Confessions on the 7:45(43)

“Her body turns up?” said Selena, shocked. “What kind of thing is that to say? She’s a person.”

He lifted his palms.

“I’m just saying,” he defended. “Unless that happens, there’s not a whole lot they can do. It’s not a crime to walk away from your life. And as for the blackmail, the car, all that—it’s Tucker’s word against hers. She could say it was a gift.”

“What if they come with a warrant—want to search our computers, or the camera app?” said Graham.

“They likely won’t do that unless we’re talking about a murder investigation—which we’re not at the moment. If that happens, we’ll have to revisit, decide whether we want to come clean about the affair rather than let them discover it in a search and seizure.”

“So then—what?” asked Selena.

“The hardest thing,” said Will. “Go about your business and wait to see what happens next. Unless the sister keeps applying pressure, or the media becomes a factor, or there’s a further development, I’m betting this just goes away.”

She felt a little burst of hope.

Don’t you wish your problems would just go away?

Maybe they did sometimes.

Graham looked like he was going to be sick. Finally, he got up and left the room. Selena heard him flop onto the couch. A second later, the television came on. She looked at Will, those stormy eyes unreadable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

“I should go,” he said finally.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you for this,” she said at his car. “And I’m sorry. Sorry to drag you into the mess of my life.”

The air was cool and the wind blustery, the tall oaks up and down the street whispering. Lights in neighborhood houses glowed, the picture of warmth and security.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he said, leaning on the hood of his sleek black late-model BMW. “You deserve better than this, Selena. So do the boys.”

She shook her head, wrapped her arms around her middle, not trusting her voice. She looked back at her own house—empty of her children, her cheating husband lying on the couch inside. What had she wanted when she was younger? What had she imagined? Nothing like this.

“What are you going to do?” he asked. His voice was soft and deep.

“I don’t know.”

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m here for you,” he said. “You know that. We’ve been friends a long time and that hasn’t changed. It won’t.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

There was still a pull to him; that connection, that attraction, it never went away. She just chose someone else. And that’s all life was—a series of choices and their consequences. What was it about Graham? He was wild, where Will was staid. He connected her to the part of herself that wanted to take risks—like skydiving, and zip-lining. Will had his feet planted firmly on the ground and wanted her to stay there, too. Will had always been the one who pushed her—to do better in school, to get a good night’s sleep, to work out. Graham would party all night—they’d go to clubs, get home in time for a catnap and a shower before heading to work. Life with Graham was fun—last-minute trips to Vegas, lavish dinners, shopping sprees that neither of them could afford. Will was predictable, always did the right thing. He saved, hated debt, only bought what he could afford.

She chose Graham, for reasons that seemed right at the time. Reasons that seemed childish now. She wanted to live on the edge, push the boundaries, walk on the wild side while she was young. She hadn’t been ready to settle into a life where she already knew the beginning, the middle and the end. Graham lit her up. She’d loved him wildly. She’d loved Will, too. It was just—different.

“I met someone the other night,” she said. Will’s expression made her clarify.

“No,” she said. “Not like that. On the train the other night, I met a woman.”

He issued a little laugh. “I’ve heard that one before, too.”

“Stop,” she said with a smile. “She’s been—texting me.”

A frown. “What about?”

She tried to explain the encounter to him, the odd energy, why she felt compelled to tell this stranger about her life, what the woman had revealed to her. How she’d been ignoring the texts that arrived.

“Did you give her your number?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t. I don’t even remember giving her my last name.”

Will’s frown deepened. “That’s odd.”

“I’m just telling you because—there is someone out there who knows about Graham. Or knows that I suspected him of being unfaithful.”

He nodded carefully. “What was her name?”

“Martha. I didn’t get her last name. I blocked her the first time. But the later texts came from a different number. It was almost like she knew I blocked her.”

She handed Will her phone and he scrolled through the texts.

After a moment, he shrugged.

“Ghost her. Certainly don’t engage.”

“What do you think she wants?”

“Maybe nothing,” said Will. “Maybe she’s just looking for a friend.”