The Last Mrs. Parrish

Thirty-Six

I didn’t use to be afraid of my husband. I thought I loved him, back when he was kind — or pretended to be. Before I knew what a monster looks like up close.

I met Jackson when I was twenty-six. I’d finished my graduate studies in social work and was in the planning stages of the foundation I was starting in honor of Julie. I’d gotten a job in operations at Save the Children and had been there for six months. It was a great organization, where I could work at something I loved while learning everything I’d need to run my own foundation one day.

A coworker recommended I get in touch with Parrish International, an international real estate firm with a reputation for giving back. She had an in — her father was a business associate. I had expected to be pawned off on some junior executive. Instead, I was granted an audience with Mr. Parrish himself. Jackson was nothing like the captain of industry I had read about. With me, he was amiable and funny, and he put me at ease from the start. When I told him my plans for the foundation and why I was starting it, he shocked me by offering to fund Julie’s Smile. Three months later I’d quit my job and was the head of my own foundation. Jackson had assembled a board, which he joined, provided the funding, and found me office space. Things had remained professional between us — I hadn’t wanted to jeopardize his support of the foundation, and to be honest, I was also a little scared. But over time, when the lunches turned into dinners, it seemed natural — inevitable even — that our relationship would turn more personal. His wholehearted embrace of my charity turned my head, I’ll admit. So I agreed to go to his house for a dinner to celebrate.

The first time I saw his thirty-room estate, the vastness of his wealth hit me. He lived in Bishops Harbor, a picturesque town on the coast of Long Island Sound with a population of about thirty thousand. The town’s shopping area could rival Rodeo Drive, with stores far too expensive for my budget, and the only domestic cars on its pristine roads belonged to household staff. The houses dotting the shoreline in the area were magnificent, set far back from the road, shielded by gates, and on grass so lustrous and green it didn’t look real. When Jackson’s driver pulled the car into the long driveway, it took a minute for the house to come into view. My breath caught in my throat when we approached the tremendous gray estate.

When we walked into the grand foyer, with a chandelier that would have been at home in Buckingham Palace, I gave him a strained smile. Did people really live this way? I remember thinking that the excesses surrounding me could pay so many medical bills for the CF families struggling to keep their heads above water.

“It’s very nice.”

“Glad you approve.” He’d looked at me with a puzzled expression, called for the housekeeper to take our coats, and whisked me off to the deck, where a roaring fire awaited in an outdoor fireplace and we could take in the spectacular view of Long Island Sound.

I was attracted to him — how could I not be? Jackson Parrish was undeniably handsome, his dark hair the perfect frame for eyes bluer than the Caribbean. He was the stuff fantasies were made of — thirty-five-year-old CEO of the company he’d built from the ground up, generous and philanthropic, beloved in the community, charming, boyishly handsome — not the sort of man someone like me dated. I’d read all about his reputation as a playboy. The women he went out with were models and socialites, women whose sophistication and allure far outweighed my own. Maybe that was why his interest took me so by surprise.

I was relaxed, enjoying the soothing view of the Sound and the salty smell of the sea air, when he handed me a glass of something pink.

“A Bellini. It will make you feel like it’s summer.” An explosion of fruit filled my mouth, and the combination of tart and sweet was delectable.

“It’s delicious.” I looked out at the sun setting over the water, the sky painted gorgeous shades of pink and purple. “So beautiful. You must never tire of this view.”

He sat back, his thigh next to mine making me more lightheaded than the drink.

“Never. I grew up in the mountains and didn’t realize what an enchantress the sea is until I moved east.”

“You’re from Colorado, right?”

He smiled. “Doing some research on me?”

I took another sip, emboldened by the alcohol. “You’re not exactly a private figure.” It seemed like I couldn’t open a newspaper without reading about wonder boy Jackson Parrish.

“Actually I’m a very private person. When you reach the level of success that I have, it’s hard to know who your real friends are. I have to be careful who I let get close to me.” He took my glass and refilled it. “But enough about me. I want to know more about you.”

“I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid. Just a girl from a small town. Nothing special.”

He gave me a wry smile. “If you call getting published at fourteen nothing special. I loved the piece you did for is magazine about your sister and her brave fight.”

“Wow. You did your research too. How did you even find that?”

He winked at me. “I have my ways. It was very touching. So, you and Julie had both planned on going to Brown?”

“Yes, from the time we were little. After she died, I felt like I had to go. For both of us.”

“That’s rough. How old were you when you lost her?”

“Eighteen.”

He put his hand on mine. “I’m sure she’s very proud of you. Especially what you’re doing, your dedication. The foundation is going to help so many people.”

“I’m so grateful to you. Without your help it would have taken me years to get a space and a staff.”

“I’m happy to do it. You were lucky to have her. I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to grow up with brothers and sisters.”

“It must have been lonely being an only child,” I said.

He had a faraway look. “My father worked all the time, and my mother had her charity duties. I always wished I had a brother to go outside and throw a football with, to go shoot some hoops.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, plenty of people had it much worse.”

“What does your father do?”

“He was the CEO of Boulder Insurance. Pretty big job. He’s retired now. My mother was a stay-at-home mom.”

I didn’t want to pry, but he seemed like he wanted to talk. “Was?”

He suddenly stood up. “She died in a car crash. It’s a bit chilly. Why don’t we go inside?”

I stood, feeling woozy, and put a hand on the chair to steady myself. He turned toward me then, his eyes intense, caressed my cheek, and whispered, “When you’re with me, I don’t feel lonely at all.” I said nothing as he scooped me into his arms and carried me into the house and up to his bed.

Parts of that first night we spent together are still a blur. I hadn’t planned on making love to him — I had felt it was too soon. But before I knew it, we were naked and tangled up in the sheets. He held my eyes the entire time. It was unnerving, like he was staring into my very soul, but I couldn’t look away. When it was over, he was tender and sweet, and he fell asleep wrapped in my arms. I watched his face in the moonlight and traced the outline of his jaw. I wanted to erase all his sad memories and make him feel the love and nurturing he’d missed as a child. This gorgeous, strong, and successful man that everyone looked up to had shared his vulnerabilities with me. He needed me. There is nothing more enticing to me than being needed.

When morning came, I had a pounding headache. I wondered if I’d been simply another conquest, if now that he’d had me, we’d go back to being business associates. Would I join the ranks of his ex-lovers, or was this the start of a new relationship? I worried that he was comparing me to the glamour girls he was used to sleeping with, and that I came up short. He seemed to read my mind. Propping himself up on one elbow, he traced my breast with his right hand.

“I like having you here.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

His face darkened, and he pulled his hand back. “No, I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath. “I’m a little nervous.”

He kissed me then, his tongue insistent, his mouth pressed to mine. Then he pulled away and caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “You don’t have to be nervous with me. I’ll take good care of you.”

A mixture of feelings washed over me. I untangled myself from his arms and gave him a sincere smile. “I need to go. I’ll be late.”

He pulled me back to him. “You’re the boss, remember? You don’t answer to anyone but the board.” He was on top of me then, his eyes holding mine again in that hypnotizing stare. “And the board doesn’t mind if you’re late. Please stay. I just want to hold you a little longer.”

Everything had begun with such promise. And then, like a windshield chipped by a tiny pebble, the chip turned into deep cracks that spread until there was nothing left to repair.

Thirty-Seven

Dating as a means to getting to know someone is highly overrated. When your hormones are raging and the attraction is magnetic, your brain takes a vacation. He was everything I never knew I needed.

At work, I was back in my comfort zone, though I kept flashing back to our night together with a smile. Hours later, a commotion outside my small office made me look up. A young man was pushing a cart with vase after vase of red roses. Fiona, my secretary, was behind him, her face flushed and hands waving.

“Someone sent you flowers. Lots of flowers.”

I stood up and signed for them. I counted a dozen vases. I put one bunch on my desk and looked around, wondering what to do with the rest. We placed them along the floor of my small office, since we had nowhere else to set them.

Fiona shut the door when the deliveryman left and plopped down in the chair across from me. “Okay, spill.”

I hadn’t wanted to discuss Jackson with anyone yet. I didn’t even know what we were. I reached over and pulled out the card.

They were everywhere. It was too much. The cloying smell of the flowers overwhelmed me and made my stomach roil.

Fiona was staring at me with an exasperated expression. “Well?”

“Jackson Parrish.”

“I knew it!” She gave me a triumphant look. “The way he was looking at you when he stopped by to see the offices the other day, I knew it was just a matter of time.” She leaned forward, her chin in her hands. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I like him — but I don’t know.” I gestured toward the flowers. “He comes on awfully strong.”

“Yeah, what a jerk, sending you all these beautiful roses.” She got up and opened door.

“Fiona?”

“Yes?”

“Take a couple for your desk. I don’t know what to do with the rest.”

She shook her head. “Sure thing, Boss. But I gotta tell you, he’s not going to be so easy to cast off.”

I needed to get back to work. I’d figure out Jackson later. I was about to make a phone call when Fiona opened the door again. Her face was ashen.

“It’s your mother.”

I grabbed the phone and held it to my ear. “Mom?”

“Daphne, you need to come home. Your father’s had a heart attack.”

“How bad is it?” I choked out.

“Just come. As soon as you can.”

Thirty-Eight

The next phone call I made was to Jackson. As soon as I managed to get the words out, he took over.

“Daphne, it’s going to be okay. Deep breaths. Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

“But I have to get to the airport. I need to find a flight. I—”

“I’ll take you. Don’t worry.”

I’d forgotten he owned a plane. “Can you do that?”

“Listen to me. Stay there. I’m leaving now to get you. We’ll go by your place and get some clothes and be in the air in about an hour. Just breathe.”

The rest was a blur. I did what he told me, threw things in a suitcase, followed directions until I was seated on his plane, grasping his hand tightly while I looked out the window and prayed. My father was only fifty-nine — surely he couldn’t die.

When we landed in New Hampshire at a private airport, Marvin, a waiter at the inn, was waiting for us. I guess I made the introductions, or maybe Jackson just took over. I don’t remember. All I remember is the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I might never get to talk to my father again.

As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Jackson took charge. He found out who Dad’s doctor was, assessed the facility, and immediately had him moved to St. Gregory’s, the large hospital an hour from our small town. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have died had Jackson not seen the ineptitude of his treating doctor at County General and the lack of sophisticated equipment. Jackson arranged for a top cardio doctor from New York to meet us at the hospital. The doctor arrived shortly after we did, and upon examining my dad, declared that he hadn’t had a heart attack after all, but an aortic dissection. He explained that the lining of his heart had torn, and if he didn’t operate immediately, my father would die. Apparently his high blood pressure had been the cause. He warned us that the delay in the diagnosis had diminished his chance of survival to fifty percent.

Jackson canceled all his meetings and never left my side. After a week, I was prepared for him to go back to Connecticut, but he had something else in mind.

“You girls go on ahead,” he told me and my mom. “I’ve talked to your dad about it already. I’m going back to the B&B to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“What about your company? Don’t you need to get back?”

“I can handle things from here for now. I’ve rearranged things a bit. A few weeks away isn’t going to kill me.”

“Are you sure? There’s staff that can fill in for now.”

He shook his head. “I can conduct my business from anywhere, but the B&B is a hands-on operation, and when the boss isn’t around, things slide. I intend to protect your dad’s interests until he’s moved back to the inn and your mother can keep an eye on things.”

My mother gave me one of those looks then that said, Don’t let go of this one. She put her hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Thank you, dear. I know Ezra will breathe easier knowing that you’re there.”

With typical Jackson efficiency and flair, he threw himself into making sure everything ran smoothly — even better than when my father was at the helm. The kitchen was stocked, he oversaw the staff, he even made sure the bird feeders were never empty. One evening when we were short-staffed, I came back to the inn to see him waiting tables. I think that’s when I really fell for him. It was a huge load off my mother, and when she saw how easily he stepped in, she was free to spend all her time at the hospital without worrying what was going on back at the B&B.

By the end of the month, my mother was as bewitched as I was.

“I think you’ve found the one, sweetheart,” my mother whispered one night after Jackson had left the room.

How had he managed to do that? I wondered. It was as though he’d been around forever, already a part of the family. All my earlier reservations about him evaporated. He wasn’t some self-indulgent playboy. He was a man of substance and character. In the space of a few short weeks, he had become indispensable to all of us.

Thirty-Nine

Dad was home from the hospital, still weak, but doing better, and Jackson and I were flying to New Hampshire to spend Christmas with my family. My cousin, Barry, and his wife, Erin, were coming with their daughter, and we were all excited about spending Christmas together.

We arrived Christmas Eve to falling snow and the perfect New England setting. The inn was decked out in holiday cheer. Standing in the small church where I’d gone every Sunday from the time I was a little girl, I felt at peace, my heart overflowing. My father had survived, and I was in love. It was like a fairy tale — I’d won the prince I never even knew existed in real life. He caught me looking at him and smiled that dazzling smile at me, his cobalt-blue eyes shining with adoration, and I could hardly believe that he was mine.

When we got back to the inn, my father opened a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for each of us. He put his arm around my mother. “I want you all to know how much it means to have you here. A few months ago, I wasn’t so sure I’d live to see another Christmas.” He brushed a tear from his cheek and lifted his glass. “To family. Those of us here, and to our darling Julie, in heaven. Merry Christmas.”

I took a sip, closed my eyes, and said my own silent Merry Christmas to my sister. I still missed her so much.

We sat down on the sofas by the tree to exchange gifts. My parents had started a family tradition of giving us three gifts, symbolic of the ones the wise men gave to Jesus. Jackson had a pile of three to open as well, and I was grateful that my mother had thought to include him. The gifts were modest but special — a sweater she’d knitted him, a Beethoven CD, and a hand-painted sailboat ornament for his Christmas tree. Jackson held the fisherman’s sweater up to his chest.

“I love it. This will keep me nice and warm.” He stood up and walked over to the tree. “My turn.” He took great delight in handing out the gifts he had selected for everyone. I had no idea what he had bought; he wanted to keep it all a surprise. I had mentioned to him that the gifts would be modest, and asked him not to go overboard. He started with my little niece, who was eight at the time. He had gotten her a lovely silver charm bracelet with Disney characters, and she was thrilled. For Barry and Erin, a Bose Bluetooth speaker, top-of-the-line. I was starting to get a little nervous thinking of the book on classic cars they had given to him and how they must feel. He took no apparent notice, but I could see from the expression on Barry’s face that he was uncomfortable.

Jackson took something from his pocket and, kneeling in front of me, handed me a small foil-wrapped box.

My heart began to pound. Was this really happening? My hands shook as I tore the paper. I removed the black velvet box and popped the top open.

It was a ring. I didn’t realize how much I’d hoped it would be until just then. “Oh, Jackson. It’s beautiful.”

“Daphne, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

My mother gasped and clapped her hands together.

I threw my arms around him. “Yes! Yes!”

He slipped the ring on my finger.

“It’s gorgeous, Jackson. And so big.”

“Nothing but the best for you. It’s a six-carat round cut. Flawless. Like you.”

It fit perfectly. I held my hand out and turned it this way and that. My mother and Erin rushed to my side, oohing and aahing.

My father stood apart, strangely quiet, an inscrutable expression on his face. “It’s a little fast, isn’t it?”

The room went silent. An angry look passed quickly over Jackson’s face. Then he smiled and walked over to my father.

“Sir, I understand your reservations. But I have loved your daughter from the moment I set eyes on her. I promise you, I will treat her like a queen. I hope you’ll give us your blessing.” He held his hand out to my father.

Everyone was watching them. My father reached out and clasped Jackson’s hand in his.

“Welcome to the family, son,” he said, and smiled, but I think I was the only one who noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jackson pumped his hand and looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you.” Then, with a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look, he pulled something from his pant pocket. “I wanted to save this until last.” He handed an envelope to my father.

My father opened it, a frown pulling at his mouth. There was a look of confusion in his eyes as he gave it back to Jackson. He shook his head. “This is too extravagant.”

My mother walked over. “What is it, Ezra?”

Jackson answered. “A new roof. I know you’ve been having problems with leaks with this old one. They’ll do it in the spring.”

“Well, that’s so thoughtful, but Ezra’s right, Jackson, it’s way too much.”

He put his arm around me and smiled at them both. “Nonsense. I’m a part of the family now. And family takes care of each other. I absolutely won’t take no for an answer.”

I didn’t know why they were being so stubborn. I thought it was a wonderful gesture and knew it wouldn’t put a dent in Jackson’s finances.

“Mom, Dad, let go of that Yankee pride of yours,” I tried to tease. “It’s a wonderful gift.”

My father looked directly at Jackson. “I appreciate it, son, but it’s not the way I do things. It’s my business, and I’ll put a new roof on when I’m good and ready. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

Jackson’s jaw clenched, and he dropped the hand from my shoulder. He deflated before my eyes, put the envelope back in his pocket, and spoke again, this time barely a whisper.

“Now I’ve offended you when I just wanted to do something nice. Please forgive me.” His head was bent, and he raised his eyes to look at my mother, like a boy in trouble looking for reprieve. “I wanted to be a part of your family. It’s been so hard since my mother died.”

My mother swooped over and put her arms around him. “Jackson, of course you’re part of the family.” She gave my father a disapproving look. “Family does help family. We’ll be happy to accept your gift.”

That was the first time I saw it — that little smile that played at his lips, and the look in his eyes that read Victory.

Forty

Though he’d recovered from the surgery, Dad wasn’t doing well, and I didn’t know how long he really had. Part of the reason we rushed to get married was so that I could be sure he would be around to walk me down the aisle. The wedding was a small affair. My father insisted on paying for it, and despite entreaties, would not be persuaded to allow Jackson to contribute. Jackson had wanted to have a huge wedding back in Bishops Harbor and invite all his business associates. I promised Jackson that when we returned from our honeymoon, we could have a party to celebrate, and that appeased him.

We got married in February at my family’s Presbyterian church and held the reception at the B&B. Jackson’s father flew in for the wedding, and I was a nervous wreck before meeting him. His father was bringing a date, and Jackson wasn’t happy about it. Jackson had sent his private plane for them and had a driver waiting at the airport to bring them to the inn.

“I can’t believe he’s bringing that simpering idiot. He shouldn’t even be dating yet.”

“Jackson, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

“She’s a nothing. It’s an insult to my mother. She’s a waitress.”

I thought of the lovely women who worked at the restaurant at the inn and felt my defenses go up. “What’s wrong with being a waitress?”

He sighed. “Nothing, if you’re in college. She’s in her sixties. And my father has a lot of money. She’s probably latching on to him as her next meal ticket.”

I felt a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. “How well do you know her?

He shrugged. “I’ve only met her once. A couple of months ago when I flew to Chicago on business, we had dinner together. She was loud and not particularly bright. But she hung on his every word. My mother had a mind of her own.”

“Are you sure you’re not just having a hard time seeing him with someone other than your mother? You’ve told me how close you were to her. I’m sure it’s not easy seeing her replaced.”

His face turned red. “My mother is irreplaceable. That woman will never be able to hold a candle to her.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He hadn’t shared much about his parents, beyond that his father was a workaholic who never had time for him when he was growing up. I suppose, being an only child, he had an even closer relationship with his mother. Her death the year before had hit him hard, and from what I could see, his grief was still raw. I didn’t want to dwell on the unwelcome thought racing through my head — that he was a snob. I chalked it up to angst over his mother and pushed it to the back of my mind.

When I met Flora, I thought she was nice enough, and his father seemed happy. They were cordial to my parents, and everyone got along fine. The next day, when my father walked me down the aisle, all I could think about was how lucky I was to have found the love of my life and to be starting a new life with Jackson.

