Page 86 of Dear Debbie

ONE YEAR LATER

COOPER

I’m making breakfast this morning.

It’s nothing special. Just a couple of pieces of toast smeared with jam, paired with a bowl of cereal. I’m eating Debbie’s fiber cereal, because it’s actually sort of grown on me, believe it or not.

I would say my newfound love of fiber cereal is probably the thing that has changed least about our lives in the last year.

For starters, after Ken’s murder, I founded my own accounting firm, and it has flourished. I’ve now got a staff of half a dozen people, and we even got a favorable write-up in the Boston Globe. I never thought of myself as much of a businessman, but apparently, I’m better at it than I thought. I guess Debbie was right.

I still can’t believe Ken was murdered. Even worse, that my friend Jesse was the one who killed him. I refused to believe it at first, but the evidence kept mounting to the point where it was undeniable. Jesse stole money from the company, and when Ken found out, Jesse shot him.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

Jesse was having an affair with this trainer from the gym named Harley. I had seen her around several times before and remembered the pink streak in her hair. Debbie was friendly with her too, although I hadn’t really realized it at the time. I had seen Jesse talking to Harley a few times, and I had to admit, I did notice the low voices they used when they talked. But I never really thought he was having an affair, and with everything else going on in my life, I didn’t give it another thought. I mean, yes, I’m aware that plenty of men have affairs, but to me, it’s unthinkable.

Apparently, Harley was putting pressure on Jesse to leave his wife. She was threatening to rat him out if he didn’t do what she wanted. So he went to her house with the same gun he used to shoot Ken, and he killed her.

I later discovered that random address where I found Debbie was Harley’s apartment. Debbie explained to me that when she went over there to see Harley, she didn’t answer the door. Because, as it turned out, she was dead.

Debbie was the one who finally called the police, saying she was concerned about Harley’s boyfriend, although she had never met him before. The police arrived at Harley’s apartment and caught Jesse trying to scrub the place of his fingerprints while Harley lay dead on the living room floor.

He was arrested immediately.

The evidence was overwhelming, and he was essentially caught in the act. His trial took place last month, and when he asked me to be a character witness, I had to decline. Jesse was my friend, but there was no doubt in my mind that he killed our boss and his mistress. The jury agreed. He was found guilty of two counts of first-degree murder and received two consecutive life sentences. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.

But other than the nasty business with the trial, our lives have been great. Lexi and Debbie became a lot closer after that whole business with Zane, and it seems like a bit of a miracle that they don’t fight anymore the way they used to. Debbie cried for a week after Lexi moved out to go to college, even though she stayed local and has already been home to do laundry. She got into a great school, by the way. I don’t want to brag or anything, but it rhymes with Schmarvard.

Debbie’s just happy that Lexi has nothing to do with her old boyfriend, Zane. After his accident, I heard about charges against him—something to do with illegal photos he was passing around—and now that he’s out of the hospital, he may be in serious legal trouble. I saw him just once, at the grocery store with his mother, using a wheelchair that he operated with his mouth. I didn’t say hello.

And Izzy is kicking ass on the soccer team. As usual. Debbie and I attended every game last year.

Debbie is having some of her own career success too, and I’m really freaking proud of her. She’s been writing all these apps for her phone that we have been using for years, and one of them really blew up. It’s called Punish Your Husband, where a wife can assign some potential punishments (the most popular being cleaning the bathroom) to her husband for misdeeds like forgetting a birthday or anniversary. Wives apparently find it hilarious to come up with more and more creative punishments.

A couple of months ago, Debbie sold Punish Your Husband. I’m not gonna say how much it sold for, but it’s enough to pay for Lexi’s entire tuition at Schmarvard. Debbie has been working on some new projects, and she seems a lot happier overall.

Debbie explained to me that the file of threatening advice on her computer was a way for her to deal with the trauma of what happened to her. Now that she’s in therapy to help her deal with it, she revisited all those emails and rewrote her advice. Even though she’s no longer Dear Debbie, she answered every single one of those emails, and she’s been counseling a lot of women with their problems. What can I say? My wife gives great advice.

As for me and Debbie, that’s a complicated one.

We’ve been seeing a couples therapist. Obviously. We have both been keeping huge secrets from each other, and I feel simultaneously guilty that I didn’t tell her mine and guilty that she didn’t feel comfortable telling me hers. Debbie was sexually assaulted. The thought of it makes me so angry, I can’t even think straight. How could somebody do that to her? To anyone?

I’m glad she doesn’t know the name of the guy who did it, because if she did, I would be tempted to find him and beat him to death with my bare hands.

But we’re going to have an empty nest in only two years, and I want to make sure Debbie and I are okay. So every two weeks, we’ve been seeing the couples therapist. We never skip, no matter what. Nothing is more important than working on our marriage.

Just as I am popping my whole wheat bread out of the toaster, Debbie comes into our kitchen, dressed in her gym clothes. Our therapist said we need to get better at saying what we’re thinking, so I decide to practice that right now.

“Hey,” I say, “you look really sexy in those leggings.”

Debbie rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mullen.” Her gaze flicks over my chest. “You even tied your own tie perfectly.”

“I watched a video online,” I say proudly.

“You? Watched a video online?”

I laugh because she has a point. It doesn’t sound like something I would do. But I’ve actually been spending a little bit more time on the internet, building our business. I’ve built up my company’s website, including putting my picture on it. I discovered that Jesse had been telling Harley that he was me to hide his identity, and he could only do that because there were zero pictures of me anywhere on the internet.