My Lovely Wife(101)

And my kids. Jenna told the police that she overhead our argument and that her mother admitted to setting me up. Rory told them it was self-defense, because his mother was about to shoot him. Neither told the police what really happened. Those details do not matter.

I like to think the police believed everyone who stood up for me, that they knew I couldn’t be a killer. But it was the DNA. All the evidence in the church basement underwent rigorous testing at the FBI lab in Quantico. The result confirmed what we already knew: The DNA was mine.

The samples came from two sources: sweat and blood. And they saved me. Or rather, Millicent’s lack of knowledge saved me. The FBI tests revealed that all the samples of blood and sweat had the exact same amount of chemical decomposition. It looked like Millicent had collected my fluids just once and then sprinkled them around all at the same time. The report stated that I must have been in that basement only once, because the DNA had been left on the same day. An impossibility if I had killed those women at different times.

It’s too bad Millicent never knew how badly she had screwed up.

As soon as I was cleared, we sold the house and left Hidden Oaks. The first thing I had to get used to was the cold. And the snow.

I’ve never lived where it snows before, but now it surrounds us. At first, it’s light and fluffy, like hand-spun cotton candy. When it blankets the city, everything goes quiet. It’s as if Aberdeen has been lifted right into the clouds.

The day after, it’s slushy and dirty and the whole city looks covered in soot.

Our third winter is coming up, and I have grown a bit more used to it. Rory has not. Just last night, he showed me a website for a college in Georgia.

“Too far,” I said.

“We’re in Scotland. Everything is far.”

He had a point. And that was the point, to get far away from our old life. We are doing okay. I can say that without crossing my fingers.

Jenna has a new therapist and a couple of prescriptions. I find it amazing that she functions at all, given what Millicent did to her. Rory has his own therapist, as do I. Once in a while, we have a group session, and we haven’t hurt one another yet.

I do not tell them that I miss her. Sometimes. I miss the family she built, the structure, the way she kept us organized. But not all the time. Now, we don’t have as many rules, but we still have some. It’s all up to me, I can make a rule or not. Break it or not. No one is around to tell me if I am wrong or right.

Today I am in Edinburgh, a larger city than Aberdeen. I have come to see my tax attorney. Moving out of the country is complicated. Taxes must be paid in multiple places, depending on where money is kept. Our house in Hidden Oaks sold for a good amount; we are more than comfortable for the moment. I also coach tennis. It is a huge sport in Scotland, though much of the time we play on indoor courts.

When I am done with the tax lawyer, I find myself with a little time before the next train to Aberdeen. I stop in a pub near the station and motion to the bartender for an ale on tap. He fills a mug with a dark, syrupy liquid, unlike any beer I drank back home.

The woman next to me has dark hair and pale skin. She is dressed like someone who just got off work and is having a drink before heading home. I can sense her relief that the day is almost over.

After half a drink, she glances up at me and smiles.

I return the smile.

She looks away and looks back.

I take out my phone, type out a message, and slide it across the bar.

Hello. My name is Quentin.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


When I sat down to write this, I realized I had no idea where to start. I’ve never written an acknowledgments before, but what I do know is that many, many people worked very hard to get this book into your hands. I can never thank them all properly, but I’ll give it a shot.

My agent, Barbara Poelle. Without her, My Lovely Wife would not be a published book. Turns out she is as disturbed as I am (maybe more so) and crazy enough to take a chance on a nobody like me.

My editor, Jen Monroe. She made this book better, caught all my mistakes, and refused to let me get away with anything. My heart jumps every time I see her name in my in-box, but that’s a good thing.

Everyone at Berkley, I am so grateful you decided to publish this book, and grateful for all the time and resources you have dedicated to it.

My friends, critique partners and fellow writers, without whom I would be nowhere. Starting with Rebecca Vonier, who would not let me give up on this book. I never would have finished it without her, nor would it be a published book. Marti Dumas, who points out all the story and character problems and is always right. Laura Cherry, who notices every little thing and tells me about it. And Hoy Hughes, who started the original writer’s group where I met all these wonderful people.

There are many, many others who have taken the time to read and offer opinions of my writing (most of it was bad). I won’t even try to name every person, because I will forget someone, but you know who you are.

All the bloggers, writers, reviewers, and everyone who has found themselves with this book in their hands. First and foremost, I am a reader. I am grateful for the joy that books have brought me and grateful anyone would want to read my words.

I can’t leave out my day-job boss and longtime friend, Andrea, who has always been supportive.

Last but definitely not least, my family. My mom, who is always there for me no matter what crazy adventure I’m on. And my brother, who made me tough.