I’d have to file for bankruptcy. I’d have to find a new job. Doing what? Fitness? God, I’d be one ofthosewomen. In my late thirties and bouncing around in Lycra all day long, posting Instagram messages of carb control and inspiration, using hashtags like #fitover40 and #persistence.
I reached for the phone. I needed to call William. Surely he remembered how good we were together. Hadn’t he seen that? Felt it?
I dialed his number, but like every other time, he didn’t answer.
EPILOGUE
WILLIAM
One year later
The Ryders’ house came down in thirds. First, the side with the master suite, with that porch where Matt had fallen off. Their bedroom and master bath all crumpled under the wrecking ball, sagging into the interior of the house like a rotten pumpkin.
Next, the front fell. The porch that Neena had so painstakingly decorated for the Fourth of July, all in a gaudy attempt to compete with my wife. The grand foyer, where police dusted for shoe prints. Matt’s study, where Neena signed their divorce papers. Everything was destroyed, dismantled, and chucked into the dumpsters. Ten of them were filled and carted out of the neighborhood’s service entrance, only to make the empty journey back.
The rest of the home followed. The kitchen where Neena and I whispered our agreement to stay away from each other. The living room where we all toasted our friendship. The pool, the cabana, the hot tub. Crews spent a week removing it all. Cat sat in our backyard gardens, a cup of hot chocolate in hand, and watched it occur, a small smile playing across her beautiful face.
My mother once said I had a weakness for crazy women. She voiced that opinion back in third grade, when I developed a crush on Sylvia Pinket, the girl who trotted around the perimeter of our recess area pretending to be a horse. On days when the wind was rough, she’d whinny and prance, then plant her hands in the dirt and kick up her back feet. I thought she was beautiful. Eight years later, after she peed in the punch bowl at the Rotary Club Christmas banquet, a psychiatrist confirmed all our suspicions and shipped her upstate to the loony bin, ending any fantasies I had of unbridled Sylvia passion.
My penchant for crazy women, it appeared, never ended. While I thought it had taken a hiatus with Cat, I was wrong.
My wife, like Sylvia, was crazy.
I’d always suspected it but finally confirmed it. Not that a little bit of crazy was a bad thing. Honestly, it turned me on to know how much work my dear wife put into our marriage, to see the smooth lies that came out of her mouth, the faux concern she painted for others’ sakes, the orchestration of events she managed to effortlessly direct, all for the sake of our marriage.
If Cat were Sylvia, she’d have had everyone at that ball peeing in their own glasses, then pointing fingers at the other guests. And that, among other things, was why I loved her.
And I really didloveher. Even more this week than last, and more this year than the one before. I think it’s rare for couples to still bein loveafter a decade of marriage, but we are. Which is one of the reasons I still can’t wrap my head aroundwhyI ever gave Neena Ryder a second glance.
Maybe because I like crazy women, and she fit that bill to a T.
Maybe because I’d grown comfortable in my love for Cat, and Neena posed a risk I needed to take.
Maybe because part of me wanted to see if I would get caught and what my sweet, perfect wife would do when she found out what I’d done.
Maybe because seeing Cat’s response pacified the insecure part of me that was reassured by watching my wife fight for me.
I’d wanted to see that crazy. I’d yearned for it. I’d been sloppy and reckless and waited to see it flare.
But it hadn’t. Mystifyingly, it hadn’t, and I’d continued further over the line with Neena, a masochist eager for his beating, certain that surely, any day now, I’d come home to a royally pissed-off wife. I’d plodded forward and completely missed the bread crumbs that Cat scattered until I was sitting across from her and signing the paperwork to buy Neena and Matt’s home.
I’d moved through the closing on autopilot, thinking through all the events that had brought us to this point, still struggling with my confidence that Neena Ryder could not have possibly attempted to kill Matt. And if not her ... I’d met Cat’s eyes across the conference table, our gazes connecting, and realized, before she’d even cracked a smile, thatshewas behind all of it.
It was brilliant of her, expertly played, a cat lying quietly in the bushes and watching all her mice dance to their deaths. Thank God she scooped me out of the fray. Had she wanted to, she could have burned me at the stake right alongside Neena.
But she didn’t, and I loved her even more for her mercy.
I heard the office door open and turned to see her coming in the room, her eyes bright, smile big. “I just came from meeting with the architect,” she said happily, dropping a roll of paper down on my desk and unfurling it across the surface. “Look.”
I rolled forward in my desk chair and reviewed the plans. “Looks nice.”
“Nice?” She arched a brow at me. “Come on. Give me your feedback.”
I tried harder, pushing to my feet and coming around the desk to stand next to her. Bending over the architectural drawings, I tried to imagine the space. There would be a second guesthouse in the area where the Ryders’ home once was. A spacious outdoor kitchen and day spa overlooking the valley. Gardens that stretched between both lots, fountains that rimmed the pool, and an outdoor pavilion for eating and parties.
We didn’t need the space, but we also hadn’t needed the constant reminder of our old neighbors, Cat’s irritation and anxiety blooming with each new couple who toured the listing. I also think she enjoyed the act of literally destroying the home that Neena had never had a chance to really enjoy.
“The new firepit will be here.” She pointed. “And they’ll expand our pool and add an infinity edge. We’ll keep the small hot tub on our lot, but this ...” She dragged her finger over to where the Ryders’ gazebo once was. “This will be the new hot tub, with a heated lap pool coming off it.”