“Don’t you think it’s time you let me in on the big secret?” I asked as we boarded his plane for our honeymoon. “I don’t even know if I packed the right clothes.”

He leaned in and kissed me. “Silly girl. There are suitcases upon suitcases full of clothes I’ve bought for you already on board. Just leave everything to me.”

He’d bought new clothes for me? “When did you have time to do that?”

“Don’t you worry about it, my darling. You’ll find that I’m very good at planning ahead.”

Once we got settled in our seats and I took a sip of my champagne, I tried again. “So when do I find out?”

He pulled the shade to my window down. “When we land. Now lie back and relax. Maybe even get some sleep. And when you wake up, we’ll have a little fun in the clouds.” His hand moved up and down my inner thigh as he spoke, and desire spread through me like hot liquid.

“Why don’t we have that fun right now?” I whispered as I pressed my lips against his ear.

Jackson smiled, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw the same craving I felt. He rose and took me into his muscular arms, carrying me to the bedroom where we fell to the bed, bodies entwined. We slept afterward — I’m not sure how long, but soon after we awakened and made love again, the captain phoned Jackson to let him know we would be making our descent in a few minutes. He was careful not to name a destination, but when I peered out the window, I saw miles and miles of blue water beneath us. Wherever we were, it looked like paradise. Jackson threw off the bedcovers and came to my side by the window, putting his arm around my naked waist. “See that?” He pointed to a glorious mountain that seemed to emerge like a noble monolith out of the sea. “That’s Mount Otemanu, one of the most beautiful sights in the world. And soon I’ll show you the magnificence of Bora Bora.”

Polynesia, I thought. I turned to look at him. “You’ve been here before?”

He kissed my cheek. “I have, my darling girl. But never with you.”

I was somehow disappointed but didn’t quite know how to put it into words. I made a clumsy attempt. “I just assumed we would go someplace neither of us had ever been, so that, you know, we could experience everything together. For the first time.”

Jackson pulled me down onto the bed and tousled my hair. “I’ve traveled a lot. Any place worth going to is a place I’ve been. Would you have preferred Davenport, Iowa? That’s a place I haven’t seen. You know, I did have a life before we met.”

“Of course,” I said. “I just wanted this time to be new for both of us, something only the two of us shared.” I wanted to ask him if he’d been here alone or with another woman, but I was afraid to ruin the mood even more. “Bora Bora,” I said. “It’s a place I never thought I’d go to.”

“I’ve booked an over-water bungalow. You’re going to love it, my sweet.” And he pulled me into his arms once again.

We were back in our seats as the wheels went down, and we landed at the airport on the tiny islet of Motu Mute. The door opened, and we walked down the jet stairs to be greeted by smiling islanders who draped leis around our necks. I reached out to touch his.

“I like your lei better. Blue’s my favorite color.”

He took it from his neck and put it around mine. “Looks better on you anyway. By the way, in Bora Bora, they’re called heis.”

The warm, fragrant air was intoxicating. I was already in love with the place. We were whisked by boat to our bungalow, which looked more like a lavish floating villa, with glass floors that offered a vision of the lagoon life below.

Our luggage arrived, and I changed into a casual sundress, Jackson into navy pants and a white linen shirt. His tanned skin against the white shirt made him look even more handsome, if that was possible. We had just settled on our private deck when an outrigger canoe pulled up to our bungalow to serve us champagne and caviar. I looked at Jackson in surprise. “Did you order this?” I asked.

He looked at me as if I were a naive little country girl. “This is part of the service, my dear. They’ll bring us anything we want. If we choose to stay in for dinner, they’ll bring it to us; in for lunch, we get lunch — whatever our whims dictate.” He spooned a dollop of caviar onto a round cracker and held it to my mouth. “Only the best for my girl. Get used to it.”

To tell the truth, caviar and champagne were two of my least favorite things, but I supposed I needed to develop a taste for them.

He took a long sip of champagne, and we sat there feeling the fresh air waft across our faces, mesmerized by the turquoise water before us. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the pilings.

“We have a dinner reservation at eight at La Villa Mahana,” he said.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Oh?”

“It’s a little gem with just a few tables. You’ll love it.”

Once again I had that initial feeling of disappointment. Obviously he’d been to the restaurant before. “I suppose you can tell me precisely what to order and what the best things on the menu are,” I said, somewhat flippantly.

He gave me a cold look. “If you’d rather not go, I’ll cancel the reservation. I’m sure there are throngs of couples on the waiting list who would love to dine there.”

I felt like an ungrateful fool. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Of course we’ll go.”

Jackson had already unpacked and carefully hung everything he’d bought for me. The clothing was lined up not only by type of outfit but also by color. Shoes sat on a top shelf over the rod and were separated into flat sandals and heels, every color, every type. He held up a long, white dress with slender straps and fitted bodice. There were more clothes than days we would be there: evening shoes, sandals, bathing suits, cover-ups, jewelry, casual daytime outfits, and floaty slip dresses for evening. “Here,” he said. “This will be perfect for tonight, my beautiful girl.”

It felt so odd, someone choosing my clothes for me, but I had to admit the dress was lovely. It fit perfectly, and the turquoise drop earrings he’d picked were set off beautifully by the pure white material.

We stayed in the second night and had dinner brought to us. We sat on our deck and savored the food as well as the setting sun that made pink and blue ribbons across the sky. It was magical.

This was our pattern — alone in our bungalow one night, the next night at a restaurant like Bloody Mary’s or Mai Kai or St. James. They each had their own delightful ambience, and I especially loved the casual island feel of Bloody Mary’s, with its sand floor and delicious rum cake. Even the bathrooms had sand floors. When we had dinner out, we’d walk along the beach holding hands and make love after getting home. On the nights we ate in, our lovemaking began earlier and lasted longer. My skin was turning a warm brown, and it felt clean and taut, after days in the sun and water. I’d never been so aware of my body, the touch of someone’s hand on me, the thrill of coming together and feeling as one.

Every moment had been planned by him, from swimming and snorkeling to private tours and romantic dinners. We made love on the sands of a private beach, in a boat on the lagoon, and, of course, in the private haven that was the bungalow. He had thought of everything, down to the smallest detail. And even though there were times I had a small, nagging feeling in my stomach, I never consciously understood how much his need for order and control would overpower my life.

Forty-One

I was packed and ready when he came home, excited at the prospect of four uninterrupted days at the Greenbrier with my new husband. We had been married a little over three months. My suitcase was sitting on the bed, and after kissing me hello, he went over to it and opened it.

“What are you doing? Your suitcase is right there.” I pointed to the matching one by his dresser.

He gave me an amused smile. “I’m aware.” He pulled out what I had packed, a frown appearing on his face as he looked through all my clothes.

I stood there, wanting to tell him to take his hands off my things, but the words wouldn’t come. I watched, frozen, as he rifled through everything and looked at me.

“You do realize this is not some hick bed-and-breakfast like your parents run?”

I recoiled as though I’d been struck.

He noticed my expression and laughed. “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that this is the Greenbrier. They have a dress code. You need a few cocktail dresses.”

My face was hot with embarrassment and anger. “I know what the Greenbrier is. I’ve actually been there before.” I hadn’t, but I had looked at it online.

He raised his eyebrows and studied me for a long moment. “Really? When was that?”

“That’s not the point. What I’m getting at is that you don’t have to go through my things as though I’m a child. What I’ve packed is fine.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’re wildly underdressed compared to the other women.”

I strode past him, zipped my case, and flung it to the floor. “See you downstairs.” I went to pick it up when he stopped me.

“Daphne.”

I turned around. “What?”

“Leave it. We have help for that.” Then he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

I picked it up. I still hadn’t gotten used to all these people underfoot, waiting to do for me what I could easily do for myself. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own suitcase.” I stormed into the study and poured myself a glass of whiskey. Throwing it back in one swig, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. It burned going down, but then I felt a calmness pervade me and thought, So this is how people become alcoholics. Walking to the window, I drank in the water view, and it settled what was left of my jangling nerves.

I was learning that emotional intimidation could be just as unsettling as physical. Little things had begun to grate on his nerves, and despite my best efforts to please him, nothing was ever good enough. I’d chosen the wrong wineglass or left a damp towel on the wood table. Maybe it would be that I’d forgotten my hair dryer on the counter. What made it even more difficult to live with was the uncertainty. Which Jackson was I talking to now? The one with the easy laugh and charming smile that put everyone at ease? Or the one with the scowl and critical tone who let me know with just one look that I had done something else to disappoint him? He was a chameleon, his transitions so quick and seamless they left me breathless at times. And now he didn’t even think I had the ability to pack my own suitcase.

A hand on my shoulder startled me.

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t turn around or answer him.

He began to massage my shoulders, moving closer until his mouth was on my neck, and his lips sent quivers down my spine. I didn’t want to respond, but my body had other ideas.

“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m not one of your minions.” I pulled away.

“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. This is all a little new for me.”

“Me as well. Still…” I shook my head.

He stroked my cheek. “You know that I adore you. I’m used to being in charge. Give me some time to adjust. Let’s not have this fight spoil our trip.” He kissed me again, and I felt myself respond. “I’m really more interested in what you’re not wearing this weekend.”

So I let it go, and off we went.

We were both in good moods by the time we arrived, and when we entered the sumptuous suite, with deep-red carpets and walls, thick gray draperies, and ornate mirrors and paintings, I felt like I’d stepped back in time. It was enormous and formal and a bit intimidating. There was a dining room table that could seat ten, a formal living room, and three bedrooms. Suddenly I wondered if I had packed the right clothes.

“It’s beautiful, but why do we need such a large suite? It’s just us.”

“Only the best for you. I wasn’t going to have us cramped in a little room. Is that what you did when you came here?”

I tried to picture the rooms I’d seen on the website and waved my hand dismissively. “I stayed in a regular room.”

“Really? And when was that again?”

He was looking at me with an amused expression, but his eyes — his eyes were angry.

“What difference does it make?”

“You know, I had a best friend. We used to do everything together from the time we were kids. When we were in college, we were supposed to go on a camping trip with his family. He called me the night before and canceled — said he was sick. I found out on Monday that he’d been at a local bar with his girlfriend.” He was pacing now. “Do you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I seduced his girlfriend, had her break up with him for me, then I dumped them both.”

My blood ran cold. “That’s horrible. What did the poor girl ever do to you?”

He smiled. “I’m joking about the girl. But I did end the friendship.”

I didn’t know what to believe. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you’re lying. And if there’s one thing I cannot abide, it’s a liar. Don’t take me for a fool. You’ve never been here before. Admit it now, before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” I asked in a voice braver than I felt.

“Too late for me to trust you.”

I burst into tears, and he walked over and put his arms around me.

“I didn’t want you to think I’d never been anywhere nice or been exposed to things you take for granted.”

He lifted my chin and kissed my tears away. “My darling, you don’t ever have to pretend with me. I love being the one to show you new things. You don’t have to try and impress me. I love that everything is new to you.”

“I’m sorry for lying.”

“Promise me it will be the last time.”

“I promise.”

“All right, then. It’s all good. Let’s unpack, and then I’ll show you around.”

As I hung my meager ensembles next to his custom suits and ties, I turned to him with a sinking feeling. “How would you like to do a little shopping after that tour?” I asked.

“Already in the plans,” he answered.

The next two days were wonderful. We went horseback riding, spent hours in the spa, and couldn’t get enough of each other in bed. It was our last day, and just as we were on our way to breakfast, my phone rang. It was my mother.

“Mom?” I could hear in her voice that something was wrong.

“Daphne. I have some bad news. Your fa—” The sound of her crying came over the line.

“Mom! What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“He died, Daphne. Your dad. He’s gone.”

I started to cry. “No, no, no.”

Jackson rushed over and took the phone from me, pulling me to him with the other arm. I couldn’t believe it. How could he be dead? I’d just talked to him last week. I remembered his cardiologist’s warning that his full recovery was far from complete. Jackson held me as I sobbed, and gently led me to the sofa while he packed us up.

We flew straight to the inn and stayed there for the next week. As I watched my father’s casket being lowered into the ground, all I could think about was the day we’d done the same thing for Julie. Despite Jackson’s strong arm around my shoulder and my mother standing next to me, I felt utterly and completely alone.

Forty-Two

Jackson wanted kids right away. We’d only been married for six months when he talked me into putting away my diaphragm. I was twenty-seven, he reminded me; it could take a while. I got pregnant the first month. He was delighted, but it took me longer to warm up to the idea. Of course, we had already been tested to make sure he didn’t carry the CF gene. I had the recessive gene, and if he had it as well, we wouldn’t have been able to have a child without the risk of passing on the disease. Even after the doctor’s assurances that we had the all-clear, I still found it hard to get rid of my anxiety. There were plenty of other diseases or birth defects that might await our child, and if I’d learned anything growing up, it was that the worst can and often does happen. I shared my concerns with Jackson over dinner one night.

“What if something’s wrong?”

“We’ll know. They’ll do the testing, and if it isn’t healthy, we’ll terminate.”

He spoke with such detachment that my blood ran cold. “You say it like it’s no big deal.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t. That’s why they do the tests, right? So we have a plan. Nothing to worry about.”

I wasn’t finished discussing it. “What if I don’t want to have an abortion? Or what if they say the baby’s fine and it isn’t, or they say it isn’t and it is?”

“What are you talking about? They know what they’re doing,” he said, an impatient edge in his voice.

“When my cousin’s wife, Erin, was pregnant, they told her that her baby was going to have major birth defects, but she didn’t end the pregnancy. That was Simone. She was perfect.”

An exasperated sigh. “That was years ago. Things are more precise now.”

“Still…”

“Damn it, Daphne, what do you want me to say? Whatever I tell you, you come up with an illogical retort. Are you trying to be miserable?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stop it. We’re going to have a baby. I certainly hope this nervous Nellie act goes away before the birth. I can’t abide those anxious mothers who worry about every little thing.” He took a swig from his tumbler of Hennessy.

“I don’t believe in abortion,” I blurted out.

“Do you believe in allowing children to suffer? Are you telling me that if you found out that our baby was going to have some horrible disease, you’d have it anyway?”

“It’s not so black-and-white. Who are we to say who deserves life and who doesn’t? I don’t want to make decisions that only God can make.”

He raised his eyebrows. “God? You believe in a God who would allow your sister to live a life of suffering and then die when she was still a child? I think we’ve seen where God’s position on these things takes us. I’ll make my own choices, thank you very much.”

“It’s not the same thing at all, Jackson. I can’t explain why bad things happen. I’m just saying that I’m carrying a life inside me, and I don’t know if I could terminate, no matter what. I don’t think I’m capable of that.”

He got very quiet, pursed his lips, then spoke deliberately. “Let me help you out then. I cannot raise a disabled child. I know that that is something that I am not capable of.”

“The baby is probably fine, but how can you say you can’t raise a child with a disability or an illness? It’s your child. You don’t throw a life away because it’s not what you consider perfect. How can you not see that?”

He looked at me a long time before answering. “What I see is that you have no idea what it’s like to grow up normally. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation yet. If — and that’s a big if — it turns out we have something to worry about, we’ll discuss it then.”

“But—”

He put a hand up to stop me. “The baby will be perfect. You need help, Daphne. It’s obvious that you’re incapable of letting go of the past. I want you to see a therapist.”

“What? You’re not serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious. I won’t have you raising our son with all your phobias and paranoia.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everything is colored by your sister’s illness. You can’t separate that and what it did to you from your present life. You’ve got to move past it. Put it to bed, for God’s sake. Therapy will close the issue once and for all.”

I didn’t want to dredge up my childhood and live through it again. “Jackson, please, I have let go of the past. Haven’t we been happy? I’ll be fine, I promise you. I was just thrown a little. That’s all. I’ll be fine. Really.”

He arched a perfect brow. “I want to believe you, but I have to be sure.”

I gave him a wooden smile. “We’re going to have a perfect baby and all live happily ever after.”

His lips curled upward. “That’s my girl.”

Then something he’d said a moment ago registered. “How do you know it’s going to be a boy?”

“I don’t. But I’m hoping it will. I’ve always wanted a son — someone I could do all the things with that my father never had time to do with me.”

I felt a nervous stirring in my gut. “What if it’s a girl?”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll try again.”

Forty-Three

Of course, we had a girl — Tallulah, and she was perfect. She was an easy baby, and I reveled in being a mother. I loved nursing her at night when the house was quiet, staring into her eyes and feeling a connection that I’d never felt before. I followed my mother’s advice and slept when she slept, but I was still more exhausted than I’d anticipated. At four months, she still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and because I was nursing, I’d refused Jackson’s offer of a night nurse. I didn’t want to pump and have her fed from a bottle. I wanted to do it all. But that meant I had less time for Jackson.

That’s when things began to unravel. By the time he fully revealed himself to me, it was too late. He had used my vulnerability to his advantage, like a general armed for battle. His weapons were kindness, attention, and compassion — and when victory was assured, he discarded them like spent casings, and his true nature emerged.

Jackson faded to the background, and all my time and energy was focused on Tallulah. That morning, I’d pulled the scale out from under the vanity, thrown my robe off, and stepped on—139. I stared at the number in shock. I heard the door open, and he was standing there, looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I went to step off, but he put a hand up, walked toward me, and peered over my shoulder. A look of disgust crossed his face so quickly that I almost missed it. He reached out and patted my stomach, raising his eyebrows.

“Shouldn’t this be flat by now?”

I felt the color rush to my face as shame filled me. Stepping off the scale, I grabbed my robe from the floor and threw it on. “Why don’t you try having a baby and see how your stomach looks?”

He shook his head. “It’s been four months, Daph. Can’t use that excuse anymore. I see lots of your friends at the club in their tight jeans. They’ve all had kids too.”

“They probably all had tummy tucks after their C-sections too,” I shot back.

He took my face in his hands. “Don’t get defensive. You don’t need a tummy tuck. You just need some discipline. I married a size four, and I expect you to get back into all those expensive clothes I’ve bought you. Come on.” He took my hand and led me to the love seat in the corner of our bedroom suite. “Sit down and listen.”

He put an arm around my shoulder and took a place next to me on the love seat.

“I’m going to help you. You need accountability.” Then he pulled out a journal.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I picked it up for you a few weeks ago.” Flashing a smile, he continued. “I want you to weigh yourself every day and write it here. Then write down what you’ve eaten in the food journal part here.” He pointed to the page. “I’ll check it every night when I get home.”

I couldn’t believe it. He’d been holding on to this for weeks now? I wanted to curl up and die. Yes, I still wasn’t back to my pre-baby weight, but I wasn’t fat.

I looked at him, afraid to ask but needing to know. “Do you find me unattractive?”

“Can you blame me? You haven’t worked out in months.”

I held back the tears and bit my lip. “I’m tired, Jackson. I’m up with the baby in the middle of the night, I’m tired in the morning.”

He covered my hand with his. “That’s why I keep telling you to let me hire a full-time baby nurse.”

“I cherish that time with her. I don’t want a stranger here at night.”

He stood up, anger in his eyes. “You’ve done it for months, and look where it’s gotten you. At this rate, you’ll be as big as a house. I want my wife back. I’m calling the service today and getting a nurse here. You will sleep through the nights again and have your mornings back. I insist.”

“But I’m nursing.”

He sighed. “Yeah, that’s another thing. It’s disgusting. Your breasts are like two overblown balloons. I don’t want your tits hanging to the floor. Enough is enough.”

