Wednesday, August 18
Woodstock, New York
I wanted to go, just leave and go back to Alex, but it was nearly nine o’clock now, and the rain was still coming down. I knew Ruth was right. I was exhausted, emotionally wrecked. It was dark, and stormy, too. It would be dangerous, driving now. And I was Alex’s only living parent. I couldn’t put my safety at risk.
Still, I couldn’t just sit here. I was coming out of my skin.
I texted Rachel that the killer had been caught, that I was going to get Alex in the morning and drive straight to Old Forge, and then used the bathroom, splashed water on my face, put on fresh clothes, grabbed my purse and an umbrella, and headed back to Woodstock’s main drag.
Rain coming down around me, I passed the turnoff to Henry’s place, imagined him in there right now, drinking himself silly. Festering in anger. The news van was gone, at least, but I doubted for good. They’d probably been tipped off that there’d been an arrest and were down at the police station, hoping to get a bit more of the story. Lucky for me, I would be gone tomorrow. Away from all of this chaos. Old Forge was so removed from the city, the story would have less impact there. I could rest, love on Alex, eat Rachel’s raspberry pancakes, and figure out how to move forward from here.
I just had to get through tonight.
The place I’d gone to on Saturday was open, and the same girl was there from before. I stuck my umbrella in the stand by the door, shook off the rain, and found an open seat at the bar.
“The writer, right?” the girl asked as she pushed a paper menu in front of me. “I’m sorry, but I forgot your name.”
“Mary,” I said, taking the menu, suddenly famished. “And you’re . . . Blaire?”
“That’s me. How have your first few days in Woodstock been? Did you find a rental? And a daycare spot for your son?”
I glanced at the other patrons, mostly summer visitors—worried about what hike to go on tomorrow, whether six dollars was too much to spend for a local pork taco that had been written up in the Times, not the details of George and the Haywoods and everything that had happened—then looked back at the girl.
“Actually, I decided it’s not really for me. Leaving tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, scratching at her ivy tattoo. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“All good,” I said, glancing quickly at the menu. “I’ll do the steak and fries. Plus a glass of merlot.”
“You got it,” she said.
I scarfed down the food as soon as it was before me, slurped down the first glass of wine and another as well. When my plate was near-clean, my second glass gone, she asked if I wanted anything else.
I looked around briefly. The place was less crowded than before but still going strong. Outside, the rain continued to fall.
I knew I had so much to do tomorrow, but still I didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be back at my rental. So I smiled and ordered a dirty Hendrick’s martini—George’s favorite.
To George, I thought when the glass arrived, feeling the cool condensation on my fingers, tasting the saltiness of the olive juice, the sweetness of the vermouth, the juniper undernotes of the top-shelf gin. To George, who was beyond imperfect, but who I’d loved once and who’d given me the greatest gift of my life—Alex.
I was nearly done with my drink when I heard a voice behind me. “Mary?”
I jolted, and immediately I thought of Henry’s massive form, hovering over me, but then realized that the words were not slurred, and the voice was too warm, too kind.
I turned to see Jack. His silver hair took on a bluish cast in the haze of the bar lights, and although he wore a smile on his face, one that crinkled the edges of his mouth, deepened what we called wrinkles on women and “laugh lines” on men, his eyes looked tired. Exhausted, really.
“Jack,” I said. “What are you still doing here?”
He stepped closer, then raised his eyebrows. “I went to go talk to the restaurant, and I was about to get out of town when the police called me again. They arrested Willa, but I suppose you know that?”
I nodded. “It was based on . . . well, on evidence I gave them. Right after I saw you.”
