“I’m sorry.” Gray cupped her skull with her hands. “You have been obsessed for weeks with finding your husband’s mistress and now you find out that she had an affair with him and you’re just sitting here having tea with her? Why are you not furious?”

Emma’s eyes looked very tired. “I don’t know, Gray. Maybe I’m in shock. How do you know about Willow?”

Lizzie calmly went to the cabinet for another mug, her ugly sweater shifting around her. “Did Darnell tell you?”