I stood on shaky legs, nausea overtaking me, and ran to the bathroom. How could he be so cruel? I took my robe off again and examined myself in the full-length mirror. Why hadn’t I noticed all that cellulite before? I took a hand and swiped at it on one of my thighs. Like jelly. Pushing both hands on my stomach was like kneading dough. He was right. I turned around and looked over my shoulder, my eyes drawn to the dimpling in my buttocks. I had to fix this. It was time to return to the gym. My eyes rested on the breasts my husband found disgusting. I swallowed the lump in my throat, got dressed, and went downstairs. Picking up the grocery list sitting on the counter, I added another item: formula.

Margarita had prepared a breakfast buffet that morning to rival the Ritz. When Jackson came in, he filled his plate to overflowing with pancakes, bacon, strawberries, and a homemade muffin. I thought about the journal he’d just given me and felt the heat spread to my face. He was crazy if he thought I’d have him dictating what I ate. I’d start my diet tomorrow and on my own terms. I grabbed a plate and picked up the fork on the pancake platter, ready to take one, when he cleared his throat. I looked over at him. He inclined his head ever so slightly toward the fruit platter. I took a deep breath, stabbed three pancakes with my fork, and dropped them onto my plate. Ignoring him, I grabbed the syrup and poured until they were swimming in it. As I lifted the fork, I held his gaze as I stuffed a fluffy slice of pancake slathered in syrup into my mouth.

Forty-Four

I paid for my little act of rebellion. Not right away, because that wasn’t his style. By the time he executed his plan three weeks later, I had nearly forgotten about it. But he hadn’t. My mother was coming for a visit. After my father died, she came often — every few months — and I encouraged her visits. The night before she was due to arrive, he exacted his revenge. He waited until Tallulah had been put down and came into the kitchen, where I was talking to Margarita about the menu for dinner the next night. He was standing in the archway, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with an amused expression on his face. When she left, he walked over to me, pushed a lock of hair from my forehead, then leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“She’s not coming.”

“What?” My stomach turned to jelly.

He nodded. “I just got off the phone with her, let her know you’re not feeling well.”

I pushed him away from me. “What are you talking about? I feel fine.”

“Oh, but you don’t. You have a terrible stomachache from stuffing yourself with pancakes.”

Was he really still holding a grudge from weeks ago? “You’re joking, right?” I said, hoping he was.

His eyes were cold. “I’ve never been more serious.”

“I’m calling her right now.” He grabbed my arm before I could move.

“And tell her what? That your husband lied? What would she think of that? Besides, I told her that you had food poisoning and asked me to call her. I assured her you would be better in a few days.” Then he laughed. “I also mentioned that you’d been a bit stressed and that having her visit so often was putting a strain on you, that maybe she should let a little more time elapse between visits.”

“You can’t do this. I won’t let you make my mother think I don’t want her here.”

He squeezed my arm harder. “It’s done. You should have heard how sad she sounded. Poor, dumb hick.” He laughed.

I wrenched my arm away and slapped him. He laughed again.

“Too bad she didn’t die when your father did. I really hate having in-laws.”

I exploded. I raked my nails down his face, wanting to tear it to shreds. I felt wetness on my hands and realized I’d drawn blood. Horrified, I backed away, my hand to my mouth.

He shook his head slowly. “Now look what you’ve done.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he held it in front of his face. It took me a minute to realize what he was doing. “Thanks, Daph. Now I have proof that you have an explosive temper.”

“You intentionally provoked me?”

A cold smile. “Here’s a little tip: I will always be ten steps ahead of you. Keep that in mind when you decide you know better than I do what’s good for you.” He moved toward me, and I stood rooted to the floor, too shocked to move. He touched my cheek, and the look in his eyes grew tender. “I love you. Why can’t you see that? I don’t want to punish you — but what am I to do when you insist on doing things that are bad for you?”

He’s crazy. How did it take me this long to see that he’s crazy? I swallowed hard and flinched when his fingers traced the tears running down my cheeks. I ran from the room, grabbed a few things from the bedroom, and went into one of the guest rooms. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror — white as a ghost, whole body shaking. Moving into the guest bathroom, I washed my hands, cleaning his blood from under my nails, and tried to come to grips with how I had let myself lose control. I’d never done something like that before. His cavalier comment about my mother dying made me realize there was no going back after tonight. I had to leave. Tomorrow I would pack up the baby and go to my mother’s.

After a few minutes, I went in to check on Tallulah and found him standing over her crib. I hesitated at the doorway, something about the picture not striking me as quite right. His stance was menacing; his face in shadow, ominous. My heart beat faster as I approached.

He didn’t turn toward me or acknowledge my presence. In his hands he held the enormous teddy bear he had bought for her when she was born.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

As he spoke, he continued to stare at her. “Did you know that over two thousand babies die of SIDS each year?”

I tried to answer, but no words would come.

“That’s why you put nothing in the crib.” Then he turned to face me. “I keep telling you not to put her stuffed animals in with her. But you are so forgetful.”

I found my voice. “You wouldn’t dare. She’s your child, how could you—”

He threw the bear onto the rocking chair, and his expression was neutral once again. “I was just joking around. You take everything so seriously.” He grabbed both of my hands in his. “Nothing will ever happen to her as long as she has two parents looking out for her.”

I turned from him to watch my baby breathing in and out, and was crushed by her vulnerability.

“I’m going to sit here for a while,” I whispered.

“Good idea. Do some thinking while you’re at it. I’ll be waiting for you in bed. Make sure you don’t take too long.”

I glared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not getting near you.”

A thin smile played on his lips. “You might want to rethink that. Tire me out, or I may sleepwalk and find myself back in the nursery.” He stretched his hand out to me. “On second thought, I want you now.”

Silent and dying inside, I took his hand, and he led me to our room and to the bed. “Take your clothes off,” he commanded.

I sat on the bed and began to pull off my slacks.

“No. Stand up. Do a strip-tease for me.”

“Jackson, please.”

I gasped as he yanked me by my hair toward him. He pinched my breast hard. “Don’t piss me off. Do it. Now.”

My legs were so jellylike, I don’t know how I remained standing. I made my mind go blank, shut my eyes, and pretended I was anywhere but there. I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, opening my eyes and looking at him to see if I was doing it right. He nodded, and as I stripped, he began to stroke himself. I didn’t know who this man was, sitting on my bed, looking like my husband. All I could think to ask myself was how he had done it. How had he played the part for over a year? What kind of a person can keep up a charade for that long? And why was he showing me the truth now? Did he think that I’d stay with him just because we had a child together? Tomorrow, I would go, but tonight, I’d do what he said, do whatever it took to make him think he’d won.

I continued the performance until I was naked. He reached out for me and threw me onto the bed. Then he was on top of me, his touch maddeningly tender and attentive. I would have preferred for him to take me roughly, and for the sake of my daughter, I forced my body to betray me and respond — for he was nothing if not perceptive, and I knew he would never abide my holding back.

Forty-Five

The next morning after he’d left for work, I raced through the house, packed up as much as I could, put the baby in the car, and began the long drive to New Hampshire. I knew my mother was going to be shocked when she found out the truth, but I would be able to count on her support. It would take us around five hours to reach the inn. My thoughts raced as I tried to sort out how this would all shake out. I knew he’d be furious, of course, but there was nothing he could do once we were gone. I would tell the police about his threats to the baby. Surely they could protect us.

He called my cell phone when we reached Massachusetts. I let it go to voice mail. My text tones kept sounding: ping, ping, ping — rapid-fire like a machine gun. I didn’t look at the texts until I stopped at a rest stop for gas.

What are you doing in Massachusetts? Daphne, where is the baby?

You haven’t hurt her, have you? Please answer me.

I didn’t think you were serious last night. Don’t listen to the voices.

Daphne, please answer! I’m worried about you.

Call me. Please. I’ll get you help. Just don’t hurt Tallulah.

What was he doing? And how did he know where I was? I hadn’t given him any indication that I was leaving. I had made sure that none of the staff had seen me. Did he have a tracker on my car somehow?

I picked up the phone and dialed him. He answered on the first ring.

“You bitch! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I could feel his fury over the phone.

“I’m going to see my mother.”

“Without telling me? You turn that car around and get back here now. Do you hear me?”

“Or what? You can’t tell me what to do. I’ve had enough, Jackson.” My voice shook, and I glanced at the backseat to make sure Tallulah was still asleep. “You threatened to hurt our baby. Did you really think I’d let you do that? You’re not getting near her again.”

He started to laugh. “You’re such a little fool.”

“Go ahead and insult me. I don’t care. I’m going to tell my mother everything.”

“This is your last chance to come back, or you’ll regret it.”

“Good-bye, Jackson.” I pressed end and put the car back in gear.

My text tone started pinging again. I turned the phone off.

With every passing mile, my resolve strengthened, and my hope blossomed. I knew I was doing the right thing, and no amount of threatening on his part would sway me. I was still in Massachusetts when a flash of lights in my rearview mirror gave me pause. As the police car closed the gap between us, I realized he wanted me to pull over. I was only going a few miles over the speed limit. I pulled the car to the side of the road, and the state trooper approached.

“License and registration, please.”

I retrieved them from the glove box and handed them over.

The officer returned to his car with them, and after a few minutes he came back. “Please step out of the car.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Please, ma’am. Out of the car.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“An emergency confinement order is in effect. It claims you’re a danger to your child. The baby will have to stay with us until your husband arrives.”

“She’s my child!” That bastard had actually called the police on me.

“Please don’t make me cuff you. I need you to come with me.”

I got out of the car, and the officer took hold of my arm.

Tallulah had woken up and started crying. Her little face was beet red, her cries turning to screams. “Please, she’s frightened. I can’t leave my baby!”

“We’ll take care of her, ma’am.”

I pulled my arm away and tried to get to the car, to take her from her seat and comfort her. “Tallulah!”

“Please stop. I really don’t want to have to restrain you.” He pulled me away and into the waiting cruiser, and I had to leave her there with the police while they drove me to a local hospital.

I didn’t find out until the next day that Jackson had put a contingency plan into effect weeks before. He’d convinced a judge that I was suffering from depression and had threatened to harm the baby. He even had two signed statements from physicians — doctors I’d never even met. I could only imagine that his money had bought them. My claims that I’d been set up fell on deaf ears. Crazy people have no credibility, and I was now considered crazy. During my hold at the hospital, I was evaluated by a number of doctors who agreed that I needed treatment. No one believed me when I told them what he had done, how he’d manipulated the situation. They looked at me like I was a lunatic. The only thing they would tell me was that Jackson had picked Tallulah up right away from the police station and taken her home. I’d been informed that I was being transferred to Meadow Lakes Hospital, which was in Fair Haven, the town neighboring Bishops Harbor. After seventy-two hours of screaming, begging, and crying, I was no closer to being released than when I’d first arrived, and by then I was doped up with who knew what. My only hope rested in convincing Jackson to get me out.

Once they moved me to Meadow Lakes, he left me there for seven days before he finally came to see me. I had no idea what he’d told my mother or the staff about why I was gone. When he showed up in the common room, I wanted to kill him.

“How could you do this to me?” I hissed under my breath, not wanting to make a scene.

He sat next to me and took my hand in his, smiling at a woman across from me who didn’t bother to hide her curious stare as she observed us.

“Daphne, I’m only looking out for you and our child.” He made sure to speak loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“What do you want from me?”

He squeezed my hand hard. “I want you to come home, where you belong. But only when you’re ready.”

I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Taking deep breaths until I could speak without my voice shaking, I said, “I’m ready.”

“Well, that’s for your therapist to decide.”

I stood. “Why don’t we take a walk on the grounds?”

Once we were outside and no one could hear us, I let my anger show. “Cut the crap, Jackson. You know I don’t belong here. I want my baby. What did you tell everyone?”

He looked straight ahead as we walked. “That you’re sick and will be home as soon as you’re better.”

“What about my mother?”

He stopped and turned to look at me. “I told her that you had been increasingly depressed about Julie and your dad, and had tried to kill yourself.”

“What?” I shouted.

“She wants you to stay as long as necessary — make sure you get better.”

“You’re hateful. Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think?”

I started to cry. “I loved you. We were so happy. I don’t understand what happened. Why did you change? How can you expect me to stay with you when you threaten our child and are so horrible to me?”

He started to walk again, maddeningly calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t threaten anyone. And I treat you like a queen. You’re the envy of everyone you meet. If I have to keep you in line occasionally, well, that’s part of being married. I’m not whipped like your father was. This is how a strong man handles his wife. Get used to it.”

“Get used to what? Being abused? I’ll never get used to that.” My face was burning.

“Abused? I’ve never laid a hand on you.”

“There are other kinds of abuse,” I said. I searched his face for any sign of the man I had first believed him to be. Deciding to try a different tactic, I softened my voice. “Jackson?”

“Hmm?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not happy, and I don’t think you are either.”

“Of course I’m not happy. My wife tried to steal my child out from under me with no warning.”

“Why do you want me to come home? You don’t love me.”

He stopped walking and looked at me, his mouth agape. “What? Are you serious? Daphne, I’ve spent the past two years teaching, coaching, grooming you to be a wife I can be proud of. We have a beautiful family. Everyone looks up to us. How can you ask me why I’d fight to keep my family?”

“You’ve mistreated me since Tallulah was born, and it gets worse every day.”

“Accuse me again, and you’ll stay here forever and never see her again.” He started walking again, fast this time.

I struggled to catch up, dropping the conciliatory tone. “You can’t do that!”

“Just watch me. The law’s on my side. And did I mention that I just donated ten million dollars for a new wing at this hospital? I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you stay for as long as I like.”

“You’re insane.”

He swung around, grabbed me, and pulled me close. With his mouth inches from mine, he spoke. “This is the last time we’re having this conversation. You are mine. You’ll always be mine, and you’ll listen to what I say from now on. If you are a good little wife and obey, everything will be fine.” He leaned closer, put his lips on mine, then bit down hard. I yelled and sprang back, but his hand on my head prevented my pulling away. “If you don’t, then trust me: you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you did, and your child will have a new mother.”

I knew he had me. It didn’t matter that he was the one who was crazy. He had the money and the influence, and he’d played his hand brilliantly.

How had this happened? I struggled to get a deep breath, to come up with something, anything, that would help me to believe there was a way out. Looking at my husband, this stranger who held my future in his hands, I could come up with nothing. Filled with despair, I whispered, “I’ll do whatever you say. Just get me out of here.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl. You’ll have to stay for a month or so. It wouldn’t look right if you came right out. Your therapist and I go back a long way. We’ve been friends since college. He had a little trouble a few years back.” He shrugged. “Anyhow, I helped him out, and he owes me. I’ll tell him to release you in thirty days. He’ll claim it was a hormonal imbalance or something easily fixed.”

Thirty-five days later, I was released. We had to go to family court to prove I was a fit mother. We met with his attorney, and I played along. He made me corroborate his lie that I was hearing voices telling me to hurt my baby. I had to agree to keep seeing Dr. Finn, Jackson’s friend, which was a total joke. He was always solicitous, asking how I was adapting to being home again, but we both knew the sessions were a charade. Now Jackson had something else to hold over my head, to make sure I never left again, and I knew Dr. Finn’s notes would say whatever Jackson wanted them to. When I was finally allowed to go home, the only thing I cared about was being back with Tallulah. I told myself that eventually I’d find a way to escape him. In the meantime, I did what any good mother would do: I sacrificed my happiness to protect my child.

Forty-Six

I’d only been at Meadow Lakes for a little over a month, but it felt like years. Jackson came to fetch me himself, and I sat in the passenger seat of his Mercedes roadster, looking out the window, afraid to say the wrong thing. He was in a good mood, humming as if this were any ordinary day and we were simply out for a drive. When he pulled up to the house, I felt strangely outside myself, like I was watching someone else’s life. Someone who lived in a beautiful estate on the water who had lots of money and everything she could want. Suddenly I longed for the haven of my room at the hospital, far from the prying eyes of my husband.

The first thing I did when I got inside was race up the stairs to Tallulah’s nursery. I flung open the door, eager to gather her in my arms. Sitting in the chair rocking Tallulah was a beautiful dark-haired young woman I’d never seen before.

“Who are you?”

“Sabine. Who are you?” She had a thick French accent.

“I’m Mrs. Parrish.” I held out my arms. “Please give my daughter to me.”

She stood, turned her back on me, and moved away. “I’m sorry, madame. I need to hear from Mr. Parrish that it is okay.”

I saw red. “Give her to me,” I screamed.

“What’s going on?” Jackson strode into the room.

“This woman won’t give me my child!”

Jackson sighed and took the baby from Sabine and handed her to me. “Please excuse us, Sabine.”

She threw a look at me and left.

“Where’s Sally? Did you hire that, that… creature? She completely disrespected me.”

“Sally’s gone. Don’t blame Sabine, she didn’t know who you were. She was looking out for Tallulah. Sabine will teach her to speak French. You have to think of our child’s well-being. Things are running smoothly now. Don’t try and come back here and upset the apple cart.”

“‘Upset the apple cart?’ She’s my child.”

He sat down on the bed. “Daphne, I know you grew up poor, but there are certain things that will be expected of our children.”

“What do you mean, I grew up poor? I’m from a middle-class family. We had everything we needed. We weren’t poor.”

He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Excuse me. Okay, you weren’t poor. But you certainly weren’t rich.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “Our definitions of rich and poor are vastly different.”

His voice rose. “You know damn well what I’m trying to say. You’re not used to how people with money do things. Doesn’t matter. The point is, leave it to me. Sabine will be a big asset to our family. Now that’s enough. I have a special dinner planned. Don’t spoil it.”

All I wanted was to be with the baby, but I knew better than to complain. I couldn’t risk being sent back to Meadow Lake. Another month there, and I would have truly lost my mind.

All during dinner, he was in an unusually good mood. We shared a bottle of wine, and he’d had Margarita prepare my favorite seafood dish — crab imperial. There was even cherries jubilee for dessert — all very festive, as though my exile hadn’t been by his design and had instead been a relaxing vacation. My mind was racing the entire evening as I tried to keep up with his uncharacteristic nonstop chatter and be engaging. By the time we went upstairs to bed, I was exhausted.

“I bought you something special for tonight.” He handed me a black box.

I opened it with trepidation. “What is this?” I pulled the black leather straps out, studied it, not sure exactly what it was supposed to be. There was a thick collar too, with a round metal ring attached to it.

He walked around behind me and slid a hand down to my hip. “It’s just a little role-playing fun.” He took the collar from my hand and put it up to my neck.

I shoved his hand away. “Forget it! I’m not wearing that… thing.” I threw it on the bed along with the corset of straps. “I’m bushed. I’m going to sleep.” I left him standing there and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I came out, he was in bed, his light out, eyes closed.

I should have known it was too easy.

I tossed and turned until I heard the soft sound of his snoring and relaxed enough to drift off. I don’t know what time it was when I was awakened by the feeling of something hard and cold on my lips. My eyes flew open, and I was trying to swat it away when I felt his hand grip my wrist.

“Open your mouth.” His voice was low, guttural.

“What are you doing? Get off of me.”

His grip tightened, and with the other hand, he yanked my hair until my chin was pointing to the ceiling. “I’m not asking again.”

I opened my mouth and tensed as he shoved a cylinder into it until I started to gag. He laughed. Then he was straddling me, reaching for the lamp by my side of the bed. When the light came on, I realized what was in my mouth — the barrel of a gun.

He’s going to kill me. Panic swallowed me, and I laid perfectly still, terrified to move. I watched in horror as his index finger moved to the trigger.

