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“I mean, I still remember how you were with me after Jason died.” Charlotte continued. “You dragged me out of bed most days. You pushed me to build a new life. I wouldn’t be with Everett if it wasn’t for you. I’d probably still be in that bed down the road, nursing my wounds, thinking my life was over.”
Claire shifted across the couch and laid her head on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Apparently, Gail told Abby there was something up with Russel. And Abby got angry. That’s why they were fighting.”
Charlotte winced. “What was up with Russel?”
“Abby couldn’t fully understand her,” Claire explained. “She was crying too hard. But the gist is, I guess, that Russel isn’t who he says he is. That he wants to leave us.”
“Where did she get that idea?” Charlotte asked.
“No idea. Gail never clarified anything else.” Claire took a long swig of wine and felt her anxiety drop. Bit by bit, reality was coming into focus. She filled her lungs with warm air.
“Are you going to approach Russel about this?”
“What could I say?” Claire began. “That Abby thinks he might have something to do with her sister’s disappearance? It sounds ridiculous.”
“He probably didn’t have anything to do with it,” Charlotte reminded her. “But maybe Gail learned something about him. Something that drove her away.”
Claire bit her bottom lip. Charlotte was the voice of reason, even if she really didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
Finally, she spoke, and her voice was only a whisper. “Russel has been incredibly distant lately. I’m lonelier when he’s here than when he’s in the city.”
Charlotte winced. “That’s telling.”
“But it’s not like I want to leave him! No. Marriages go through peaks and valleys. Dynamics change.”
“They do,” Charlotte assured her, although her voice was edged with doubt.
Claire burrowed the back of her head against the couch cushion. Her heart thudded with a single thought. She couldn’t lose both Russel and Gail in one fell swoop. That would be like getting her arm and leg chopped off at once. That would be like being buried alive.
ChapterTen
Rina tapped her fingernail on the glass of Steve’s rental vehicle, at first gently and then harder, until his eyes flickered open. He jumped with surprise, then raised his cap to peer out at her. His smile was crooked, his dimples sharp and deep, and Rina’s stomach flipped over with recognition. Steve unlocked the door and stepped out, bringing with him that familiar smell—a mix of his auto shop and an expensive cologne that smelled of oak and leather. Rina held herself back from burrowing against him.
“What are you doing here?” Rina asked.
Steve closed the door of the car with a sharp click and took stock of their surroundings. The swell of blue sky and the little two-bedroom house Rina had called home for nearly ten years. It was bizarre to have him there in her world, so far from the one where they’d met. He didn’t look from California in the slightest. His skin had paled since summer, and he still wore his coat.
“This is some place you have,” Steve said. “Just a few blocks from the beach! And that Pacific Ocean is gorgeous. So different from the Atlantic.”
Rina shoved him gently, irritated that he’d ignored her question. It was easy to fall back into their old patterns and want to tease him again.“Come inside,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve had a long trip, I guess.”
Steve collected his suitcase from the back and followed Rina into her house wordlessly. Rina racked her mind, trying to remember when she’d shared her address with Steve—and then remembered that his mother had asked for it because she’d wanted to send her a birthday card last year. That was probably how he’d gotten it.
Steve had tracked Rina down for a change. That was an invigorating feeling. Maybe it meant something.
Steve left his suitcase in the foyer and continued through to the kitchen, where Rina prepared a pot of coffee and crossed her arms over her chest. Seeing Steve so soon after walking past Penny’s mural and sitting at the bedside of her very broken mother gave her whiplash. There were too many emotions at once.
“I like your kitchen,” Steve began, his eyes tracing the red-painted walls, the linen curtains, the paintings Carmella had made and framed for her.
“It’s small,” Rina said. “Smaller than yours, anyway.” After all, she hadn’t raised children in this house. She hadn’t needed anything more than one plate, one wine glass, one fork.
Steve nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. Now that they were off his turf, Rina was seeing a side of him she never had before. He was earnest and nervous. “You didn’t answer any of my phone calls.”
Rina dragged her fingers through her bob. “It’s been a really difficult time out here. I’ve been distracted.”
Steve nodded. “How’s your mom?”
“She doesn’t remember what happened. She only remembers to hate me. And she’s been using some very creative words to prove it.”
