The Good Liar(67)

“Home sweet home.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at the solid brick, the sashed windows. She should do something about the flower garden. Her perennials were getting unruly.

“Take the day off,” Tom said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m going to.”

“Well, all right then.”

“Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Anytime.”

Kaitlyn reached for her seat belt and came up against Tom’s lips on her cheek, just left of her mouth. She pulled back.

“What was that for?”

“Thank you.”

“I was only doing my job.”

He shrugged. Kaitlyn felt uncomfortable, alert.

“I should get some sleep,” she said.

“We both should.”

Kaitlyn got out of the car and told herself not to look back. Not to be the girl who watched a man drive away. But what was she even thinking of? This was Tom. Her friend. Her friend’s husband. It must be the exhaustion. It must be all in her head. She would rinse it out immediately with a good shower and be done with it.

Inside, her house was deeply quiet. The type of quiet it never was. She peeled the clothes from her body and climbed into the oldest, softest pajamas she could find. She fell quickly into a dead sleep. The buzzing of her phone woke her hours later. It was Joshua calling, checking in. She felt annoyed that he woke her, then muzzled the feeling. He was being thoughtful. She was still too tired to control her emotions. Feel the proper feelings. She thanked him for his concern. Made a joke about the office. Said she needed some more sleep. They hung up, and that’s when she saw it. An e-mail from Tom labeled You.

She opened it.

You look adorable in the morning.

There was no more sleeping after that.



Kate wished she’d had more time in the bathroom to think out how to explain herself. She’d come to Cecily on instinct, unable to face her own house. Her own life. She’d had plenty of time, though. She could’ve worked this out on the bus ride. Instead, she’d stared out the window, her heart leaping around like a frog caught on a road. But she’d run out of road, and here she was. She felt as if the Kate persona she’d been living the last year had washed away, sliding down the drain of the sink she was standing at. She looked at herself in the mirror. She even looked like Kaitlyn again. She might as well accept it.

“How much do you want to know?” she said to Cecily when they were back in the living room. She wished she could ask Cecily for a drink. Something she’d avoided since her near blackout with the bottles of red wine in her hotel room that first week in Montreal. But there wasn’t anything that could blunt this task. She had to face it head-on. Sober.

“About you and Tom? All of it. The minimum.”

“I can’t do both.”

“I know. You know what? I wish I didn’t know any of it.”

“I wish there wasn’t anything to know.”

Cecily pulled one of the couch cushions into her lap. She wrapped her arms around it. “Do you mean that? How can you?”

The tone of Cecily’s voice was a blow. Back when she’d been two things—Tom’s and Cecily’s—she’d built up some defenses. She’d had to. But they were all washed away now. By time. Knowledge. The pain in Cecily’s voice.

“You have no reason to believe anything I’m saying,” Kaitlyn said. “But I came to you. I was free and clear. I didn’t need to come back. Does that count for something?”

“Maybe. Maybe it counts for a little.”

“So what do you want to know?”

“I’m not ready to hear about the Tom stuff. Not now.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you here? What’s the big plan?”

This Kaitlyn had given some thought to in the hours after she’d read that article about Franny in Vanity Fair. Had learned that she’d wormed her way into her family and was about to take her place. In those moments, she knew exactly what to do. Get to her family. Stop Franny.

“We need to find a way to let Joshua know Franny isn’t who she says she is.”

“Why do you care?”

“Seriously? How can you ask me that?”

“You ran out on him. You ran out on your kids.”

Kaitlyn felt ashamed, but not as much as she ought to. This wasn’t new information, after all. She’d been living with it for a long time. “I know what I did.”

“They think you died, Kaitlyn. They’ve had to deal with that. Added to that, now there’s Franny in the mix. And you’re not dead. How are they going to process all of this?”

“You can’t tell them I’m alive.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“They don’t have to know. There must be a way. Please.”

“What? I have to keep your secrets now? That’s the big plan?”

“I don’t have a plan. None of this was planned.”

“I feel like we’re going around in circles.”

“We have to stop Franny. That’s why I’m here. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone more than I already have.”

Kaitlyn couldn’t stand the pained expression on Cecily’s face any longer. She broke eye contact and tried to focus on something else. The pictures on the mantel, the four of them together. Looking like the perfect family they weren’t anymore. Because of her. Because of Tom. She should’ve deleted that first e-mail from him. She should’ve shut down any attempt to follow through. But instead she wrote back: You don’t look so bad yourself.