“What will I tell Tallulah when she grows up?” he sneered. “How will I explain that her mother didn’t even love her enough to live?”

I wanted to yell out but was afraid to move. I felt tears rolling down the side of my face into my ears.

“I guess I could lie and say suicide runs in your family. She’d never know. Maybe one day I’ll even tell her that Aunt Julie killed herself.” He laughed. Leaning forward, he kissed my forehead, and then his eyes grew cold. “Or you could start doing what you’re told.”

He pulled the gun from my mouth, traced my neck, my breasts, and my stomach with it, like a lover’s caress. I squeezed my eyes shut, and all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. I’m never going to see my child grow up. My body tensed in anticipation.

“Open your eyes.”

He moved away, the gun still pointed at me.

I exhaled, and a sigh of relief escaped.

“Put on the outfit.”

“Whatever you want, just, please, put the gun away,” I managed in a whisper.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

I slid from the bed and retrieved the bag from the chair where I’d thrown it. My hands were shaking so hard that I kept dropping the bustier. Finally, I figured out how to get it on.

“Don’t forget the collar.”

I fastened the leather collar around my neck.

“Make it tighter,” he commanded.

I reached back and moved the collar one more notch. My heart was pounding, and I struggled to steady my breathing. Maybe if I just did what he said, he’d put the gun away.

A lazy smile appeared, and he walked toward me, grabbed the metal ring on the collar, and pulled hard. I jerked forward. He pulled harder until I fell to the floor.

“Get on your knees.”

I did as I was told.

“That’s a good little slave.” Walking over to his closet, he snatched a necktie and brought it over. “Put your hands behind your back.” He wrapped the tie around my wrists and knotted it tight, then stood back and held his hands as if pretending to frame a picture. “Not quite right.” He walked back to the closet and came out carrying a ball.

“Open wide.” He stuffed the soft plastic gag in my mouth.

“That’s nice.” He put the gun on his nightstand and, grabbing his cell phone, started snapping pictures. “This will make a delightful scrapbook.” He undressed and walked toward me. “Let me replace that ball with something else.” He pushed himself inside my mouth and snapped more pictures. He pulled away and looked at me with derision. “You don’t deserve me. Do you know how many women would love to put their lips on me, and you act like it’s a chore?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You stay there and think about what it means to be a good wife, how to prove to me that you find me desirable. Maybe I’ll let you pleasure me in the morning.” He got in bed. “And don’t even think of moving until I give you permission — or the next time, I’ll pull the trigger.” He slid the gun under his pillow.

The room went black as he turned out the light, and suddenly, I almost wished he had.

Forty-Seven

I lived in constant fear of losing Tallulah. The social worker, the attorneys, the bureaucrats, they all looked at me the same way — with a mixture of suspicion and disgust. I knew they were thinking, How could she threaten to hurt her child? In town, I heard the whispers — it’s impossible to keep something like this quiet. I confided in no one, couldn’t tell any of my friends the truth, not even Meredith. I had to live the hateful lie that he had thrust upon me, and after a while, even I almost believed it.

From then on, I did whatever he said. I smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, bit my tongue when I was tempted to argue or talk back. It was a tightrope walk, because if I acted too compliant, he’d get angry and accuse me of being a robot. He wanted some spunk, but I never knew how much. I was always off balance, one leg dangling over the abyss. I watched him with Tallulah, terrified he’d hurt her, but as time went on I realized his twisted games were focused only on me. Anyone looking at us from the outside would have believed we were the perfect family. He took great pains to ensure that I was the only one who saw the mask drop. When we were around anyone else, I had to act like the adoring wife to a wonderful husband.

The days turned to weeks and months, and I learned how to be exactly what he wanted. I became an expert at reading his face, hearing the strain in his voice, doing everything I could to avoid some imagined slight or insult. Months would go by when nothing horrible would happen. He’d even be nice, and we’d go through the days acting as though we were a normal couple. Until I got too complacent and forgot to complete an errand he’d asked me to do, or ordered the wrong caviar from the caterer. Then the gun would make an appearance again, and I always wondered if that would be the night he’d kill me. The next day a gift would arrive. A piece of jewelry, a designer purse, some expensive perfume. And every time I had to wear any of it, I’d be reminded of what I’d endured to receive it.

When Tallulah turned two, he decided it was time for another baby. One night, I was in the bathroom looking in the drawer for my diaphragm — I put it in nightly, never knowing when he’d want to have sex. I wished I could take the pill, but I’d had an adverse reaction to it and my doctor insisted I use something else. When Jackson came into the room, I turned to him.

“Have you seen my diaphragm?”

“I threw it out.”

“Why?”

He walked over and pushed himself against me. “We should make another baby. A boy this time.”

I felt my stomach turn and tried to swallow. “So soon? Tallulah’s only two.”

He led me over to the bed and untied the belt holding my robe shut. “It’s perfect timing.”

I stalled. “What if it’s another girl?”

His eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll keep going until you give me what I want. What’s the big deal?”

The telltale vein in his temple started pulsating, and I rushed to smooth things over before he lost his temper. “You’re right, darling. It’s just that I’ve enjoyed being able to focus my attention on you. I wasn’t thinking about another baby. But if that’s what you want, then I want it too.”

He tilted his head and leveled a long stare at me. “Are you patronizing me?”

I inhaled. “No, Jackson. Of course not.”

Without another word he pulled my robe off and fell on top of me. When he finished, he grabbed two pillows and put them under my hips.

“Stay that way for half an hour. I’ve been tracking your cycles. You should be ovulating.”

I started to protest, but stopped myself. I could feel the frustration and anger welling up until it was a physical force that wanted to erupt, but I breathed deeply and smiled at him instead. “Here’s hoping.”

It took nearly nine months this time, and when it finally happened, he was so happy that he forgot to be cruel. And then we went for the twenty-week visit — the one that would reveal the sex of the baby. He’d cleared his schedule so he could go with me that day. I was on eggshells all morning, dreading his reaction if it didn’t go his way, but he was confident, even whistling in the car on the way over.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this, Daphne. Jackson Junior. That’s what we’ll call him.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Jackson, what if—”

He cut me off. “No negativity. Why do you always have to be such a downer?”

As the ultrasound wand moved around my belly and we looked at the heartbeat and the torso, I was making such a tight fist that I realized my nails were digging into my palm.

“Are you ready to know what you’re having?” the doctor asked in her cheery, singsong voice.

I looked at Jackson’s face.

“It’s a girl!” she said.

His eyes went cold, and he turned and left the room without a word. The doctor looked at me, surprised, and I came up with something on the fly.

“He just lost his mother. She always wanted a girl. He was embarrassed for you to see him cry.”

She gave me a strained smile and spoke stiffly. “Well, let’s get you cleaned up, and you can go home.”

He didn’t speak to me the entire ride home. I knew better than to try and say anything to make it better. I had screwed up again, and even though I knew that of course it wasn’t my fault, I felt my anger turn inward. Why couldn’t I just have given him a son?

He stayed in the New York apartment for the next three nights, and I was grateful for the reprieve. When he came home the next night, he almost seemed back to normal — or whatever normal was for him. He’d texted me to let me know he’d be home at seven, and I’d made sure to have stuffed pheasant ready for dinner, one of his favorites. When we sat down to eat, he poured himself a glass of wine, took a sip, then cleared his throat.

“I’ve come up with a solution.”

“What?”

He sighed loudly. “A solution to your ineptitude. It’s too late to do anything about this one.” He gestured at my stomach. “Everyone already knows you’re pregnant. But the next time, we’re getting an earlier test. CVS. I looked it up. It can tell us the sex, and we can do it well before your third month.”

“What will that accomplish?” I asked, even as I knew what the answer would be.

He raised his eyebrows. “If the next one’s a girl, you can abort it, and we’ll keep trying until you get it right.”

He picked up his fork and took a bite. “By the way, can I trust you to remember to send in Tallulah’s application to St. Patrick’s preschool? I want to make sure she gets into the threes program next year.”

I nodded mutely as the asparagus in my mouth turned to mush. I discreetly spit it into my napkin and took a swallow from the glass of water in front of me. Abortion? I had to do something. Could I get my tubes tied without him finding out? I’d have to figure something out after this baby was born. Some way to make sure it was the last pregnancy I ever had.

Forty-Eight

The children were what helped me to keep my sanity. As the saying goes, the days were long but the years were short. I learned to put up with his demands and his moods, only occasionally messing up and daring to talk back or refuse him something. On those occasions, he made sure to remind me of what was at stake if I screwed up. He showed me an updated letter from two doctors certifying my mental illness, which he kept locked in a safe-deposit box. I didn’t bother asking what he had on them to get them to go along with his lies. If I tried to leave again, he said, this time he’d lock me up in the loony bin forever. I wasn’t about to test him.

I became his pet project. By the time Bella was in first grade, both girls were in school all day, and he decided my education should continue as well. I had a master’s degree, but that wasn’t enough. He came home one night and handed me a catalog.

“I’ve signed you up for French lessons three days a week. The class starts at 2:45. That way you can still get to the foundation on your two days there and the gym beforehand.”

The girls were doing their homework at the kitchen island, and Tallulah looked up, pencil poised in the air, waiting for me to answer.

“Jackson, what are you talking about?”

He looked at Tallulah. “Mommy’s going back to school. Isn’t that great?”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yay. Will she come to my school?”

“No, darling. She’ll go to the local university.”

Tallulah pursed her lips. “Didn’t Mommy already go to college?”

Jackson walked over to her. “Yes, my sweet, but she doesn’t know how to speak French like you two do. You don’t want a stupid mommy, do you?”

Tallulah’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mommy’s not stupid.”

He laughed. “You’re right, sweetie. She’s not stupid. But she’s not polished. She came from a poor family where they don’t know how to behave in polite society. We need to help her learn. Right, Mommy?”

“Right,” I answered through clenched teeth.

The class was right in the middle of the day, and I hated it. The professor was a snobby Frenchwoman who wore fake eyelashes and too-red lipstick and talked about how crass Americans were. She took special delight in pointing out the flaws in my accent. I’d only been to one class and was already sick of it.

I was nonetheless getting ready to go back the next week when I got an emergency call from Fiona at the foundation. One of our clients needed to get his son to the hospital, and his car wouldn’t start. I offered to take him, even though it meant missing a class. Of course, I never mentioned a thing to Jackson.

The following Monday, I received a frantic call from the girls’ school just as I got back to the house after a long massage and facial.

“Mrs. Parrish?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been trying to reach you for three hours.”

“Is everything okay? Are the children all right?”

“Yes. But they are quite upset. You were supposed to pick them up at noon.”

Noon? What was she talking about? “They don’t get dismissed until three.”

An exasperated sigh on the other end. “It’s a teacher planning afternoon. It’s been on the calendar for a month, and we sent a note home. You should also have received an e-mail and a text.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there. I didn’t receive any calls on my cell,” I said apologetically.

“Well, we’ve been dialing it for hours. We couldn’t reach your husband either. He’s apparently out of town.”

Jackson wasn’t on a business trip, and I had no idea why his assistant hadn’t put her through.

I hung up and ran to the car. What could have happened? I pulled out my phone and looked at it. No missed calls. I checked my texts. Nothing.

At the red light, I searched through my e-mails and didn’t see any from the school. A sick feeling wound its way from my belly up to my chest. Jackson had to be responsible, but how? Had he deleted the e-mails and texts from my phone? Could he have blocked the school phone number? And why would he do this to the girls?

I skulked up to the main office, dying of embarrassment, and took my little girls from the office of the disapproving headmistress.

“Mrs. Parrish, this isn’t the first time. This behavior cannot continue. It’s not fair to your daughters, and frankly, it’s not fair to us either.”

I felt my cheeks go warm, and I wished the floor would swallow me up right then and there. Only a couple of weeks before, I’d been over an hour late for pickup, and Jackson had been called to retrieve the children. Earlier that day, he’d come home for lunch, and after he’d left, I was suddenly exhausted and lay down for a quick nap. I didn’t wake up until the three of them came in the door at four o’clock. I had slept right through the phone alarm.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. I don’t know what happened. I don’t have any of the e-mails or texts, and for some reason my phone never rang.”

Her expression made it clear she didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Yes, well. Please see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

I went to take their hands, and Bella pulled hers away, stomping ahead of me toward the car. She didn’t speak to me the entire ride home. When we got to the house, Sabine was waiting, fixing a snack for them.

“Sabine, were you here this afternoon? The school was trying to reach me.”

“No, madam. I was at the grocer’s.”

I picked up the house phone and dialed my cell. It rang in my ear, but the cell phone in my hand didn’t buzz. What was going on? With a sinking feeling, I unlocked my phone and went to Settings, tapped Phone, and looked at My Number. My mouth dropped open as it revealed a number I didn’t recognize. I took a closer look. It was a new phone. My old one had a tiny crack in the plastic by the home key. Jackson must have replaced it. Now I wondered about the other time I’d been late for pickup. Had he drugged me?

“Daddy’s home!” Bella squealed.

As she ran into his arms, he leveled a look at me over her head. “How’s my girl?”

She stuck her lip out. “Mommy forgot us at school again. We had to sit in the office all day. It was terrible.”

A look passed between Jackson and Sabine.

He hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “My poor darling. Mommy has been very forgetful lately. She missed her French class too.”

Tallulah looked over at me. “What happened, Mom?”

Jackson answered for me. “Mommy has a drinking problem, sweetie. Sometimes she just gets too drunk to do what she needs. But we’ll help her, won’t we?”

“Jackson! That’s not—”

I heard Sabine gasp.

“Don’t lie anymore, Daphne. I know you missed your French class last week,” he interrupted. He took my hand in his, squeezing hard. “If you just admit you have a problem, I can help you. Otherwise, you may need to go back to the hospital.”

Tallulah jumped up, tears springing to her eyes. “No, Mommy! Don’t leave us.” She threw her arms around my waist.

I struggled to find my voice. “Of course not, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sabine will pick you up from now on. That way, the school won’t get the wrong idea if Mommy forgets again. Right, Mommy?”

I took a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding in my chest. “Right.”

He reached out and touched the sleeve of my shirt. “And that’s a really ugly outfit you have on. Why don’t you go change? Bella, go help Mommy find a nice dress for dinner.”

“Come on, Mommy. I know what would look pretty on you.”

Forty-Nine

All of a sudden, everywhere I looked, there were turtles. They hid behind photographs, peered out from bookshelves, perched menacingly on dresser tops.

In the early days, before I learned not to share my soul, I’d told Jackson why I hated them. When Julie and I were young, my father bought a turtle for us. We’d always wanted a dog or a cat, but unrelated to her CF, Julie was allergic to both. My mom had asked him to get a box turtle, but he brought home a snapping turtle instead. It had been returned to the store after a year because its previous owner couldn’t care for it anymore. That very first day, I was feeding him a carrot, and he snapped and bit my finger. His jaw was so strong I couldn’t free it, and I screamed while Julie ran to find my mother. I can still remember the pain and my panicked feeling that he would bite it off. My mother’s quick thinking of offering him another carrot worked, and his mouth opened again. I pulled my bleeding finger out of its mouth, and we went to the emergency room. Of course, we returned the turtle, and I was left with a permanent fear of anything with a hard shell.

Jackson had listened, murmuring comfort, and it had felt good to unburden myself of another childhood trauma. When Bella was a baby, I put her down for her nap one day, and as I was leaving her nursery, something leaning over the shelf caught my eye. It was positioned among her stuffed animals. I called Jackson at work.

“Where did the turtle in Bella’s room come from?”

“What?”

“The turtle. It was in with her stuffed animals.”

“Are you serious? I’m in the middle of a killer day, and you’re asking me about a stuffed animal. I have no idea. Is there anything else?”

I suddenly felt foolish. “No. Sorry to bother you.”

I took the damn thing and threw it in the trash.

The next day, Meredith stopped by for a visit, and I invited her to have coffee in the conservatory. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and picked something up.

“This is lovely, Daphne. I’ve never noticed it before.” She was holding a white-and-gold porcelain turtle.

I dropped my cup, spilling hot coffee all over myself.

“Oh my gosh, what a klutz,” I sputtered and rang for Margarita to clean up. “Jackson must have picked that up. I hadn’t noticed.” I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking.

“Well, it’s quite beautiful. Limoges.”

“Take it.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I was only admiring it.” She gave me a strange look. “It’s time I was going. I’m meeting Rand at the club for lunch.” Then she put her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just tired. I’m still adjusting to the baby’s schedule.”

She smiled. “Of course. Try and get some rest. I’ll call you later.”

After she left, I searched online to find the turtle. Over $900!

That night, I placed it on the table in front of his plate. When he sat down to dinner, he glanced at it, then back at me.

“What’s this doing here?”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know.”

He shrugged. “It belongs in the conservatory.”

“Jackson, why are you doing this? You know how I feel about turtles.”

“Do you hear how crazy you sound? It’s just a little figure. Can’t hurt you.” He was looking at me with that smug expression, challenging me with his eyes.

“I don’t like them. Please stop.”

“Stop what? You’re being awfully paranoid. Maybe that postpartum depression has returned. Should we talk to the doctor?”

I threw my napkin on my plate and stood up. “I’m not crazy. First the stuffed animal, and now this.”

He shook his head and made a circular motion with his finger by his ear — like kids do in school to indicate someone is cuckoo.

I flew up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door. Flinging myself on the bed, I screamed into my pillow. When I lifted my head, two marble eyes were staring at me from my nightstand. I picked up the glass turtle and threw it as hard as I could against the bedroom wall. It didn’t shatter, but merely landed on the floor with a soft thud. It sat there, appraising me with its reptilian eyes, perched as though it was preparing to crawl toward me and punish me for what I had done.

Fifty

When you discover you are married to a sociopath, you have to become resourceful. There’s no point in trying to change him — once the pot is in the kiln, it’s too late. The best I could do was study him — the real him, the one hiding behind his well-polished veneer of humanity and normalcy. Now that I knew the truth, it was easy to spot. Things like the small smile playing at his lips when he was pretending to be sad. He was a brilliant mimic and knew just what to say and do to ingratiate himself into the affections of others. Now that he’d dropped the facade with me, I had to figure out how to beat him at his own game.

I took him up on his suggestion to take more courses at the university. But I didn’t study art. I bought the textbooks for the art class and figured I would read up on my own in case he quizzed me. Instead, I signed up for psychology courses, paying cash for them and registering under a different name with a post office box. The campus was large enough that there was little chance of my French professor seeing me while I was pretending to be someone else, but just in case, I wore a baseball cap and sweats to those classes. It’s worth noting that by this point in my marriage, these measures didn’t seem extreme to me. I had adjusted to a life where subterfuge and deceit were as natural as breathing.

In my abnormal psychology class, I began to put the pieces together. My professor was a fascinating woman who had a private practice. Hearing her describe some of her patients was like listening to a description of Jackson. I took another abnormal psych course with her as well as her class on personality. Then I spent hours at the university library reading everything I could get my hands on about the antisocial personality.

Interviews with sociopaths have revealed that they’re able to identify a potential victim merely by the way the person walks. Our bodies apparently telegraph our vulnerabilities and sensitivities. Spouses of sociopaths are said to have an overabundance of empathy. I found that bit of information hard to understand. Is there really such a thing as too much empathy? It had a certain poetic irony, though. If sociopaths are said to lack empathy and their victims to have too much, they would seem to make a perfect match. But of course, empathy can’t be divvied up. Here, you take some of mine; I have extra. And sociopaths can’t acquire it anyway — the lack of it is what defines them in the first place. I think they’re wrong, though. It’s not too much empathy. It’s misplaced empathy, a misguided attempt to save someone that can’t be saved. All these years later, I know what he saw in me. The question I still wrestle with is, what did I see in him?

