Reputation(91)
“Me too,” I say, the unsettled feeling in my gut sharpening. The caller did reach him, then. That has to be what this is about.
And yet he still doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.
We take a sharp turn on a yellow light and head up a road I haven’t been on in years. It leads to a back neighborhood of newer homes, but we pass though the main entrance and head toward a sign that points to a wooded park with a running trail, an outdoor ice rink, and a dog run. I know this park. Years ago, my mother, Willa, and I used to skate at the rink. We were all terrible skaters, holding on to one another for balance, relishing the moment when we’d completed a few laps and could dive back to the benches and drink hot chocolate.
Patrick pulls into the lot and chooses a space by the entrance to the trail. After he hits the button to cut the engine, he climbs out of the vehicle swiftly and with purpose, as though he’s keeping to some agenda. He walks to the front of the car, hands on his hips, and stares at the towering trees.
I follow him, my sneakers crunching in the rough gravel. Wind snaps around us. The woods are as dark as death. “This sure is private enough,” I say, laughing nervously.
All I can see of Patrick is the edge of his profile, backlit by the moon. “I just figured we both needed somewhere quiet to think.” His voice is empty. Hollow. I think of those old horror movies where a patient’s brain has been removed and yet he can still talk, respond, react. But his whole essence has been removed.
It hurts to swallow. I walk around to face him, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Is everything all right? You’re kind of acting—”
But I’m interrupted as my phone lets out a beep. I glance at it, terrified it might be something from the strange caller, but, to my surprise, Lynn Godfrey’s name pops up on the screen.
Patrick notices before I can tuck the phone back into my pocket. His features darken, and he looks at me with disdain. “Why is she calling you?”
“I-I have no idea,” I stammer.
“Are you guys friends now?”
“No!” I stare at him like he’s gone crazy. “Of course not!”
“So she hasn’t spoken to you tonight?” His eyes are wild. “She hasn’t told you anything?”
His face is so close that I feel the need to back up a few inches. What is he talking about? “No,” I say. “Told me what? Did you and Lynn have a fight?”
Patrick turns away. His jaw is twitching, and he’s drumming his fingers on his thighs. “Lynn’s insane. Don’t believe a word she says.”
My stomach sours. I don’t like the way Patrick said insane. “Okay . . .”
“And she’s onto us. She knows.” His mouth twists into a smirk.
I bite down hard on my lip. “H-How?”
He rounds on me, admonishingly. “What possessed you to wear that bracelet to fucking work, right in front of her?”
I struggle to think. “The . . . bracelet? That’s how she figured it out?”
“Did you just want to rub it in her face a little? Need to mark your territory?”
“Patrick, what the hell?” I screech. This all feels wrong: standing in this dark, deserted park, Patrick’s jitteriness, that walking-on-eggshells feeling in my gut, the fact that I haven’t even talked about my thing, which is why we’re supposed to be out here in the first place. “I haven’t talked to Lynn. I’m sorry she found out. I’m sorry I wore the bracelet. But why would she recognize it?”
Patrick breathes out. He looks like he might shatter into pieces, but then he turns away and puts his head in his hands. I stare at him for a few beats, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. My thoughts zoom back to Lynn. God, she must have lost it when she put the pieces together. I can’t imagine the rage that whipped through her—or the revenge she has planned. I mean, if I got a sleeping pill in my cocktail just for stealing her clients, what does she have in store now that I’ve stolen her man?
But suddenly, I realize: I know what Lynn has in store. She’s already done it. She was the voice on the other end of that phone, insinuating I killed Greg. It’s brilliant, actually—she knows I have no memory because she’s the one who drugged me. She also knows that if I begin to believe what I’ve done, I’ll either lose my mind or confess. I’ll go either to a mental hospital or to prison. And then, Lynn will have Patrick back to herself.
It’s elegant, actually. Diabolical. The relief floods over me, too, because as soon as I let in this little crack, I realize how crazy the notion ever was. Of course I didn’t. Even in my wildest dreams, even in my drunkest state, I wouldn’t snap like that.
Except why is Patrick acting so strangely, then? Just because I accidentally wore the bracelet and Lynn figured it out? I guess that is kind of a big deal. His marriage is crumbling. He probably didn’t expect it to happen. And he definitely didn’t expect us to get caught—especially by his scheming, conniving wife.
My phone buzzes once more. I wince when I see Lynn’s name once again on the screen. Instead of calling, this time she’s written a text. I don’t intend to read it, but my settings are such that the message appears on my locked screen, like it or not:
I know you’re with him right now. Get out of there. He has no alibi for the night your husband was killed. He isn’t safe.