The Deal(113)

Shooting Garrett an apologetic look, I trail after Cindy, who leads me into a large, modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and black marble counters. The delicious aromas are stronger here, and there are enough tin-foil-covered dishes on the counter to feed an entire third-world country.

“Did you cook all this?” I exclaim.

She turns with a shy smile. “I did. I love to cook, but Phil rarely gives me the chance to do it. He prefers to dine out.”

Cindy slips on a pair of plush mitts before opening the oven door. “So how long have you and Garrett been seeing each other?” she asks conversationally, setting the enormous turkey pan on the stovetop.

“About a month.” I watch as she lifts the aluminum foil off the massive bird. “What about you and Mr. Graham?”

“A little over a year now.” Her back is turned to me, so I can’t see her expression, but something about her tone raises my guard. “We met at a charity event I was organizing.”

“Oh. Are you an event planner?”

She sticks a thermometer into the breast area of the turkey, then the legs, and her shoulders visibly relax. “It’s ready,” she murmurs. “And to answer your question, I was an event planner, but I sold my company a few months ago. Phil said he misses me too much when I’m at work.”

Um. What?

I can’t imagine ever giving up my job because the man in my life misses me too much when I’m at work. To me, that’s a red flag if I ever saw one.

“Oh. That’s…nice.” I gesture to the counter. “Do you want me to help you heat everything up? Or are we not eating right away?”

“Phil expects to eat the moment the turkey is ready.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “When he sets a schedule, he expects everyone to follow it.” Cindy points to the large bowl by the microwave. “You can start by heating up the potatoes. I still need to make the gravy.” She holds up a gravy mix packet. “Usually I make it from scratch using the turkey juices, but we’re strapped for time, so this will have to do.”

She turns off the oven and places the turkey on the counter before turning her attention to the gravy. The wall over the stove is covered with hooks of pots and pans, and as she reaches up to grab one, her lacy sleeves ride up, and either I’m imagining it, or there’s bluish-black bruising on the undersides of both her wrists.

As if someone grabbed her. Hard.

Her arms come down and the sleeves cover her forearms, and I decide that the black lace was playing tricks on my eyes.

“Do you live here with Mr. Graham or do you have your own place?” I ask as I wait for the mashed potatoes to finish nuking.

“I moved in with Phil about two weeks after we met,” she admits.

I have to be imagining things, because there’s no way that chord in her voice is bitterness, right?

“Oh. That’s kind of impulsive. You guys hardly even knew each other, huh?”

“No. We didn’t.”

Okay, I’m not imagining it.

That’s absolutely bitterness.

Cindy glances over her shoulder, an unmistakable flicker of sorrow in her eyes. “I’m not sure anyone ever told you this, but spontaneity has the tendency to backfire on you.”

I have no clue how to respond.

So I say, “Oh.”

I get the feeling I’m going to be saying that word a lot tonight.





36




Garrett


He hits her.

The son of a bitch hits her.

It only takes thirty minutes in Cindy’s company for me to reach that conclusion. To pick up on the signs. I see it in the way she flinches whenever he touches her. Just slightly, and probably unnoticeable to anyone else, but it’s the same way my mother would respond each time he came near her. It was almost like she was anticipating the next strike of his fist, or his palm, or his f*cking foot.

But that’s not the only warning sign Cindy is broadcasting. The long-sleeved lacy thing over her red dress is a dead giveaway—I’ve f*cked enough sorority girls to know that you don’t match white heels with a black jacket. And then there’s the spark of fear that flicks through her eyes whenever my father so much as twitches in his chair. The sad droop of her shoulders when he tells her that the gravy is too watery. The slew of compliments she gives him because she’s obviously trying to keep him happy. No, to keep him calm.