When Bella turned two, he’d begun badgering me to get pregnant again — he was dying for a son. There was no way I would willingly bring another child of his into this world. Unbeknownst to him, I went to a free clinic in another town, used a fake name, and got fitted for an IUD. Every month he charted my cycles, knew exactly when I was ovulating, and made sure that we had even more sex during that window. We had a big blowout one day when I got my period.

“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s been three years.”

“We could see a fertility doctor. Maybe your sperm count is low.”

He scowled. “There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the dried-up old prune.”

But I had sown a doubt; I could see it in his eyes. I was counting on the fact that his ego could never handle any threat to his virility.

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I want it as much as you do.”

“Well, you’re not getting any younger. If you don’t get pregnant soon, it’s never going to happen. Maybe you should get on some fertility drugs.”

I shook my head. “The doctor will never do that. They have to do a complete workup on both of us. I’ll call Monday and make an appointment.”

A look of indecision crossed his face. “This week’s bad for me. I’ll let you know when I have some time.”

It was the last time he brought it up.

Fifty-One

I needed Jackson to be in a good mood. I’d been looking forward to having my mother here for Tallulah’s birthday party, and I had to work even harder to please him the entire month leading up to it so he wouldn’t cancel her visit at the last minute. That meant initiating sex at least three times a week, instead of waiting for him to, wearing all his favorite outfits, praising him to my friends in front of him, and keeping up with the growing piles of books on my nightstand that arrived weekly from his online orders. My books by contemporary authors such as Stephen King, Rosamund Lupton, and Barbara Kingsolver were replaced with books by Steinbeck, Proust, Nabokov, Melville — books he believed would make me a more interesting dinner companion. These were in addition to the classics that we were reading together.

It had been six months since Mom’s last visit, and I was desperate to see her. Over the years, she’d come to accept that we were no longer close, believing that I’d changed, that the money had gone to my head, that I had little time for her. It’s all what he made her believe.

It had taken everything I had not to tell her the truth, but if I had, there was no knowing what he would have done to us, or even just to her. So I went along and only invited her twice a year, for the girls’ birthdays. The inn kept her occupied for the holidays, which eliminated my having to tell her she wasn’t welcome. Jackson refused to allow us to travel to see her, claiming it was important for children to be in their own home during the holidays.

This year, Tallulah was turning eleven. We were having a big celebration. All of her friends from school were coming. I’d arranged for a clown, bouncy house, ponies — the works. None of our adult friends were invited, except Amber. We’d been friends for a few months by then, and I was starting to feel like she was family. I’d arranged for plenty of help to keep watch over the children. We’d have both nannies there. Sabine only worked during the week, so Jackson had hired a young college student, Surrey, to spend the weekend with us and help with whatever needed doing. However, Sabine wanted to be there for the party. I was telling Amber about the planning. She’d stopped by to return a movie she’d borrowed.

“I’d really love to meet your mother, Daphne,” she gushed.

“You will. I’ll have you over while she’s here, but are you sure you really want to come to the party? It’s going to be twenty screaming children. I’m not sure I even want to go.” I was joking, of course.

“I can help you. I mean, I know you have hired help and all, but it’s nice to have a friend too.”

Jackson hadn’t been happy when I’d told him she was coming.

“What the hell, Daphne? This is a family affair. She’s not your sister, you know. She’s always around.”

“She has no one here. And she’s my best friend.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my lips. Was she? I hadn’t had one for years. It’s impossible to be close to someone when you’re living a lie. All my relationships, except for the ones with my children, were superficial by necessity. But with Amber, I felt a bond that no one else could understand. As much as I loved Meredith, she couldn’t relate to how I felt losing my sister.

“Your best friend? You may as well say Margarita’s your best friend. She’s a nothing.”

I corrected myself. “Of course, you’re right. That’s not what I meant. I meant she’s the one person who understands what I’ve been through. I feel like I owe her something. Besides, she always says how welcome you make her feel and how much she admires you.”

That mollified him. For a man so smart, you’d think he would have seen through it. But that was the thing with Jackson: he always wanted to believe that everyone adored him.

So she’d come, and it was nice to have a friend. To watch Jackson interact with her, you would never know how he truly felt. When she arrived, he gave her a big smile and embrace.

“Welcome. So glad you could come.”

She smiled shyly and murmured a thank-you.

“Let me get you a drink. What’ll you have?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“Come on, Amber. You’re going to need it to get through the day.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “You like Cabs, right?”

She nodded.

“Be right back.”

“Where can I put my gift?” she asked me.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s just a little something I thought she would like.”

Later, when Tallulah was opening her gifts, I watched with interest as she came to Amber’s present. It was a book on the life of Edgar Allan Poe.

Tallulah looked over and gave her a subdued thank-you.

“I remembered you were reading his stories that day in New York,” Amber called over to her.

“Isn’t she a bit young for Poe?” my mother asked within Amber’s earshot, never one to hold back.

“Tallulah’s very advanced for her age. She’s reading at an eighth-grade level,” I said.

“There’s a difference between intellectual development and emotional development,” my mother pointed out.

Amber said nothing, merely looked at the ground, and I felt torn between defending her and validating my mother’s concerns.

“I’ll look it over, and if you’re right, I’ll put it aside until she’s older.” I smiled at my mother.

I looked up to see Surrey running to retrieve some presents that were scattered on the floor.

“Good heavens, what is going on?” my mother asked.

“Bella threw them from the pile,” Amber said.

“What?” I ran over to see what had happened.

Bella was standing in front of the table, hands on her hips, her bottom lip stuck out as far as it would go.

“Bella, what’s wrong?”

“It’s not fair. She gets all these presents, and no one brought me anything.”

“It’s not your birthday. You had your birthday six months ago.”

She stomped her foot. “I don’t care. I didn’t get this many presents. And I didn’t have ponies.” She raised her little fist and smashed it down on the corner of the cake.

I didn’t need this today. “Surrey, would you please take Bella inside until she calms down?” I pointed at the cake. “See if you can fix that.”

Surrey tried to get Bella to go with her, but Bella refused, running in the other direction. I was glad that none of the other children’s mothers were around to witness it. I didn’t have the energy to go after her. At least she wasn’t bothering anyone now.

When I walked back to Amber and my mother, I was fixed with a disapproving look from the latter.

“That child is spoiled rotten.”

The blood pounded in my ears. “Mother, she just has a hard time managing her emotions.”

“She’s overindulged. Maybe if you didn’t leave the parenting to the nannies, she’d be better behaved.”

Amber gave me a sympathetic look, and I took a deep breath, afraid of saying something I’d regret.

“I would appreciate it if you kept your parenting opinions to yourself. Bella is my daughter, not yours.”

“No kidding. If she were mine, she wouldn’t act like that.”

I jumped up and ran into the house. Who was she to judge me? She had no idea what my life was like. And whose fault is that? a little voice asked. I wished she was a bigger part of my life, that she understood my reasons for the way I parented. But right now her disapproval and critical comments were just one more voice in a sea of accusations that I lived with daily.

I grabbed a Valium from my purse and downed it dry. Amber walked into the kitchen, came over, and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Mothers,” she said.

I blinked back the tears and said nothing.

“Don’t let her get to you. She means well. You’re a terrific mother.”

“I try to be. I know Bella’s a handful, but she has a good heart. Do you think I’m too easy on her?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. She’s a darling. Just impetuous, but she’ll grow out of it. What she needs is understanding and nurturing.”

“I don’t know.”

I couldn’t blame my mother. It did look like I turned a blind eye to Bella’s misbehavior. What my mother didn’t know was that Bella cried herself to sleep more nights than not. Jackson may have been the doting father in public, but in private, he knew just the right things to say to pit the girls against each other and to make Bella feel inferior to her older sister. Bella struggled with her reading and was behind her schoolmates. First grade was almost over, and she was not even close to reading. When Tallulah finished first grade, she was reading at a fifth-grade level. Jackson was quick to remind Bella of that. Poor Bella was lucky if she could get through the primers. Her teacher strongly recommended testing, but Jackson refused. We’d had an argument about it in the car on the way home from the conference.

“She may have a learning disability. It’s not so uncommon.”

He kept his eyes straight ahead and answered me through clenched teeth. “She’s just lazy. That child does what she wants to when she wants to.”

I felt frustration well up. “That’s not true. She tries so hard. She’s in tears every night trying to get through a page or two. I really think she needs help.”

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it, we’re not having her labeled as dyslexic or whatever. That will follow her forever, and she’ll never get into Charterhouse. We’ll hire a private tutor, and I don’t care if she has to work five hours a day, she will learn to read.”

I’d closed my eyes in resignation. There was no use in arguing with him. When the girls reached high school, he planned to send them away to Charterhouse, an exclusive boarding school in England. But I knew in my heart that before that day ever came, I would find a way for us to escape. In the meantime, I pretended to go along.

I’d hired a tutor with a background in special education. Without Jackson or Bella realizing it, she had evaluated her and suspected dyslexia. How was Bella going to get through school without any accommodations, without anyone knowing the way she learned? I knew she was in the wrong place. St. Luke’s didn’t have the resources to provide her with what she needed, but Jackson refused to discuss moving her anywhere else.

The poor child went to school all day and then came home to more lessons with the tutor just to keep up. They worked together for hours, Bella’s progress torturously slow and further impeded by her resistance to more desk time. She wanted to go play, and she should have been able to. But every night at dinner, Jackson would insist she read to us. When she stumbled over a word or took too long to sound something out, he’d drum his fingers on the table until she began to stutter even more. The ironic thing was, he didn’t understand how his impatience was having the opposite of its intended effect. He actually thought he was doing the right thing, being on top of her schooling — or at least that’s what he claimed. We all began to dread family dinners. And Bella, poor thing, was exhausted all the time, overwrought and beset with self-doubt.

One particular night haunts me. Bella had had a horrible day at school and a meltdown with the tutor. By the time we sat down to dinner, she was like a volcano ready to erupt. After we’d finished eating, Margarita brought out the dessert.

“None for Bella until she reads,” Jackson commanded.

“I don’t want to read. I’m too tired.” She reached for the plate with the brownies.

“Margarita.” His voice had been so sharp that we’d all turned to look at him. “I said no.”

“Mister, I will bring them back for everyone after.”

“No, Tallulah can have hers. She’s a smart girl.”

“That’s okay, Daddy. I can wait.” Tallulah had looked down at her plate.

Margarita had reluctantly put the plate on the table and made a hasty retreat.

Jackson had gotten up from his seat and handed Bella the book he had brought home. She’d thrown it on the floor, and his face had turned bright red.

“You’ve been getting help for six months now. You’re in first grade. It should be easy for you. Read the first page.” He’d bent to retrieve it from the floor.

I’d looked at the book. Charlotte’s Web. There was no way she could do it.

“Jackson, this isn’t accomplishing anything.”

Ignoring me, he’d slammed the book down on the table, making Bella jump.

My eyes were drawn to the throbbing vein in his forehead. “Either she reads this damn book, or I’m firing her worthless tutor. Let’s see what you’ve learned. Now!”

Bella picked up the book with shaking hands, opened it, and in a trembling voice, began to read. “Wwwww hhheerrr s Pap a ggggoinn g wiith thaat ax?”

“Oh, for crying out loud. You sound like a moron! Spit it out.”

“Jackson!”

He’d given me a dark look and then turned to Bella. “You look ugly when you read like that.”

Bella had burst into tears and ran from the table. I’d hesitated only a moment, then rushed after her.

After I calmed her down and tucked her in, she’d looked at me with those big blue eyes and asked, “Am I stupid, Mommy?”

I’d been pierced to the core.

“Of course not, sweetie. You’re very smart. Lots of people have trouble learning to read.”

“Tallulah doesn’t. She was born with a book in her hand. I’m the one that’s thick as a brick.”

“Who told you that?”

“Daddy.”

I wanted to kill him. “You listen to me. Do you know who Einstein is?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “The funny-looking man with the crazy hair?”

I forced a laugh. “Yes. He was one of the smartest men ever, and he didn’t learn to read until he was nine. You are very smart.”

“Daddy doesn’t think so.”

How could I make this better? “Daddy doesn’t mean those things. He just doesn’t understand the way different brains work. He thinks if he says those things, you’ll work harder.” It sounded lame even to my ears, but it was all I could offer.

She yawned and her eyes fluttered shut. “I’m tired, Mommy.”

I’d kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, angel.”

So she misbehaved sometimes — who wouldn’t with that kind of pressure? But how do you explain to people around you that you’re cutting your child some slack because her father has reduced her to rubble?

Fifty-Two

When Jackson was bored, he liked to hide my things, putting things in places where I’d never find them. My brush often turned up in the guest bathroom, my contact lens solution in the kitchen. Today I was running late for an important meeting with a potential donor at Julie’s Smile, and my keys were nowhere to be found. Our driver, Tommy, was off for a family emergency, and Sabine had taken the girls to the Bronx Zoo, as school was closed for another teacher planning day.

Jackson was aware that I had been preparing for the meeting all week, and I knew it was no coincidence that my keys had gone missing. I needed to be there in fifteen minutes. I called a cab and got to my meeting with one minute to spare. I was so frazzled that I was off my game. When the meeting was over, I picked up the phone and dialed Jackson.

“You might have cost the foundation hundreds of thousands.” I didn’t bother with any preamble.

“Excuse me?”

“My keys are missing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t blame me because you’re disorganized.” His tone was maddeningly patronizing.

“I always put them in the drawer in the hall table. Both sets were gone, and Tommy is conveniently off today. I had to call a cab.”

“I’m sure there’s someone who would find the quotidian details of your day interesting, but it doesn’t happen to be me.” He ended the call.

I slammed the phone down.

He worked late and didn’t get home until after nine. When he arrived, I was in the kitchen, icing cupcakes for Bella’s class bake sale. He opened the refrigerator and started cursing.

“What’s the matter?”

“Come here.”

I braced myself for whatever this latest tirade was going to be and came up behind him. He pointed.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

I followed the line of his finger. “What?” Everything had to be perfect; he had started using a measuring tape to ensure the glasses were exactly an eighth of an inch apart. He would have surprise inspections of drawers and cabinets to make sure everything was in its place.

He shook his head and looked at me with loathing. “Do you not see that the Naked juices are not lined up alphabetically? You’ve got the cranberry behind the strawberry.”

The absurdity of my life struck me, and I began to giggle uncontrollably. He was looking at me with increasing animosity, and all I could do was laugh. I tried to stop, felt the terror rise from my stomach. Stop laughing! I didn’t know what was wrong with me, even when I saw his eyes get dark with anger, I couldn’t stop — in fact, it made me laugh even harder. I was becoming hysterical.

He grabbed the bottle, twisted the top off, and poured it on my head.

“What are you doing?” I jumped back.

“Still think it’s funny? You stupid cow!” In a rage, he started pulling everything out and throwing things to the floor. I stood, transfixed, as I watched. When he got to the eggs, he began throwing them at me. I tried to shield my face but felt the sting on my cheeks as he whipped them at me as hard as he could. Within minutes, I was covered in fluids and food. He shut the refrigerator door and stared at me for a long moment.

“Why aren’t you laughing now, slob?”

I stood rooted to the spot, too afraid to speak. My lip trembled as I muttered an apology.

He nodded. “You should be sorry. Clean this shit up, and don’t even think of asking any of the staff for help. It’s your mess.” He walked over to the plate of cupcakes I’d been frosting and threw it on the floor. He unzipped his pants and urinated all over them. I started to cry out, but caught myself in time.

“You’ll have to tell Bella you were too lazy to make her cupcakes.” He wagged his finger at me. “Bad Mommy.”

Then he turned around and opened the drawer where I kept my keys and jangled them in his hands before throwing them at me. “And your keys were here the whole time, dummy. Next time, look harder. I’m so tired of having such a lazy, stupid wife.” He stormed from the kitchen and left me there, huddled in the corner, shaking.

It took me over an hour to clean everything up. In a numb haze, I threw away all the ruined food, mopped, wiped, and cleaned until all the surfaces shone again. I couldn’t let the staff see a mess when they arrived early tomorrow morning. I would have to stop at the bakery tomorrow and pick up cupcakes to replace the ones he’d ruined. I dreaded going upstairs, hoping he’d be asleep by the time I showered and got in bed — but I knew that it excited him to humiliate me. The lights were out when I finished drying my hair and walked over to my side of the bed. His breathing was even, and I heaved a sigh of relief that he was asleep. I pulled the covers up to my chin and was just about to drift off when I felt his hand on my thigh. I froze. Not tonight.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Jackson—”

He squeezed harder. “Say it.”

I closed my eyes and forced the words out. “I want you. Make love to me.”

“Beg me.”

“I want you now. Please.” I knew he wanted me to say more, but that was all I could force out.

“You don’t sound very convincing. Show me.”

I pushed the covers back and lifted my nightgown off. Straddling him the way he liked, I positioned myself so that my breasts were in his face.

“You’re such a whore.” He thrust into me with no regard to my readiness. I gripped the sheets and made my mind blank until he finished.

Fifty-Three

The next day, as usual, there was a gift. This time it was a watch — a Vacheron Constantin worth upward of fifty grand. I didn’t need it, but of course I’d wear it, especially around his business associates and at the club, so everyone could see how generous my husband was. I knew how it would go. He would be charming for the next few weeks: compliment me, take me out to dinner, act solicitous. In truth, it was almost worse than his derision. At least when he was debasing me, I could feel justified in my hatred. But when he went for days on end masquerading as the compassionate man I fell in love with, it was confusing, even when I knew it was all an act.

He checked in with me every morning to go over what I had planned for the day. That morning I had decided to skip my Pilates class and get a massage and facial instead. He called me at ten, like he did every day.

“Good morning, Daphne. I’ve e-mailed you an article on the new exhibit at the Guggenheim. Make sure you take a look. I’d like to discuss it tonight.”

“Okay.”

“On your way to the gym?”

“Yes, see you later,” I lied. I wasn’t in a mood for a lecture on the importance of exercise.

Later that night, I was having a glass of wine in the sunroom and reading the damn Guggenheim article while the girls were being bathed. As soon as I saw his face, I knew something was wrong.

“Hello.” I made my voice bright.

He was holding a drink. “What are you doing?”

I lifted my iPad. “Reading the article you sent.”

“How was Pilates?”

“Fine. How was your day?”

He sat down across from me on the sofa and shook his head. “Not great. One of my managers lied to me.”

I looked up from the screen. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And about something really stupid. I asked him if he’d made a phone call, and he said yes.” He took a long swallow from his glass of bourbon. “Thing is, he hadn’t. All he had to do was tell me, say he’d planned to later.” He shrugged. “It would have been no big deal. But he lied.”

My heart fluttered, and I picked up my wineglass, taking a sip. “Maybe he was afraid you’d be angry.”

“Well, that’s the thing. Now I am. Really pissed, actually. Insulted too. He must think I’m an idiot. I hate being lied to. I’ll put up with a lot of things, but lying, I can’t abide it.”

Unless he was the one doing the lying, of course. I gave him a neutral look. “I get it. You don’t like liars.” Now who was treating someone like an idiot? I knew there was no manager, that it was his passive-aggressive way of confronting me. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I did wonder how he knew I’d skipped my class. “So what did you do?”

He walked over to me, sat down, put his hand on my knee. “What do you think I should do?”

I slid away from him. He inched closer.

