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Then she cracks the door back open, her eyes on the floor, and gestures for me to come inside.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
I step into the living room and take a seat on the edge of a slipcovered couch. The house is small but homey: a fireplace with a cluttered mantel, string lights illuminating a collection of candles and books stacked high in both corners. There’s a glass coffee table in the center of it all and a series of pictures clipped to a string with clothespins against the back wall.
She seems fun, eclectic. So incredibly young.
Valerie sits in a chair on the opposite side of the table, eying me from across the room. She doesn’t seem scared or suspicious; instead, she seems a little on guard, like I’m some kind of rabid animal she isn’t quite sure how to handle.
Like I might lash out and bite.
“First of all,” she says, crossing one leg over the other, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Isabelle. I told Ben that it felt too soon…”
She stops, diverts her eyes to the floor, fully aware of the role she holds in this relationship of ours.
“You just have a lot going on,” she continues. “And I’m sorry if the addition of me is making it worse.”
I’m quiet, not quite sure how to respond to that.
“Thank you,” I say at last. “That means a lot.”
“So, what is it that you’d like me to know?”
She leans back in her chair, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s about to read me like one of her patients. Like she’s inherently wary of what I’m about to divulge and she intends to analyze whatever comes out of my mouth next.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” I start, trying to keep my leg from bouncing. “But I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. With Ben.”
“Okay,” she says. “And what am I getting myself into?”
“Did you know he was married before? Before me, I mean.”
“Allison,” she nods. “Yes, I’ve heard.”
I try not to show my surprise at the mention of her name. For some reason, I assumed Ben would have hidden that from her. Less baggage.
“And did you know she died?”
“Yes. I’ve seen my fair share of suicide in this line of work, unfortunately. It’s tragic.”
“Well, an overdose,” I clarify. “Accidental or… otherwise.”
Valerie looks at me, her eyes squinting as she tries to dissect what I’m saying. “You really think it was an accident?”
“Honestly?” I ask, steeling myself. “I’m not convinced she did it at all.”
She tilts her head to the side, like she’s trying to decide if I’m joking.
“She died right around the time Ben and I started to get involved,” I continue, talking faster. “Did Ben tell you she was pregnant? Did he tell you he never really wanted kids?”
Valerie blinks, expressionless, and I wait for a response, forsomething, but nothing ever comes.
“In hindsight, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence,” I go on, realizing she isn’t going to budge. “Especially now, with the disappearanceof my son… andyou, showing up right after… not that I am placinganyblame on you, of course. But Ben had motivations for both Allison and Mason to be out of his life. We can’t just ignore that.”
I watch as she lets the information settle over her, absorbing every word.
“I just wanted you to know everything up front,” I finish. “So you can make the right decision for yourself.”
“Wow,” she finally mutters, shaking her head. “That’s… a lot to take in.”
