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“It’s fine,” George beams at her, the favorite child. I want to vomit.
There’s something different about Kit today. Her hair is oddly shiny and there are two bright pink spots on her cheeks. Her whole face seems lighter, like someone has tied a string to her forehead and sharply yanked upward. She looks...pleased,I realize. What kind of woman is pleased after her husband is found dead? Distaste roils in my gut.
I turn to her, mustering a smile. “How are you doing?” I simper.
“Oh.” Kit’s eyes are cold. “You know. Tough time.”
“The police figure out any leads yet?”
Kit shrugs. “Not really.”
Then she angles her body toward Rory. Her rudeness shocks me. Kit’s never been icy before.
“Okay, let’s start.” George peers at a legal pad, then turns to Roz Pepperdine, who works with the art museum that’s linked to the college. “I hear we’ve made some headway getting the Bonners to donate a few of their works into the permanent collection?”
Roz launches into a talk about oil paintings and sculptures and transport costs, but my gaze is still on Kit. Her whole body is angledaway from me. It feels purposeful. She couldn’t know I gave her that Ambien, could she? Maybe I shouldn’t have told Patrick about that in a public place. Maybe someone overheard.
“And what’s the status with the alumni?” George now looks at Ivan, a slight, young guy in the corner.
Ivan moves his head from side to side. “Well, with some of the hack news, a lot of the alumni are a little less than impressed. Especially the stories that span when they were students here. Like the stuff about admissions fraud. Or the, um, rapes.”
George frowns. “We aren’t sure the rapes happened.”
Kit looks at him sharply. “Did you really just say that?”
George raises his hands in surrender. “They’re only hinted at in the e-mails. Nothing’s concrete.”
“Yes, but a few girls came forward with stories of things happening to them at frats,” Kit blurts incredulously.
“Those posts don’t give specifics,” George says weakly, but then backs off as if he realizes what he’s just said. “Not to minimize things if theydidhappen...”
“Absolutely,” I jump in.
I haven’t completely paid attention to what’s been said—I only agree with Kit to gauge her reaction. But Kit stares stonily ahead as if she hasn’t heard me. Maybe shedoesknow, then. I curl my toes inside my shoes.Shit.Is she going to call me out on it? I can’t get in trouble for this, can I? I mean, so I slipped her an Ambien. I thought it would just loosen her up. I was trying to help.
And then I see it.
It’s Kit’s turn to give an update. As she’s talking, the sleeve of her blazer rides up, revealing a bare wrist and a glitter of diamonds. My heart stops in my chest. That bracelet is the same delicate chain I’d laid eyes on last week. The very same piece of jewelry, I’m almost positive, that lay in that little velvet box tucked in the back of my husband’s trunk.
It can’t be. But then I look again. The glinting diamonds. The delicate chain. It’sidentical.My stomach lurches.
I must make a sound, because suddenly, everyone is looking at me. I clutch my stomach as though suddenly ill. “Excuse me,” I say, leaping to my feet.
I run into the bathroom and shut myself in a stall, my breaths coming erratic and fast. It’sthebracelet. The same unique color of gold. The same small, glittering diamonds. Is this her way of saying she’s in charge? But...Patrick?Why would he be into Kit? And when did this start? As I once saw in a text window on my daughter’s cell phone: IDEK.I don’t even know.
My scalp feels greasy with sweat. My whole body is throbbing. I suddenly realize, it must have beenPatrickwho told her about the Ambien. No doubt he’d been watching Kit the night of the benefit, noting how drunk she became, maybe even worrying about her. Maybe they’d even talked about it afterward. Maybe she’d been like,Geez, I feel like someone drugged me.And there I sat at the restaurant, playing into their hands. I feel like a fool.
But wait. Patrick barely saw drunk Kit at the benefit. Oh, maybe he saw her staggering a little, but the really good stuff only happened after he left. All at once, I feel uneasy. I never bought that he had a stomachache. He’d sprinted out of that gala like an Olympian. I’d thought he was running away from me, but maybe he was runningtosomething. Or todosomething.
I think of his missing car in the driveway when I got home later that night. I think, too, of someone sneaking in and murdering Kit’s husband during those very same hours. But no. Noway.I can’t go down that road.
Because married to a murderer? That’snotwho I want to be.
29
WILLA
FRIDAY, MAY 5, 2017