“I don’t know, Jackson. Do whatever you think is right.”

He pursed his lips, started to say something else, then sprang up from the sofa.

“Enough of this bullshit. Why did you lie to me today?”

“About what?”

“Going to the gym. You were at the spa from eleven to two.”

I frowned at him. “How do you know that? Are you having me followed?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

He gave me a vicious smile. “Maybe people are following you. Maybe cameras are watching you. You just never know.”

My throat started to close up. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I gripped the side of the sofa as I tried to stop the room from spinning. He said nothing, merely watched with an amused expression. When I finally found my voice, the only word that came out was “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

When I didn’t answer, he went on.

“Because I can’t trust you. And I was justified. You lied to me. I won’t be made a fool of.”

“I should have told you, I was just tired today. I’m sorry. You can trust me.”

“I’ll bestow trust on you when you deserve it. When you stop lying.”

“Someone must have really hurt you in the past, made a fool out of you,” I said in a sympathetic tone, knowing it would get under his skin.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “No one made a fool out of me, and no one ever will.” He grabbed my glass of wine, walked over to the wet bar, and poured the remains in the sink. “I think you’ve consumed enough calories — especially considering you were too lazy to exercise today. Why don’t you go and change for dinner? I’ll see you then.”

After he left, I poured myself a new glass and thought about this latest revelation. I bet he was spying on me in other ways too. I couldn’t let my guard down at all. Maybe he’d bugged the phone or put cameras in the house. It was time for action on my part, and I needed a plan. He controlled all of the money. I was given a cash allowance for incidentals but had to give him receipts for everything I spent. All the rest of the bills went to his office. He gave me no discretionary spending — just one more way he tried to keep me under his thumb. He didn’t know that I’d accumulated my own secret stash.

I’d set up an e-mail account and cloud credentials under a fake name on one of the laptops in the office and hid the computer in a closet underneath brochures and flyers — somewhere he’d never think to look. I sold some of my designer purses and clothing on eBay and had the money wired into an account he knew nothing about. I had everything go to a post office box I’d set up in Milton, New York, a thirty-minute ride from the house. It was slow going, but over the past five years, I’d put together a decent enough emergency fund. To date, I’d saved close to $30,000. I also bought a pack of burner cells that I kept at the office. I didn’t know yet what I was going to do with all of it, only that I’d need it one day. Jackson thought he had every angle covered, but, unlike him, I was unfettered by delusions of grandeur. I had to believe that somehow they would be his undoing.

Fifty-Four

Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. I sang in our church choir every Christmas Eve, and Julie was always front and center, cheering me on. Then we’d go back to the inn and have dinner, happy to be the ones waited on for a change. We could give one gift early and save the rest for Christmas Day. The last Christmas that I spent with Julie, she’d been fidgety all through dinner, as though she was bursting with some secret she couldn’t wait to share. I gave her my gift — a pair of gold ball earrings that I’d scrimped and saved for with my tips at the inn. When it was her turn, she handed me a small box, her eyes bright with excitement.

I tore open the paper and lifted the lid. I gasped. “No, Julie. This is your favorite.”

She smiled and took the heart pendant from the box, holding it toward me to put on. “I want you to have it.”

She’d been so much weaker lately. I think she knew, or at least accepted, before we did that her time was running out.

I held back tears and grasped the thin chain in my hand. “I’ll never take it off.” And I didn’t. Until after I married him, and I knew that if I didn’t hide it away, he’d take it from me too. It was safely nestled under the cardboard bottom of one of the many velvet jewelry boxes that contained his gifts to me.

For the past ten years, Christmas had been nothing more than an obscene display of consumption. We didn’t go to church. Jackson was an atheist and refused to expose our children to what he called “a fairy tale.” But he had no problem perpetuating the Santa myth. I had stopped trying to reason with him.

I did take pleasure in the girls’ enjoyment. They loved the decorating, baking, and sights and sounds of the season. This year, I had another reason to be excited. I had Amber. I had to hold myself back from showering her with too many presents. I didn’t want to embarrass her. There was something about her that made me want to take care of her, to give her all the things she never had. It was almost like I was giving Julie all the things she’d never lived to enjoy.

We got up before the girls and went down to have our coffee. It wasn’t long before they swept in, little tornados attacking the mountains of gifts with glee, and yet again I worried at the message we were sending them.

“Mommy, aren’t you going to open any presents?” Tallulah asked.

“Yeah, Mommy. Open a present,” Bella chimed in. Mine were stacked in a tall pile — beautifully decorated in gold foil and elaborate red velvet ribbons. I knew what the boxes would contain — more designer outfits that he’d chosen, jewelry to show off how good he was to me, expensive perfume that he liked, none of the things I would have picked for myself. Nothing at all that I wanted.

We had both agreed that the children’s presents to us would be handmade, though, and I was looking forward to that.

“Open mine first, Mommy,” Bella said. She dropped the half-unwrapped package she had been opening and ran over to me.

“Which is yours, sweetie?” I asked.

She pointed to the only package covered in Santa paper. “We wrapped it special so it’d be easy to spot,” she said proudly.

I tousled her curls as she handed it to me, smiling as she perched on tiptoes, watching me wide-eyed. “Can I open it for you?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

She ripped the paper and threw it on the floor, then pulled the lid off the box and gave it back to me.

It was a painting — a family portrait. It was quite good. I hadn’t realized what a sharp eye she had.

“Bella! It’s amazing. When did you do this?”

“In school. My teacher said I have talent. Mine was the best one. You couldn’t even tell what most of the others were. She’s going to talk to you about art classes for me.”

The picture was twelve by twelve, and it was painted in watercolors. We were all standing on the beach, the ocean behind us, Jackson in the middle with me on one side and Tallulah on the other. Bella stood across from the three of us, noticeably larger than we were. Jackson, Tallulah, and I were dressed in drab grays and whites, Bella in bright oranges, pinks, and reds. Jackson and Tallulah were both turned, looking at me, Tallulah looking glum, Jackson smug, and I was staring at Bella with a wide smile. The picture unsettled me. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that the family dynamics were off-kilter. I shook off the troubling thoughts and pulled her to me for a hug.

“It’s beautiful, and I love it. I’m going to hang it in my office so I can look at it all day.”

Tallulah looked over. “Why are you so much bigger than the rest of us?”

Bella stuck her tongue out at her sister. “It’s called pesperective,” she said, stumbling on the word.

Jackson laughed. “I think you mean perspective, my dear.”

Tallulah rolled her eyes and brought me her present. “Open mine now.”

It was a clay sculpture that she’d made of two hearts united with a ribbon, on which she’d painted the word love.

“It’s you and Aunt Julie,” she said.

My eyes filled with tears. “I love this, darling. It’s perfect.”

She smiled and embraced me. “I know sometimes you get sad. But your hearts will always be together.”

I was so grateful for this thoughtful child.

“Open one of mine,” Jackson said as he handed me a small box wrapped in red foil.

“Thank you.” I took the package from him and began tearing the paper to reveal a plain white box, then lifted the lid to find a gold chain with a gold circle charm attached. I pulled it from the box and gasped.

Tallulah took the necklace from my hand and looked at it and then at me. “Who’s YMB, Mommy?”

Before I could find my voice, Jackson spoke, the lie coming smoothly off his lips. “They’re the initials of your mom’s grandmother, who she loved very much. Let me put it on for you.” He fastened it around my neck. “I hope you’ll wear it all the time.”

I gave him a big smile that he would know was fake. “Just another reminder of how you feel about me.”

He pressed his lips to mine.

“Eeew!” Tallulah said, and both girls giggled.

Bella had gone back to her pile of presents and was tearing through the rest of the packages when the doorbell rang.

Jackson had agreed to let Amber come over and have dinner with us, since she was going to be alone for Christmas. It hadn’t been easy, but I staged the conversation in front of some of our friends, and he wanted to look like the Good Samaritan by including her.

He greeted her like she was family, got her a drink, and we all sat around very agreeably for the next few hours, while the children played with their things and we made small talk.

Amber gave us all lovely gifts — a book for Jackson that he actually seemed to appreciate; books for the girls plus some shiny jewelry for Bella, which she loved. When she handed me my gift, I was a little nervous, hoping she hadn’t spent too much. Nothing could have prepared me for the thin silver bangle, with two round charms engraved with the names Julie and Charlene.

“Amber, this is so thoughtful and beautiful.”

She held her arm up, and I saw that she wore the same bracelet. “I have one too. Now our sisters will be with us all the time.”

Jackson was watching the exchange, and I could see the anger in his eyes. He was always telling me I thought about Julie too much as it was. But even Jackson couldn’t take my joy away. Two gifts that honored my sister and the love I felt for her. I felt heard and understood for the first time in so long.

“Oh, and one other little thing.” She handed me a small gift bag.

“Another present? The bracelet was enough.”

I pushed aside the tissue paper and felt something hard. My breath caught in my throat as I lifted it from the bag. A glass turtle.

“I know how much you love them,” she said.

Jackson’s lips curled into a smile, and delight shone in his eyes.

And just like that, my feeling of being known and understood evaporated.

Fifty-Five

Meredith was throwing her husband a surprise fiftieth birthday party at Benjamin Steakhouse. Truthfully, it was the last thing I was in the mood for. I was still tired from all the Christmas preparations and we were leaving for St. Bart’s in two days, but I didn’t want to let Meredith down. She was insistent that the party be on the twenty-seventh, Rand’s actual birthday, since over the years it had always been underplayed due to its proximity to Christmas.

I’d just arrived in the city; Jackson had asked me to meet him at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central. That way, we’d be right down the street from the restaurant, and it would only take us a few minutes to walk there.

Even as I put on the Dior dress, I knew I was making a mistake. It was a favorite of mine, but Jackson didn’t like the color. It was a pale gold silk, and he claimed it made my skin sallow. But it was a party for my friend, and I wanted to make a decision for a change. The moment I saw his face, the barely perceptible furrow of the brow, the small wrinkle worrying between his eyes, I knew he was angry. He stood to kiss me, and I took a seat on the stool next to him. He picked up the crystal tumbler and, with one flick of his wrist, downed the remaining amber liquid and flagged the bartender over.

“I’ll have another Bowmore, and a Campari and soda for my wife.”

I was about to protest — I’d never even tasted Campari — but I choked back the words before they escaped. It would be best to let whatever plan he had concocted play itself out.

“Meredith asked that we get to the restaurant by seven so we don’t run into Rand. She wants him to be surprised.”

Jackson arched a brow. “I’m sure the bill will be surprise enough.”

I laughed dutifully, then looked at my watch. “We’ve got about half an hour, and then we’d better get going.”

The bartender placed the drink in front of me.

Jackson lifted his glass. “Cheers, darling.” He toasted me with such force that my drink ended up all over the front of my champagne-colored dress, now splashed with red.

“Oh dear, look what you’ve done.” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

Heat spread to my cheeks, and I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. Meredith was going to be so disappointed. I looked at him with no change in expression. “What now?”

He threw his hands up. “Well, obviously you can’t turn up to the restaurant like that.” He shook his head. “If only your dress were darker, or if you weren’t such a klutz.”

If only you were dead, I wanted to answer.

He called for the check. “We’ll have to go to the apartment and get you changed. Of course, by the time we do that, it’ll be too late to make it in time for the surprise.”

I forced my mind to go blank and followed him numbly from the bar. We got into the limo, and he ignored me while reading e-mails on his phone. I pulled my phone out and texted my apologies to Meredith.

Because of traffic, it took over forty-five minutes for us to get there. I smiled at the doorman, and we rode the elevator in silence. I went to the bedroom, threw the dress on the floor, and stood looking at the closet. I felt him before I heard him — his breath on my neck, then his lips on my back.

I suppressed the urge to scream. “Sweetheart, we don’t have time.”

His mouth traveled down my back, to the top of my panties. He slid them off and cupped my buttocks with his hands. He moved closer, and I realized he’d taken off his pants. I could feel him hard against me.

“There’s always time for this.”

His hands moved to cup my breasts, then he grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the wall, his pressed on top of them. I braced myself as he took me, hard and rough, moving into a frenzied crescendo. It was over within minutes.

I went into the bathroom to clean myself up, and when I emerged, my black Versace was hanging on the bedroom door. I grabbed it and laid it on the bed.

“Hold on,” he said, walking toward me. “Wear this underneath.”

It was a black Jean Yu thong with a matching strapless bra. He’d had it made to order for me, and it felt amazing — like a silk caress — but the sight of it only reminded me of what he’d done before he gave it to me. I took it from him though, and gave him my best imitation of a smile.

“Thank you.”

He insisted upon dressing me, pulling the stockings up my legs, stopping every few moments to brush his lips against my skin as he did so.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay home and let me ravish you again?” He gave me a rakish smile.

Did he really believe I had any desire for him? I licked my lips. “As tempting as that sounds, we did promise. And Randolph is an old friend.”

He sighed. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” He zipped my dress and tapped me on the behind. “Let’s go, then.”

When I turned around, he looked me up and down. “It’s lucky you spilled your drink — that one’s much better on you anyway.”

By the time we arrived, an hour and a half later, everyone was just nibbling on the passed appetizers. I gave Meredith an apologetic look as we rushed over to greet her.

“I’m so sorry we’re late—”

“Yes,” Jackson cut in, “I tried to tell her we were running behind, but she insisted on squeezing in a massage. It put us behind about an hour.” He shrugged.

Meredith’s face registered shock, and she turned to me, hurt obvious in her eyes. “Why did you text me that you spilled something on your dress and had to go home and change?”

I stood there, paralyzed by indecision. If I told her the truth, I’d have to contradict Jackson. Public humiliation would bring a heavy price. But now my good friend thought I’d lied to her just so I could indulge in some pampering.

“I’m sorry, Mer. It was both. I had a pulled muscle, I spilled…” I stumbled on my words. Jackson watched me, an amused smile on his face. “What I mean, is that, yes, I did get a massage — my back was really bothering me — but we still would have made it in time if I hadn’t spilled my drink all over myself like an idiot. I’m really sorry.”

Jackson shook his head and smiled at Meredith. “You know how clumsy our little Daphne can be. I’m always telling her to be more careful.”

Fifty-Six

When I first met Amber, I could never have imagined that she would become someone I depended on. I’ll admit, my first impression was of a somewhat homely and meek young woman with little to interest me except for the fact that she’d experienced a similar heartache. Her grief seemed so raw and fresh that it helped me put my own pain on the back burner to help her. I wanted to make it all better, to give her a reason to wake up in the morning.

Looking back, I suppose I should have seen the signs. But I was eager for a friend, a true friend. No, that’s not quite right. I was desperate for a sister — for my sister, which was of course, impossible. The next best thing was a friend who’d suffered the same loss I had. It’s bad enough to lose a sibling, but to watch one die a little each day — there’s no explaining that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. So when Amber appeared so unexpectedly in my life, she felt like a gift. I had no one in my life that I could trust. Jackson had done his job well, isolating me from everyone in my past and erecting impenetrable walls around my life. None of my friends knew the reality of my marriage or my life. But with Amber, I could share genuine emotion. Even Jackson couldn’t do anything about that.

The flowering friendship made him nervous — he didn’t like for me to see any of my friends more than once every few weeks unless, of course, he was there. When I’d asked him to find a job for her at Parrish, he’d been indignant at first.

“Come on, Daphne. Isn’t this little charity act wearing thin yet? What could you possibly have in common with that frumpy mouse?”

“You know what we have in common.”

He rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, will you? It’s been twenty years. Haven’t you mourned enough? So her sister died too. That doesn’t mean I want her working in my company. She’s around our family too much as it is.”

“Jackson, please. I care about her. I do everything you want, don’t I?” I forced myself to walk over to him and put my arms around his neck. “She isn’t a threat to you. She really needs a job. Her family back home depends on her. I can brag to everyone about how you rescued her.” I knew he’d like playing the hero.

“Hilda does need an assistant. I suppose we could give her a chance. I’ll call Human Resources and have her set up for an interview.”

I didn’t want to take any chances. “Couldn’t you try her out without an interview on my word? She’s smart as a whip; she’s done a better job as my cochair than anyone before her. And working at Rollins, she knows a lot about your business. She worked on the commercial side.”

“Rollins! That’s not saying much. If she’s so good, why’d they let her go?”

I had hoped to avoid telling him, but I saw no out. “Her boss was sexually harassing her.”

He started laughing. “Is he blind?”

“Jackson! That’s cruel.”

“Seriously, that dirty-dishwater hair, the ugly glasses, and don’t get me started on her lack of fashion sense,” he said, shaking his head.

I was glad that he didn’t find her attractive. Not because I cared if he strayed, but because I didn’t want anything to cause me to lose her as a friend. And working for Hilda Battley, she’d be cocooned from any funny business from the men there. I felt good about helping her and knowing that no one would traumatize her again.

“Please, Jackson. It would make me very happy, and you’d be doing a good thing.”

“I’ll arrange it. She can start Monday. But you have to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Cancel your mother’s visit for next month.”

My heart sank. “She’s been looking forward to it. I’ve already bought tickets to The Lion King. The girls are really excited.”

“It’s up to you. If you want me to hire your friend, then I’ll need some peace and quiet. When your mother’s here, I can’t relax. Besides, she was just here for Tallulah’s birthday.”

“All right. I’ll call her.”

He gave me a cold smile. “Oh, and tell her that you’re canceling because the girls want to take Sabine instead of her to the show.”

“There’s no need to be cruel.”

“Okay. No job.”

I picked up the phone and dialed. When I hung up, heartsick at the hurt in my mother’s voice, he gave me an approving nod.

“Well done. See? You don’t need anyone but me, anyhow. I’m your family.”

Fifty-Seven

I loved having a best friend again. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until Amber came along. Her manipulation was so subtle and gradual that I never had a twinge of suspicion.

It wasn’t long until we were always in touch with each other: texting when something funny happened, phone calls, lunches. I wanted her at the house all the time. I was ready to leave to meet her when I heard his car in the driveway. Stomach lurching, I contemplated sneaking out the back, but when I looked out the window, he was out of the car and talking to Tommy, our driver. Shit.

He slammed the front door and stalked over to me. “Why do you need Tommy tonight? He said he’s picking up Amber too. Are you planning on drinking yourselves into oblivion like some sluts?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. Just a glass or two, but I don’t want to drive. She’s been so busy with work, we wanted an evening to catch up. I thought you were taking clients out tonight—”

“The dinner was canceled.” He studied me for a long moment. “You know, she’s the help now. It’s actually rather unseemly for you to be friends with her. What if someone sees you together?”

The heat spread from my neck to my face. “She’s become like a sister to me. Please don’t ask me to stop being friends with her.”

“Upstairs,” he commanded.

The girls were getting their baths; I had already said my good nights. “I don’t want the girls to hear me. I’ll have to go through the routine all over again.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his office, slammed me against the wall, and locked the door. He unzipped his pants and pushed me down to my knees.

“The quicker you get to it, the faster you can leave.”

Hot tears of humiliation ran down my face, ruining my makeup. I wanted to refuse him, to tell him how much he repulsed me, but I was terrified. The slightest resistance to anything he wanted could result in the gun coming out again.

“Stop crying! You make me sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up and get to it.”

After I finished, he tucked his shirt back in and zipped up his pants.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” He laughed. “By the way, you look like shit. Your makeup’s all smeared.”

He unlocked the door and left without another word.

I stumbled to the bathroom and ran some water under my eyes. I texted Tommy and told him to get Amber and come back for me. I couldn’t let anyone see me this way.

