Her words are like arrows striking fresh wounds. Preston appears defeated, but he still musters the strength to say, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix this.”
“You got another woman pregnant, Preston,” she says, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “There’s no overcoming that.”
There it is. The root of sadness underlying every difficult or happy moment in Ava’s life. In the beginning, she acted as though conception was a fun adventure they’d embark on together, but the longer she went without having children, the more her desperation began to show. Ava, who never struggled to make friends or dazzle a date or secure clients, had finally stumbled upon the one situation she couldn’t fix.
“We need to refocus,” I say. “Think about Marlowe. The police. We’ve already lost one friend…” My words trail away, raw emotion threatening to overpower me.
Ava’s bottom lip trembles when she speaks, her water-filled eyes glaring at Preston. “Please,” she says. “Just give me some space.”
Preston turns to me, his brow furrowed, before heading toward the door. He looks like a dog with his tail between his legs. Once we’ve left the room, he says, “Tippi, you have to understand—”
“Understand what, Preston? Do you really think there’s an excuse for what you’ve done?” I ask, choking on my own disgust. “For what you both did.”
We all have faults. Skeletons in our closets. Considering what I did to Oliver, I shouldn’t judge them this harshly, but I made choices to protect myself, to protect the people I love. What Constance and Preston did served only themselves. It’s destroyed Ava. For all her flaws and eccentricities, she doesn’t deserve this.
“The police will be here soon,” I say, padding down the hallway. “Let’s just focus on that.”
34
Inside the parlor, Damienremains at the bar, reaching for yet another drink. Constance lounges on the sofa, weeping into a pillow. She lifts her head when she hears us. The light from the fireplace licks her face, accentuating tear-stained cheeks.
She struggles to walk across the room. I think she’s coming toward me, but then she falls into Preston’s arms. The two embrace, the side of her face resting against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says to him. “I never wanted her to find out this way.”
“I know,” he says, gently rubbing the back of Constance’s hair.
I blink several times, trying to make sense of the image before me. It feels as if I’m in some time-bending episode ofAlfred Hitchcock Presents.I’ve seen Ava and Preston interact with each other like this countless times. The affection, the intimacy. I imagine Ava crying in the other room.
“Absolutely not,” I say, waving my hands. “Do not act that way in front of me.”
Damien, who seems just as perplexed, says, “What’s going on?”
No one answers right away. It’s too hard to put the situation intowords, every explanation forcing us to relive the pain of the last half hour.
“Preston and Constance are having an affair,” I say, at last. “That’s why Ava is upset.”
“What the fuck?” Damien says.
Preston steps forward. “Don’t be a dick, man. None of this concerns you.”
“This night keeps getting crazier and crazier,” Damien says, backing away from a potential fight.
Preston, overwhelmed by everything unfolding, returns his attention to Constance. “I need to step away for a second.”
“Should I come with you?” she asks, a pestering eagerness in her voice.
“No,” he says, plainly. “I need a moment alone.”
His casual dismissal of Constance is cringeworthy. He walks away, disappearing into the Reading Room, then through the glass doors of the conservatory. Constance hobbles back to the sofa. She stares ahead at the flickering flames.
“None of it was supposed to happen this way.”
I can’t stop myself from responding. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“We wanted to tell her together,” she says. “After the baby was born.”
“Tell her what exactly?”
