“Ava, what is it?”
Her expression disturbs me to the point I almost forget about the phone.
“This doesn’t…I don’t…”
She can’t finish her thoughts. Shaking fingers fumble the note, the paper floating to the floor. Ava storms out of the room, muffled sobs following her down the hallway.
Sliding Oliver’s phone into my pocket, I turn my attention to the letter resting on the carpet. I retrieve it nervously, afraid of what it might say yet drawn to the contents.
I begin to read:
Dear Ava,
I apologize for not telling you the truth sooner. I wanted you to hear this from the people responsible and not me.
Constance and Preston are having an affair. I learned about it weeks ago during Tippi’s bridesmaids’ dress fitting. I should have told you about it the moment I found out, but I didn’t know how.
This news has devastated me; I can only imagine how you must feel. Know that I love you and am here for you. I’m on your side, always.
—Marlowe
32
The heat spreading throughmy body is dangerous and deadly, dual revelations fighting for my attention. Marlowe’s letter is clenched in my fist, my fingers too stiff to let go.
Constance and Preston are having an affair.
It’s absurd. Preston with his preppy, pro-athlete swagger and Constance, the aura-obsessed hippie. During group gatherings, the two of them barely interact, have almost nothing in common. A romance budding between the two of them doesn’t make any sense.
My heart sinks when I think of Ava. Nothing she’s done could warrant this. A betrayal from her husband and one of her oldest friends. Even when she’s vying for the limelight, Ava gives all of herself to everyone around her, Constance and Preston being two of the biggest recipients of her generosity. She’s supported Preston as he navigates his retirement. She’s planning Constance’s baby shower—
The baby.Horror tremors through me, burrows into a sickening pit at the base of my stomach. Is it possible Preston could be the father of Constance’s child? At her first fertility appointment, she’d informed her doctor that she was celibate, but was she only saying that to hide heraffair? If she’d admitted to being sexually active, I would have had questions, and it could have impacted her ability to get pregnant via intrauterine insemination. Constance wouldn’t risk it. That appointment was over a year ago. Marlowe’s letter doesn’t indicate when the affair started, but it can’t have been going on for over a year. Could it?
I crush the letter with my fist and stuff it into my pocket, the material cushioning around Oliver’s phone. Discovering Damien is the person blackmailing me isn’t shocking. I was expecting it. He’s the only outsider here.
But this? Never in a million years would I have thought Constance could betray Ava. The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I can only imagine how Ava feels, uncovering something so upsetting in such proximity to everyone involved.
I rush out of the Teal Room in search of Ava. Marmee gifted her with her favorite room in the house—the Fairy Room, the only one on the first floor, tucked into a narrow hallway between the parlor and the formal dining room. I rush down the staircase, ignoring the curious stares from everyone inside the parlor. It’s a relief to see Ava isn’t in there. After reading Marlowe’s letter, I was afraid she would be out for blood.
“What’s going on?” Preston says, following me down the hallway in the direction of their shared bedroom. “Is Ava crying?”
“Not now,” I spit, shooting daggers at him with my eyes.
I’ll deal with Preston and Constance, and even Damien, later. Right now, Ava needs me. I find her inside the Fairy Room, stuffing her belongings into a suitcase.
“Ava, I’m sorry…” Words fail me. Anything I say is a useless balm for her suffering.
“Did you read what Marlowe wrote?” She stops abruptly, her posture stiffening. There’s a fury in her eyes I’ve never seen before. “About Preston. And Constance.”
“Yes,” I admit, overwhelmed with shame. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I. Marlowe found out weeks ago!”
I’m shocked Marlowe didn’t say something sooner. I’m surprised she didn’t recruit me to assist in breaking the news to Ava, help soften theblow, as if there’s ever a right time or place to reveal such soul-crushing information. When I imagine Preston and Constance together romantically, I feel like I’m about to retch.
“Marlowe wanted you to know,” I say, compelled to defend our dead friend. “That’s why she wrote you the letter.”
This explains Marlowe’s apathetic demeanor tonight. She regretted having to engage with Constance and Preston. I’d misinterpreted her frustration, believed it was targeted at Ava stemming from the dress fitting.