When I finally got to the bar and saw Amber waiting, I wanted nothing more than to pour out my heart, tell her what he was really like. Her friendship had lulled me into such a strong sense of security that I almost told her the truth about why I was late. But the words wouldn’t come. And what could she do anyway?

As she looked at me with stars in her eyes, asking about my perfect marriage, I wanted to lay it all bare. But she couldn’t help me, and there was nothing to be gained by being truthful. So I did what I had learned to do best: I pushed the reality to the back of my mind and pretended that my charmed life was all that it seemed.

Fifty-Eight

The night that Meredith came to tell me that she’d discovered that Amber wasn’t her real name, at first I believed Amber’s explanation, that she’d been abused and had to run from her crazy father. After all, I understood what it was like to be a captive. If I thought I could survive and Jackson wouldn’t find us, I’d have gladly assumed a false identity. But something in her story was familiar. Then it hit me: she’d used the same phrase—I’m so ashamed to tell you this—when she told me about her boss making a pass at her. The more I thought about it, the more her story sounded suspicious. I decided to listen to my gut and investigate, but I pretended to believe her. I had my own reasons, but Meredith thought I was crazy. She’d come over the day after the confrontation.

“I don’t care what she says, Daphne. You can’t trust her. She’s an impostor. I wonder if she even has a sister.”

That was impossible, though. Even if she’d lied about everything else, she had to have a sister. I couldn’t bear to believe that someone could be so cruel as to pretend she had suffered as I had, to make up stories about a sister struggling with this dreadful disease. That would make her a monster. And my best friend couldn’t be a monster.

“I believe her. Not everyone has the resources that we do. Sometimes lying is the only option.”

She shook her head. “There’s something very off with her.”

“Look, Mer. I know you’re only trying to protect me. But I know Amber. Her grief over her sister is genuine. She’s had a rough life, and I understand that. Please, have a little faith in my judgment.”

“I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your call. For your sake, I hope she’s telling the truth.”

After she’d gone, I ran up to my bedroom, opened my nightstand drawer, and pulled out the glass turtle Amber had given me. Holding it by the edges, I placed it in a plastic bag. I threw my hair into a ponytail, pulled a baseball cap low on my face, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I left the house with only my wallet and the burner phone I’d bought a few months earlier and walked the two miles into town. The cab I’d called was waiting in front of the bank on Main Street, and I jumped in the back.

“I need to go to Oxford. This address please.”

I handed him the slip of paper and slid back in the seat, looking around to make sure no one I knew had seen me. My thoughts were racing as I considered the implications of Meredith’s findings, and I felt sick. Was it possible that our entire relationship was built on pretense? Was she using me for my money, or was she after my husband? Slow down, I thought. Wait and see.

Forty minutes later, the cab came to a stop in front of the brick building.

“Can you wait for me?” I gave him a hundred-dollar bill. “I won’t be long.”

“Sure, ma’am.”

I went up to the fourth floor and found the door marked “Hanson Investigations.” I’d found the agency online, using a computer at the library. I went inside to a small, empty reception area. No one sat behind the desk, but a door behind it opened, and a man walked out. He was younger than I’d expected, clean-cut and kind of cute. He smiled and walked toward me, his hand outstretched.

“Jerry Hanson.”

I shook his hand. “Daphne Bennett,” I said. The chances that he knew Jackson or anyone in our world were slim, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I followed him into a pleasant room with bright colors. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he took one of the armchairs and indicated I should take the one across from him.

“How can I help you? You sounded pretty shaken up on the phone.”

“I need to find out if someone who’s gotten close to me is who she says she is. I have her fingerprints.” I handed him the bag. “Can you find who they belong to?”

“I can try. I’ll start with a criminal check. If her prints aren’t there, I’ll see if I can reach out to some folks who might be able to tap into private databases where she might have been printed for a job.”

I handed him the newspaper article with her picture. I had circled her face. “I don’t know if this will help. She claims to be from Nebraska, but I don’t know if she made that up. How long will it take before you find anything out?”

He shrugged. “Shouldn’t take more than a few days. If we find a hit, I can put together a full report for you. To be safe, let’s say next Wednesday.”

I stood. “Thanks so much. Text me if there’s any delay; otherwise, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Is noon good?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that works. Listen, Mrs. Bennett, be careful, you hear?”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

I took the stairs, feeling as though I would jump out of my skin if I didn’t keep moving. I thought about all the intimate conversations, the parts of me I had shared with her. Julie. My darling Julie. If she did anything to make a mockery of my sister’s memory, I didn’t know what I would do. Maybe it would just be a misunderstanding.

I got back into the cab to head home. Now all I had to do was wait.

Fifty-Nine

“It’s not good, Mrs. Bennett,” Jerry Hanson said as he slid the manila folder across the desk toward me. “There’s quite a bit to look through. I’m gonna take a walk, get some coffee. I’ll be back to discuss everything with you in about half an hour.”

I nodded, already immersed in the file. The first thing I saw was a newspaper article with Amber’s photo. Her eyes were heavily lined with black, and her hair was bleached platinum blond. She looked sexy, but hard. Only her name wasn’t Amber. It was Lana. Lana Crump. I read the article, then looked through the rest of the document. My hands shook as I put down the last piece of paper. I broke out in a sweat, reeling from the betrayal. It was far worse than I’d imagined. She had made everything up. There had been no sick sister, no abusive father. I had let her into my life, my children’s lives, let her get close to me and told her things I’d never shared with another human being. She had played me, and brilliantly. What a fool I’d been. I’d been so blinded by my grief over Julie that I’d actually invited that jackal into my life.

My heart actually ached. She was a criminal, a fugitive. And what she had done — it showed such a clear lack of conscience, no remorse. How could I not have seen it?

Her entire life was here in these pages. A new picture began to form. A poor girl from a small town consumed by jealousy and want: covetous, predatory. She’d mapped out a plan, and when it had failed, she’d exacted her revenge. She had fooled everyone there too, had turned another family’s life upside down, irrevocably damaged them, then run away. Then she’d taken on a different identity. A chill passed through me as I thought of the real Amber Patterson’s disappearance. Had Lana had a hand in it? Now I understood why she always hid from cameras. She was afraid of someone she’d known in her other life seeing her photo.

The door opened, and the detective returned. “How did someone like you get mixed up with someone like her?”

I exhaled. “Doesn’t matter. Tell me, according to this, there’s an open warrant out for her. What would happen if I called the police?”

He leaned back in his chair and tented his hands. “They’d pick her up, call the Missouri police, and have her taken back there to stand trial.”

“What kind of sentence does perjury and jury tampering carry?”

“Varies by state, but it’s a felony and usually carries a prison sentence of at least a year. The fact that she skipped out on bail is going to add some time as well.”

“What about what happened to that poor boy? Will that factor in?”

He shrugged. “There’s not a punitive component to the criminal charges, so not technically. But I’m sure the despicable intent will sway a sentencing judge, even if he or she doesn’t admit it.”

“This is all confidential, right?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’m obligated to turn her in?”

I nodded.

“I’m not an officer of the court. This is your report; you do what you want with it.”

“Thank you. Um, this has nothing to do with Amber, but I need you to look into one more thing for me.” I filled him in, handed him a folder, and left.

I hailed a cab and had it take me to the bank — the one twenty miles from home, where Jackson didn’t know I had an account or a safe-deposit box. I looked through the file one more time before putting it away. A picture caught my eye: a woman who must have been Amber’s mother. That’s when I realized the other thing she had done — and that is what convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt that Amber, aka Lana, was as devoid of a conscience as Jackson. That revelation was liberating. It meant that I could proceed with the plan that I had begun to formulate in my mind.

I wasn’t going to turn her in. No, she wasn’t going back to Missouri to serve a measly couple of years in prison. She was going to get a life sentence right here in Connecticut.

Sixty

If there’s one thing living with an abusive psychopath has taught me, it’s how to make the best of a bad situation. Once I recovered from the betrayal, I realized Amber could be the answer to everything. It was now obvious that she’d only used me to get close to Jackson. She had manipulated me into getting her a job so she’d be right there every day. But the problem was, Jackson wouldn’t be as easily fooled as I was. And as cunning as Amber was, she had only half the picture, no real idea what made him tick, what turned him on. That’s where I’d come in. I would feed her the information she needed to succeed in turning his obsessive focus from me to her. Little by little, I would play her, just as she’d played me.

I had to make him want her more than he wanted me. His money, power, and meticulous planning ensured that my only way out was for him to let me go. Up until then, he’d had no reason to do so. That was all about to change. I decided that I needed to pretend that he had once cheated on me. I wanted her to believe there was a crack in my marriage, that Jackson was capable of being tempted.

We met at Barnes & Noble that Saturday, and when she approached, I almost didn’t recognize her.

“Wow. You look fantastic.” Her hair was no longer dishwater brown, but a beautiful ash blond, her brows shaped into perfect arches over thick, luscious lashes and perfectly applied eyeliner. Contoured cheekbones, just the right amount of blush, and glossed lips completed the picture. She looked like a different woman. She hadn’t wasted any time transforming herself.

“Thanks. I went to one of those makeup places at Saks and they helped me. I couldn’t go to work in a fancy New York office looking like a country mouse.”

Please, that was a Red Door makeover if I ever saw one. I wondered where she’d gotten the money. “Well, you look wonderful.”

After browsing a bit, we went across the street to a café for lunch.

“So how are things going? Still loving the job?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m learning so much. And I really appreciate Jackson giving me the chance to fill Battley’s shoes. I know it wasn’t easy for him, after working with her for so many years.”

I had to hand it to her, she gave nothing away. I don’t know how she did it, but when Jackson came home a few short months after Amber had started and told me that Battley had resigned, I’d suspected she’d had a hand in it. “She was a gem. So loyal. Jackson didn’t really tell me why she decided to retire early. Do you have any idea?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, she was up there in age, Daph. I think she was really more tired and taxed than she let on. I had to cover for her more than once.” She leaned in toward me conspiratorially. “I probably saved her getting fired on a few occasions when she deleted an important meeting from Jackson’s calendar. Luckily I caught it in time and fixed it.”

“How lucky for her.”

“Well, I guess she realized it was time. I think she was ready to have more time for her grandkids too.”

“I’m sure — but enough about work. What’s going on with your personal life? Any cute guys at the office?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever meet someone.”

“Have you considered a dating service?”

“No. I’m not really one for those kinds of things. I’m a big believer in fate.”

Sure she was. “I get it. You want the old-fashioned boy-meets-girl story.”

She smiled. “Yes. Like you and Jackson. The perfect couple.”

I gave a small laugh. “Nothing’s perfect.”

“The two of you sure make marriage seem easy. He looks at you like you’re still on your honeymoon.”

I had my opening to make her think there was trouble in paradise. “Not lately. We haven’t had sex in two weeks.” I cast my eyes downward. “Sorry — I hope you don’t mind my talking about this.”

“Of course not, that’s what friends are for.” She twirled the straw in her iced tea. “I’m sure he’s just tired, Daph. It’s been crazy at work.”

I sighed. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell a soul?”

She leaned in closer. “Of course.”

“He cheated on me before.”

I saw the delight in her eyes before she was able to disguise it.

“You’re kidding? When?”

“Right after Bella was born. I still had some extra weight, and I was tired all the time. There was this client — she was young and pretty and hung on his every word. I had met her at a social function, and from the way she looked at him, I knew she was trouble.”

She licked her lips. “How did you find out?”

Now I was just making it up as I went along. “I found her panties in the apartment.”

“Are you kidding? He took her to your place in New York?”

“Yes. I think she left them deliberately. When I confronted him, he fell apart. Begged my forgiveness. Told me that he’d just felt so ignored with all the time I spent with the new baby, and she’d flattered him so much. He admitted that her adoration was just too hard to resist.”

“Wow. That must have been so hard for you. But at least you bounced back. The two of you seem very happy. And you have to give it to him for not lying.”

I could see the wheels turning in her mind. “I think he did feel bad. He swore it would never happen again. But now I’m seeing some of the same signs I did back then. He’s working late all the time, not initiating sex, seems distracted. I think there must be someone else.”

“I haven’t seen anything suspicious at the office.”

“There’s no one there that seems to be hanging around him more than usual?”

She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. I’ll keep an eye on him for you, though, and let you know if I think there’s anything you have to worry about.”

I knew she’d keep an eye on him — and maybe more than that. “Thanks, Amber. I feel so much better knowing you’re there looking out for me.”

She put her hand on mine and gave me a steady look. “I would do anything for you. We have to stick together. Soul sisters, right?”

I squeezed her hand back and smiled. “Right.”

Sixty-One

It was easy to arrange. He had been looking forward to seeing Hamlet, and I knew he wouldn’t want to waste the valuable second ticket. Bella wasn’t really sick, but I purposely bowed out of the show, hoping he’d invite Amber. He was furious that I’d missed it. My phone rang that night at midnight.

“Don’t you ever do that again; you hear me?”

“Jackson, what’s wrong?”

“I wanted you with me tonight. I had plans for you after the play.”

“Bella needed me.”

“I needed you. The next time you break plans with me, there’ll be serious consequences. You got it?”

Apparently Amber had no idea about his bad mood. She called me the next morning with just the right things to say.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Daph, it’s me.”

“Hey. How was the play?”

Rustling papers on her end. “Amazing. My first Broadway play. I was in awe the whole time.”

Her Pollyanna act was getting old.

“I’m glad. So what’s up?”

“Oh, well, I just wanted to let you know that by the time we got out, it was late, and so we stayed at the apartment.”

“Oh?” I made my voice sound appropriately on guard.

“Jackson insisted that it was silly for me to go all the way home when I had to be back so early in the morning. I took the sheets off the guest room bed and put them in the laundry room so the housekeeper would know they needed to be changed.”

Clever of her. She couldn’t come out and state that she’d stayed in the guest room, or she’d be implying that there was a chance she’d slept with my husband, but she was letting me know that nothing had happened.

“That was thoughtful. Thanks.”

“And I borrowed your red Armani suit, the one with the gold buttons. I hope you don’t mind. I obviously hadn’t brought a change of clothes.”

I tried to figure out how I would feel if I still thought she was my friend. Would I have minded?

“Of course not. I bet it looks great on you. You should keep it.” Let her see that it meant nothing to me, that Jackson’s wife had so much, I could afford to give her my castoffs as if they were no more significant than a pair of gloves. A sharp intake of breath came over the line.

“I couldn’t. It’s a two-thousand-dollar suit.”

Did I detect just the slightest bit of reproach in her voice? I forced a laugh. “Did you google it?”

A long moment of silence. “Um, no. Daphne, are you angry? I think I’ve upset you. I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I just—”

“Come on, I’m just teasing. I’m glad you went. Got me off the hook. Don’t tell Jackson, but I find Shakespeare a bore.” That wasn’t true, but I knew she’d use that bit of misinformation to her advantage. “I mean it about the suit. Please, I want you to have it. I have more than I can wear. What are friends for?”

“I guess, if you’re sure. Listen, I’ve got to run. Jackson needs me.”

“Sure. Before you go, are you free this Saturday? We’re having a few friends over for a dinner party, and I would love it if you’d come. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Oh, who?”

“A guy from the club who happens to be newly single and perfect, I think, for you.” I had invited Gregg Higgins, a trust-fund baby. He was in his late twenties and extremely good-looking, which was fortunate for him, since he didn’t have much going on upstairs. His father had given up hoping that Gregg would take over in the family business, but had given him a big office and title and let him spend his days having long lunches entertaining clients. He would be putty in Amber’s hands and falling all over her, which is just what I wanted Jackson to witness. He wasn’t in the same league as Jackson by any stretch, so I didn’t worry about him actually distracting her, but he would be irresistible to her for the time being — her ticket to the club, glamorous events, and someone to pamper her until she achieved her ultimate goal. I figured she was also smart enough to realize a little competition would be good for arousing Jackson’s interest.

Her voice was warm now. “That sounds interesting. What time should I be there?”

“Starts at six, but you’re welcome to come a little early. Why don’t you come at noon, and we can hang at the pool for a while and then get ready around two? Bring your clothes, and you can shower and dress here. In fact, why don’t you plan to spend the night?”

“Fantastic, thanks.”

I wanted Jackson to see Amber in her bikini, and given how she’d stepped up her game lately, I knew she’d come over looking like something from the pages of the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

I ended the call, grabbed my tennis racket, and left. I was meeting Meredith for a doubles game. Things were still a little strained between us since her confrontation with Amber. I knew Meredith was angry that I had bought Amber’s story about being on the run from an abusive father, but once she saw I was immovable, she’d finally let it go. I hated for our friendship to become a casualty of my plan, but for the first time in ten years, I felt a flicker of hope. I wasn’t going to let anything get in my way.

I ate a ton of carbs all the next week. Cookies, crackers, chips. Jackson had just left on a business trip, so he wasn’t there to stop me. The girls were thrilled to have some junk food in the house. Normally, he inspected the refrigerator and cabinets daily and threw out anything remotely resembling snack food. I had to swear the girls to secrecy and even hide it from Sabine, who’d already gone running to Jackson when I kept Tallulah up late one night watching a movie. But yesterday I’d insisted she take a couple of days off, and her delight outweighed her sense of duty.

I wanted to make sure to pack on a few pounds before Saturday, so Jackson would notice how much better Amber looked in her bathing suit than I did in mine. It’s amazing how quickly the weight comes back when you’re used to eating fewer than twelve hundred calories a day. I was on my fourteenth food journal — Jackson inspected it every day when he got home and kept all the completed ones lined up in his closet, his little keepsakes proving his control over me. Occasionally I would write down a food that wasn’t on the approved list — he was too smart to believe I never cheated on my diet. On those days, he’d sit and watch while he made me run five miles on the treadmill in our home gym to make up for it. I hadn’t decided yet whether or not I would include some extras on the journal this week or just pretend that perimenopause was to blame for the extra weight. The idea that my fertility was declining would make Amber that much more appealing in comparison.

I’d forgotten how good sugar tasted. By Friday my stomach had a nice little pooch to it, and my whole body was a bit puffy. I put all the wrappers and cartons in a trash bag and drove them to the dump. When he returned Friday night, the kitchen was in tip-top shape again. It was just past nine when I heard his car in the garage. I grabbed the remote and clicked off the television. I pulled roast duck out of the oven and set a place for him at the island.

He walked in the kitchen as I was pouring myself a glass of pinot noir.

“Hello, Daphne.” He nodded toward the plate. “I ate on the plane. You can put that away.”

“How was your flight?”

He picked up the glass of wine and took a swallow. “Fine, uneventful.” His brow creased. “Before I forget, I looked through the Netflix queue. I see that you watched some low-rate drama. I thought we talked about this.”

I’d forgotten to wipe the queue clean. Damn it. “I think it came on automatically after the biography of Lincoln I’d been watching with the girls. I must have left the Netflix on.”

He leveled a look at me and cleared his throat. “Be more responsible next time. Don’t make me cancel the subscription.”

“Of course.”

He scrutinized my face, put a hand on my cheek, and pressed. “Are your allergies acting up?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, why?”

“You look puffy. You haven’t been eating sugar, have you?” He opened the cabinet containing the trash and looked through it.

“No, of course not.”

“Get me your diary.”

I ran upstairs and retrieved it. When I came back to the kitchen, he was looking through all the cabinets.

“Here.”

He snatched it from my hands, sat down, and went through it, tracing each item with his finger. “Aha! What’s this?” He pointed to an entry from yesterday.

“A baked potato.”

