Dead to Her(63)

Marcie took hers out of its box, and there was a fresh gasp from around the table.

“I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to me,” Keisha said. The barb was slight, just there enough for Marcie to pick up on it while it passed the rest by. Heartache always defended itself by attacking. Marcie only hoped that these little remarks would be the worst of it. Still, she ached with regret as she took in the beauty of the mask. It looked pure, for want of a better word. Jason had never bought her anything like this, so perfect for her.

She held it up against her face and knew even without the reassurance of a mirror that she looked magnificent. It was crafted in white gold, burnished, and hued with candy floss pink as it turned in the light. That should have made it look saccharine and babyish but instead it was aloofly ethereal against her ice-blond hair. Where the metal edge around one eye curved up catlike, around the other a butterfly wing emerged, glittering, inlaid with what Marcie was sure were hundreds of tiny sparkling diamonds. It was magical. There was no other word for it. Even the ribbons that went to tie it at the back of her head had glittering stones in them. “And I thought it would suit you,” Keisha finished.

Marcie said nothing, still staring in delight at the mask.

“She hasn’t been that good a friend,” Jason said, his smile as thin as his joke.

“Well, I for one can’t wait for this Saturday’s extravaganza!” Emmett said, raising his brandy. “It’s going to be a night to remember!”





39.

Marcie didn’t want to go to the party. She wanted to curl up in bed, pull the covers over her head, and stay there until she died. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be anywhere but here. But once it was all over, the story told, Jason had said nothing for a long time and then growled at her that they were leaving in twenty. He had to see William. They couldn’t miss the party. He was insistent, and she was pretty sure that if she’d protested he would have wrapped his hands around her throat and let all that pent-up anger out until her tongue was thick and blue and her eyes bulged lifeless from her head.

She glanced over as they approached the drive, and his handsome face was once again cold, like that of a stranger, but this time it was her fault. What was he thinking? What was he going to do?

Fire lamps glittered along the road, dramatically lighting the route, and Marcie’s hands shook as she tied the ornate ribbons of her mask behind her head. Thank God for the mask. No one would be able to see how pale and broken and afraid she was.

Her secrets had unraveled.

The thick white envelope had come addressed to Jason, his name printed large and in capitals. No stamp. Hand delivered to the mailbox. She vaguely remembered him bringing it in with the rest of the letters, his face already like thunder. Bad day at the office, dear? she’d wanted to snip at him as he poured a whiskey and then disappeared into his office, but decided against it. She was in a good mood despite him, despite his working on a Saturday, enjoying getting ready for the Radfords’ party. Her hair was styled in a glamorous updo and her makeup had been set and she knew she looked beautiful already, even without her silver dress and masquerade mask on. As music quietly played on her iPod, she looked this way and that at herself in the mirror, enamored. Her mind had drifted to what Keisha would think when she saw her and then what Keisha would be wearing, and whether they’d speak, and then to Iris and the Magnolias and whether they’d be happy to have her glamour added to their number.

“Marcie! Come in here now!” Even then, when he’d called for her to join him, she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn’t hear the edge in his voice—the quiet, terrible suspicion.

At first, when she’d breezed into his study, annoyed at being distracted from her preparations, she didn’t really see what he was showing her. That battered old yearbook. Then she saw the note with that one printed sentence on it—What happened to Jonny?—and, in an instant, the book made sense and her world crumbled.

She’d had to tell him everything. She had no choice. How hard her life had been. Her mom. The trailer park. How she found Jonny. The scandal of it all. How she’d had to get away after. To run somewhere she could start over. As his questions came like bullets, she’d had to show him everything, bring down her box of secrets—her old driver’s license, birth certificate, photos—hidden away in the dressing room ceiling and empty it in front of him as her perfect makeup ran in tracks down her cheeks and her voice choked on snot.

He’d said nothing when she’d finished, but sat in silence as her heart pounded, the guillotine above her life hanging by a fraying thread. Eventually he’d stood up and said he was getting in the shower and she should tidy herself up. They had to leave in twenty minutes. And that was that.

Now here they were, hidden behind their masks, to all the world a beautiful, successful couple with nothing to hide, and as Jason handed their keys to the valet, Marcie felt tears sting her eyes again. What would she do if he divorced her? Where would she go?

“I’ll see you at eleven,” Jason said. In the dark she could barely see his eyes beyond the ebony of his mask. “Back here.”

“But shouldn’t we . . .” go in together? She didn’t get to finish the sentence. He was striding away already. She stared after him, to where two Pierrots were signaling in overblown mime that guests should go around to the back of the house.