Page 76 of Two Couples

The anguish in her voice was painful. Her longing to have him back with her sickened me. Did she mean… now? I don’t think she did, but because she’d connected it to the disappearance of his body, she’d left that impression. “I didn’t⁠—”

“You did.” She stood suddenly. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I will figure it out. I heard you talking about that note—‘You’re next.’”

She moved until she was standing over me. “It’s me! I’m next! Whoever killed Todd wants to kill me, too. I’ve been trapped in my house! I can’t go outside, I can’t do anything without thinking someone is watching. I’m scared they’ll sneak up on me when I least expect it. I risked going out one time, and then I had to find those poor rabbits. It was so awful. When your husband came creeping into the clearing where I was burying them, I almost fainted. I thought my life was over.” Her lower lip trembled and tears spilled out of her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound. “I want him back!”

FIFTY-FIVE

KEITH

Why did Emily think she was being truthful by telling me the man I’d seen her with was the guy who helped her find the house? That was the truth like the cilantro she’d sprinkled as garnish on our Mexican food earlier that evening was the whole enchilada. It told me nothing. It didn’t clarify that she wasn’t fucking him. She didn’t tell me his name, how she knew him, or for how long. It certainly didn’t tell me why this guy had intimate knowledge of properties in the Tahoe area, or why he would want to help her find a house.

The answer she gave me was truthful, but it was surrounded by a mountain of things she had not said, effectively burying her one tiny truth under twenty lies of omission.

She looked at me with such confidence and contentment, I wondered if she really thought that was an answer. She couldn’t possibly believe that was the information I was looking for. She was an intelligent person. Educated. An RN at a prestigious hospital. There was no way she thought this was a legitimate answer. She’d dragged this out, giving me half-truths for months, and the only response she could come up with was this?

I was tired. I didn’t have the energy to continue talking in circles like this. What was the point? I would get more smug grins, more vague answers, and more claims that I was hurting her feelings by not trusting her.

It felt as if trust between Emily and me had completely eroded. These nonstop, small, believable lies she’d been drip-feeding me. Things that didn’t need to be lied about were tossed in my direction, leaving me unsure what was truth and what was not every time she opened her mouth.

“I’m really tired, Emily. I’m going to jump in the shower and then to go to bed.”

She smiled as if I’d just suggested we make love. I hadn’t. And I wasn’t in the mood, which was an extremely rare occurrence. All I could think about was what lay behind her smiles and puppy eyes, whirling through her brain like the storm we’d experienced a few days earlier.

As I climbed into bed after my shower, Emily turned her back to me and curled into a fetal position, realizing I had not said I was going to bed as a euphemism for sex. Within minutes, she was asleep.

The minute my head hit the pillow and the lights were out, I began to wonder if she was telling the truth about why she’d spent time with that man. While she slept peacefully, I was left lying in the darkness, thinking about things I didn’t want in my head, running in never-ending circles. After mentally listing all her non-answers and then replaying our conversation multiple times, I was more awake than I’d been an hour earlier. I put my hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

She turned onto her back, but her breathing told me she was still asleep. I took her hand and squeezed it. Still no response. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. “We need to talk.”

She was awake immediately. “What’s wrong?” She turned toward me and placed her hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

She sat up. Her expression was concerned, which made me angrier. She knew what was wrong. She hadn’t forgotten everything we’d talked about after one hour of sleep. I was starting to feel gaslit. Part of my anger was at myself. I’d accepted her limp responses and stories over and over. I kept letting it go, kept letting her retreat to silence whenever she didn’t feel like telling me what was going on with her.

“Why?”

“You know why, Emily. I asked who that dead guy was and you gave me a non-answer. And you left a whole lot of things in the dark. Let’s start with—how do you know him?”

“Why does it matter? He’s gone. All he did was tell me about this house.”

“Then why was he murdered here? Do you know who killed him?”

“I can’t answer any of those questions. I knew him years ago, but we lost touch.”

“Knew him where?”

“Why are you so worried about it?”

“Because he was dead in our swimming pool! Because I saw you with him several times. Because⁠—”

“I just don’t think it’s that important. He’s a guy from my past. He wasn’t a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried! I’m angry.”

“Why?” She looked completely shocked by what I’d said.

“Are you gaslighting me? Because I can’t believe you don’t know why. I can’t believe you don’t recognize that I have reasonable questions about this guy.”