“That turns right into sugar. You know that. If you have to be a pig and eat a potato, make sure it’s a sweet potato. At least that has some nutritional value.” He looked me up and down. “You make me sick. Fat pig.”

“Daddy?”

Tallulah was standing in the doorway. She looked at me, worry in her eyes.

“Come give Daddy a hug. I was just telling your mommy she has to stop stuffing her face. You don’t want a fat mommy, do you?”

“Mommy’s not fat,” she said, her voice cracking.

He looked at me and scowled. “You stupid sow. Tell your daughter that you need to watch what you eat.”

“Daddy, stop!” Tallulah was crying now.

He threw his hands up in the air. “The two of you! I’m going to my study. Put the crybaby to bed, and then I want to see you in my office.” Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “If you’re so hungry all the time, I’ll give you something to suck on.”

Sixty-Two

Amber reached for the bottle of tanning lotion and squirted some in her hand. After she applied it to her arms and face, she handed it to me. “Would you do my back?”

I took it from her and caught a whiff of coconut as I rubbed my hands together.

“Want to go sit on the bench in the pool?” It was sweltering, and I wanted to cool off.

“Sure.”

Amber’s bikini was practically pornographic — all she had to do was sit the wrong way and all the goods would be on display. I was glad Tallulah and Bella were out for the day with Surrey. It was obvious that she hadn’t missed any time at the gym, although with the hours she was putting in working for Jackson, I didn’t know how she fit it in. I had purposely worn a one-piece that hugged my body and revealed the little pooch my belly was sporting. Jackson would notice it as soon as he looked at me.

We sat side by side on the built-in seat in the shallow end. The water was a perfect eighty-five degrees and felt wonderful. I looked out at the vast stretch of blue and the beach beyond, relaxing as I took a deep breath of salt air.

Jackson came outside for his daily swim.

“Hi, girls, I hope you put some sunscreen on. Hottest time of the day.”

I smiled. “I have, but Amber here is covered in tanning oil.”

She sat up straighter, sticking out her chest for full effect. “I like to tan.”

“That’s because you’re too young to know the sun gives you wrinkles,” I said.

Jackson walked to the diving board and surprised me by turning around and executing a perfect back dive into the pool. Was he showing off? When he broke the water’s surface, Amber clapped.

“Bravo! Well done.”

He swam to the side of the pool, pushed himself up and out and gave a little bow.

“It was nothing.”

“Come join us for a minute,” I said.

He grabbed a towel from the outdoor armoire behind the bar and sat on one of the cushioned seats across from us.

“I’ve got a little work to do before the party.”

“Anything I can help with?” Amber asked.

Jackson smiled. “No, no. It’s your day off. Don’t be silly. Besides, Daphne would kill me if I put you to work.”

“That’s right. You’re a guest today.”

“I’m really hot, just going to get all the way wet.” She pushed off the bench and slipped underwater. My eyes were on Jackson, who was watching Amber as she swam to the steps and climbed out, giving him a front-row seat to her wet body and see-through suit.

“That felt great,” she said, looking straight at him. She was getting quite brazen.

“Well, I’ve got to get to it,” Jackson said as he walked back to the house.

Amber came back to where I was and took a seat once again. “Thanks again for inviting me over today. This is such a treat.” Did she think I was an idiot? “What time is everyone coming again?”

“Around six. We can relax for a couple of hours and then go shower and change. I’ve asked Angela to come by at three to do our hair.” I had more planned for the afternoon, intending to let her see every little benefit Jackson’s money provided.

“How wonderful. Does she always do your hair?”

“Only when we entertain or I’m going somewhere special. We have her on retainer, so she pretty much drops whatever else she has if I need her.” What I now recognized as a look of resentment flashed in her eyes, but she quickly recovered.

“Wow.”

“Of course, I try to give her notice. Don’t want to intentionally mess up someone else’s plans.”

“Is it fancy tonight?”

I stretched my legs out in front of me. “Not really. Three other couples from the club and Gregg, the guy I want you to meet.”

“Tell me more about him.”

“He’s in his late twenties, reddish-blond hair, blue eyes. Your typical good-looking preppy.” I laughed.

“What does he do?”

“His father owns Carvington Accounting. He works in the family business. They have gobs of money.”

Now I had her attention. “I’m not sure he’ll be interested in me. He’s probably used to debutantes and girls from important families.”

This pitiful act was beginning to tire me. I looked up to see the two masseuses walk out to the tile patio. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“We’re each getting a nice, long massage.”

“Don’t tell me they’re on retainer too?” Amber asked.

“No. They’re part-time. Jackson and I couldn’t survive without at least two massages a week.” It wasn’t true, but I wanted her green with envy.

The afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. After the hour-long massage, I soaked in the tub while Amber’s hair was done; then she sat and talked to me while Angela did mine. By three thirty, we had drinks in hand and sat in the sunroom overlooking the Sound. In a few hours, phase two of my plan would begin.

By six o’clock, we were having drinks on the veranda, and Gregg, as I had anticipated, was falling all over Amber. I couldn’t help but compare the girl who had come to that first committee meeting with the poised and self-assured young woman standing there. No one meeting her for the first time would have a clue that she was out of place. Everything about her telegraphed money and refinement. Even her dress, a Marc Jacobs shift, was worlds away from the L.L.Bean separates she used to wear.

I walked over to her and Gregg. “I see you’ve met our Amber.”

He gave me a broad smile. “Where’ve you been hiding her? I haven’t seen her at the club.” He gave her a knowing look. “I would have remembered.”

“I don’t belong,” she said.

“Then you’ll just have to come as my guest.” He looked at her empty glass. “Can I get you a refill?”

She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Gregg. You’re such a gentleman. I’ll walk over with you.”

Gregg’s hand rested on the small of her back as they made their way to the bar, and I looked up to see that Jackson was watching them. There was a proprietary look in his eyes, one that said, You’re pissing on my lawn. It was working.

I walked over to him.

“Looks like Amber and Gregg are clicking.” I could see that she was playing him, but all Jackson could see were the pheromones jumping off Gregg.

“She can do better than that idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot. He’s a nice young man. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her all night.”

Jackson drank the rest of his bourbon in one swallow. “He’s as dull as a stone.”

By the time we were seated for dinner, Gregg was thoroughly infatuated. Amber already had him wrapped around her finger. All she had to do was look thirsty, and he was waving the server over to get her another drink. The other women didn’t miss it either.

Jenka, a brunette beauty married to one of Jackson’s golf buddies, leaned over to me and whispered, “Doesn’t it make you nervous? A girl like that right outside his office every day? I know he loves you, but he is a man, after all.”

I laughed. “I trust Jackson implicitly, and Amber’s a good friend.”

She looked dubious. “If you say so. There’s no way I’d let Warren hire somebody who looked like that to be his assistant.”

“You’re too suspicious, darling. I’ve nothing to worry about.”

Gregg was the last to leave. He gave Amber a chaste kiss on her cheek. “See you Sunday. Pick you up at noon.”

When he’d gone, I turned to her. “Sunday?”

“He’s invited me to have lunch with him at the club and then see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Playhouse.”

“How lovely. Well, I’m exhausted. Shall we go to bed?”

She nodded.

I gave her the guest room across the hall from us. I wanted Jackson to know she was close by.

He was in bed when I came into the bedroom.

“Nice evening, right?” I said.

“Except for that moron, Gregg. I don’t know why you invited him in the first place,” Jackson grumbled.

“It would have been awkward for Amber not to have a companion. He’s nice enough. Just drinks a little too much.”

“A little too much? The guy’s a drunk. I detest people who can’t control themselves.”

I slid under the covers. “Amber has a date with him on Sunday.”

“She’s too smart for him.”

“Well, she seems to like him.” Good. He was jealous.

“If he didn’t have a rich father, he’d be living in a studio apartment over someone’s garage.”

“Jackson, I need to ask you something.”

He sat up and turned the light back on. “What?”

“You know how much I miss Julie. Amber’s the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have. Your interest in her seems more than just professional.”

His voice rose. “Now just a minute. Since when have I ever given you a reason to be jealous?”

I put a gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t be mad. I’m not accusing you of anything. But I see how she looks at you. She adores you. And who can blame her?” Did I sound convincing? “I just don’t want anything to happen between you. Anyone can slip. Amber is my only true friend. If you should find yourself attracted to her, please don’t give in to it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not interested in other women.”

But I knew that look. The determination in his eyes. No one told Jackson Parrish what he could and couldn’t have.

Sixty-Three

Duplicity suited me. All the years of living with Jackson had taught me a thing or two. It was hard at times, knowing that Amber believed herself so clever and me so stupid, but it would be worth it in the end. It had been tortuous that weekend she was at the lake house with the girls and me. I hated going to that house, period. My mother was really only an hour away, and he wouldn’t let me invite her. He chose it specifically for that purpose — to make my mother believe that I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t think to include her. She had too much pride to ever ask to come. But inviting Amber to the lake had been necessary for moving my plan along. That was the weekend I gave her the vital tidbit that I hoped she would pounce upon — the fact that Jackson desperately wanted a son, and I couldn’t give him one. I also gave her a key to the New York apartment, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she found an excuse to use it.

When I got her text Friday morning asking if it was okay to use the New York apartment for the weekend, I came up with a plan. Jackson had been working from the lake house all week, making life miserable for the girls and me. He didn’t believe in letting schedules slide, even on vacation. When he wasn’t there, we’d lounge by the lake all day, eat when we wanted, stay up late and watch movies. But when he was around, it was lunch at noon, dinner at seven, girls in bed by eight. No junk food, only organic and healthy. I’d have to hide the books on my nightstand and replace them with his selection of the week.

That week, though, I did little things to irritate him. I came in from swimming with smeared makeup under my eyes, left my hair a mess, left crumbs on the counter. By Friday, I could tell he was reaching the breaking point. We’d just finished lunch, and I’d made sure that a piece of spinach was lodged between my front teeth.

He looked at me with disgust. “You’re a pig. You have a big green thing in your teeth.”

I pulled my lips back and leaned close to him. “Where?”

“Ugh. Go look in a mirror.” He shook his head.

As I got up, I purposely bumped my hip into the table, and my plate went clanging to the floor.

“Look where you’re going!” His eyes traveled up and down my body. “Have you put on weight?”

I had actually — ten pounds. I shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s no scale here.”

“I’ll bring one next week. For the love of… What the hell do you do when I’m not here? Stuff yourself with junk?”

I picked up the plate and walked to the sink, deliberately leaving a piece of cucumber on the floor.

“Daphne!” He pointed.

“Oops, sorry.”

I ran the dish under the water and put it in the dishwasher — facing the wrong way.

“Oh, Jackson. The Lanes are coming over for dinner tonight.” I knew that would be the final straw. Our neighbors at the lake lived in Woodstock the rest of the year, and their politics were to the left of Marx. Jackson couldn’t bear to be in the same room as them.

“Are you serious?” He came up behind me, grabbed my shoulders, and turned me around. His face was inches from mine. “I’ve been very patient with you this week, put up with your slovenly appearance, your ineptitude around the house. This is too much.”

I looked at the floor. “Stupid me! I thought this was a week you’d be away. I got the dates confused. I’m so sorry.”

He sighed loudly. “In that case, it will be. I’m heading home today.”

“I’ve arranged to have all the carpets cleaned over the weekend. You really shouldn’t be there, with all the chemicals.”

“Shit. I’ll go to the apartment then. I should go into the office anyhow. Thanks for screwing everything up once again.”

He stormed off to the bedroom to pack.

I would text Amber in the morning with the text I’d “meant” to send today — informing her that Jackson was coming to the apartment, and she couldn’t use it after all. I’d tell her that I’d forgotten to hit send, and hoped that she hadn’t been startled when Jackson showed up.

Walking into the bedroom, I tossed Ulysses to the floor and replaced it with the latest Jack Reacher. I stretched out on the bed and took a deep breath. We’d have pizza for dinner. The Lanes were enjoying the concert they were attending; they’d told me about it when they were over for dinner the week before.

Hours later, my phone rang.

“What the hell are you up to?” Jackson said.

“What do you mean?”

“Amber’s here. What kind of game are you playing, Daphne?”

I feigned surprise. “I texted her and told her you were using the apartment. Wait. Let me look at my phone.” I waited a few seconds. “I’m such an idiot. I never hit send. I’m so sorry.”

He cursed. “You are intent on ruining my weekend. I just want some peace and quiet. I don’t feel like making small talk with the help.”

“Tell her to leave, then. Do you want me to call her?”

He sighed. “No, I’ll handle it. Thanks for nothing!”

I hit send and typed another message to Amber. Sorry. Meant to let you know Jackson was headed to the apartment. May want to stay out of his way. He’s not in the best mood, thanks to me.

That should be enough to have her lending him a sympathetic ear. After that, it would just be a hop, skip, and a jump before they were in bed together.

Sixty-Four

He’s got it bad. Amber must be really good. Most nights he claimed to be working too late to come all the way home, so he decided to stay at the apartment. Just to test my theory after the third night in a row, I offered to come in and keep him company, but he demurred, saying he would be at the office until all hours. It was also apparent in Amber’s demeanor. She thought she was so clever and that I couldn’t tell, but I noticed the looks that passed between the two of them when she was at the house, and the way she was beginning to finish his sentences.

During our trip to London, her perfume lingered on his clothes and in his hair every time he came back from a meeting. Apparently the infidelity turned him on, because he wanted sex even more than usual. I never knew when he would grab me. The sex was different too — faster and rougher, like a dog staking his claim. I pretended to Amber that he hadn’t touched me in weeks. I needed her to believe he had eyes only for her — except for the one time I let my pride get the better of me and told her that we’d just slept together. The look of shock and anger on her face was delicious. I was worried, though, that it might be only a matter of time before he would tire of her and return to me, more obsessed than ever. My only hope was for Amber to elicit in him the same feelings I had evoked when we first met. He had to become focused on possessing her. She was already doing her part — trying to make herself into a younger version of me. I’d noticed her copying my perfume, wearing her hair the same as mine; she’d even copied my lipstick color. And I continued to feed her the ammunition. But would it be enough? What was taking her so long to get pregnant? Of course, unless it was a boy, it would do no good. We’d been down that road before. He had no use for another daughter.

I made myself look even more pitiful to him. I wanted him to see Amber as my perfect replacement. I wore long underwear under my clothes so I would sweat and blamed it on hot flashes. I started dropping hints that I was going through early menopause, so he would know that if he stayed with me, his dream of a son would go unfulfilled. I was placing all my hope on her getting pregnant with a boy. But if that didn’t work, I was hoping she was clever enough to find another way to hook him.

The night he came back from Paris, he was in a good mood. She had told me she was taking a few days off to go visit a friend so I wouldn’t be suspicious. But I’d known she was with him, had seen the lingerie he tucked into his suitcase at the last minute.

I was almost asleep when he walked into the bedroom and turned on a bedside lamp.

“You weren’t sleeping, were you?” He came around to my side of the bed and stood looking down at me.

“I was.”

“I’m hurt. I thought you’d be waiting up for me. You know how I miss you when I’m gone.”

My eye started twitching. I gave him a tight smile. “Of course I missed you. But I thought you’d be tired anyway.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Never too tired for you. I brought you a present.”

I sat up and waited.

It was the red and black corset I’d seen in his suitcase. I took it from him, and the smell of Incomparable wafted over me. The sick bastard wanted me to wear this after she had.

“Here are the stockings that go with it. Get up and put them on.”

“Why don’t you let me pick something out and surprise you?” I didn’t want them touching my skin after they’d been on her body.

He threw the corset at me. “Now!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bed. “Arms.”

I lifted my arms, and he pulled off my nightgown so that I was standing there in only my panties.

“You’re getting fat.” He pinched the flesh on my waist and made a face. “I’m going to have to buy you a girdle soon. Don’t make any plans for the rest of the week. You’ll be spending it with the trainer every day. We have dinner at the club on Thursday, and I’ve bought you a new dress. It had better fit.” He shook his head. “Lazy bitch. Now put on the outfit your nice husband went to all the trouble of buying for you.”

I pulled the stiff fabric up over my hips and stomach. It was tight, but I managed to make it fit. My face was hot with shame, and I had to look up at the ceiling to keep from crying. When I had fastened the stockings, he made me do a pirouette for him.

He shook his head. “Looks like shit on you.” He pushed me down. “All fours.”

I fell to the floor, the hard wood sending waves of pain through my knees. Before I could brace myself, I heard his pants unzip and felt him behind me. He was rough, and I felt like I was being torn in two. When he finally finished, he stood up and looked down at me. “Still the best around, Daph.”

I felt my body go weak as I slumped to the floor in anguish. Had all of this been for nothing? Was he already tired of Amber? Now that I had allowed myself to envision a life away from him, there was no way I was giving up. One way or another, I would be free.

Sixty-Five

She must have given him an ultimatum. I heard him whispering on the phone in the bathroom last night, telling her he needed more time. She’d better play her cards right, I thought, or it could all blow up. Jackson was not a man to be threatened. I’d seen her the day before when I stopped by the office, and I could tell. She was definitely pregnant, at least three months along. I wondered if it was a boy or girl. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard for anything in my life since Julie died.

All of us walked on eggshells all through dinner. I could hear his phone pinging with texts from the dining room. At one point he got up, threw his napkin on the chair, and stormed from the room. Minutes later he was back, and I didn’t hear any more texts coming in.

After I put the girls to bed, we watched a documentary on penguins. Finally, around ten, he looked at me.

“Let’s turn in.”

To my relief, he washed up, got into bed, and fell asleep. I lay there in the dark, wondering what was going on between them. I had started my period last night and had just gotten up to take something for my dull headache, then got back into bed and fell asleep.

I thought I was dreaming. Something bright was hurting my eyes, and I tried to turn but found myself immobilized. My eyes flew open. He was straddling me, shining a flashlight at them.

“Jackson, what are you doing?”

“Are you sad, Daphne?”

I shielded my eyes from the light and turned my head to the side. “What?”

He pushed my cheek so that I was looking into the light again. “Are you sad that you got your period? Another month and no baby.”

What was he talking about? Could he have somehow found out about the IUD? “Jackson, please, that hurts.”

He turned the light off, and I felt the cold steel of the gun against my neck.

He clicked the flashlight on again. Then off. On and off while the hand holding the gun pressed against my neck. “Are you laughing behind my back every month? Knowing how much I want a son?”

“Of course not. I would never laugh at you.” The words came out in a whisper.

He slid the gun from my neck up to my face and positioned it over one eye. “It would be hard to cry without an eye.”

He’s going to kill me this time.

Then he moved it to my mouth and ran it around my lips. “It would be hard to talk about me without a mouth.”

“Jackson, please. Think of the children.”

“I am thinking of the children. The ones I don’t have. The son I don’t have because you’re a withered-up old prune. But don’t worry. I have a solution.”

He moved the gun to my stomach and drew a figure eight. “It’s okay, Daphne, if you’re too used up to carry a baby in here. I’ve decided we can adopt.”

“What are you talking about?” I was too afraid to move, worried the gun would go off.

“I know someone who’s going to have a baby, and she doesn’t want it. We could take it.”

My whole body tensed. “Why would we want to adopt someone else’s baby?”

I heard him cock the gun. He leaned over and turned the lamp on so that I could see.

He smiled at me. “There’s only one bullet. Let’s see what happens. If I pull the trigger and you live, we’ll adopt. If you die, we won’t. Sound fair?”

“Please…”

I watched in terror as his finger moved back and held my breath until I heard the click. The breath whooshed out of me, and a cry escaped my lips.

“Good news. We’re going to have a son.”