“I figured as much.” Jack pressed his hands against the bar. For the first time, I noticed a pale bit of skin on his ring finger, where he must have worn his wedding band before his wife died. “They wanted me to give more details about my history with Willa. They had lots of questions. Whether I knew about some large set of jewelry?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, I didn’t, but still. The questions went on and on, and I wanted to do anything I could to help. She knows where I live. She knows where Jack Junior goes to playgroups, where I have him starting school in the fall. She has to be convicted for me to feel safe.” He sighed. “And to be honest, when you said what you did at the station earlier tonight, it took me by surprise. It was almost hard to believe. But then I started thinking. There were times that she got angry with Jack Junior, times I thought—I don’t know—that she needed to get a hold of herself a bit.”
“Really?” I asked. “With little Jack? But she doted on him.”
“I know, but I think when you live with someone like that, when you invite them into your home, the mask slips sometimes. She never hurt him or anything, not physically, but there were times—only a couple, I promise you, otherwise I never would have let her continue to stay with us—that she seemed almost like she wanted to.”
“Did you tell that to the police?”
“Yes,” he said. “I told them everything. I don’t know what good it will do, since she never actually hurt Jack, but if it helps their case at all, even in the slightest, then I’m glad I did. And who knows—it sounds like she did this with a lot of men—maybe there are other kids out there that she did hurt. If the police know to look in that direction, then all the better, right?”
“Right,” I said. I took a sip of my martini. This, above all else, was perhaps the hardest thing to wrap my head around. I could sooner believe that Willa killed George than that she’d hurt a child, even in the slightest. But I suppose I didn’t really know her at all. I suppose every face she showed me was a mask, just like Jack was saying.
“I just left the station,” he went on. “But I’m a city boy and also a terrible driver in the dark, much less in the rain and the dark.”
I laughed. “Same.”
“There’s nowhere to stay in Woodstock, not at this time of year. I called around from the police station parking lot, finally got a room at a Howard Johnson by the interstate, but the thought of whiling the night away there was too depressing, so I came here.”
“I was too depressed to be at my place, too,” I said. “Trust me, I get it.”
“Anyway, I don’t want to bother you. After all you’ve been through. I’ll go grab myself a table.”
He gazed at me a moment, waiting for me to say goodbye, but the prospect of company was too big a draw. And not just anyone, someone who’d been duped by Willa maybe even worse than I had. Besides, I wanted another drink, and I’d rather talk to him than stare at my phone, trying to avoid all the people popping into my inboxes to offer their condolences.
“Wait,” I said. “You can join me. I mean, if you want.”
Jack hesitated, and then he smiled. “I would like to,” he said. “I would like to very much.”
I felt myself blush and masked it by taking a last sip of my drink. There was something so naturally charming about him, a man the world respects. Well-off, well-to-do, with at least a handful of years on me and a bank account that was likely full of zeros. He wasn’t desperate for a friend like me. He was a handsome, rich widower, a loving father; hell, he could have had his choice of women in the city. And yet he’d chosen Willa. There was something so validating in having him here, right now. The sheer presence of him forced me to recognize that this wasn’t all my fault. She’d gotten under his skin just as she had mine, because that was what she did. And she was very, very good at it.
All I’d ever wanted was a friend. All he’d wanted was a partner, someone who loved his son as much as he did.
We both got lured into Willa’s web, but the spider had finally been caught. Had played a game that got too complicated for even someone as cunning and clever as she was to keep under control.
“What are you drinking?” Jack asked.
“Dirty martini. Hendrick’s.”
“Good choice,” he said. “Want another?”
“I do.”
Jack signaled to the girl, and soon, a pair of drinks was before us.
I wrapped my hands around the glass, feeling a prickle of hope. I had a long road ahead, I knew that. I had to raise my son without a father, mourn a husband who was beyond imperfect but had been mine.
Still, I was okay, and so was Alex. And Ruth and Frank were going to help me, not fight me, were going to be in their grandson’s life as much as I allowed.
Maybe all was not lost. Maybe I could find a way forward. A good one.
I looked to Jack, a smart, successful man, one who might not have even looked my way in any other circumstances, one who gravitated toward the blond and the beautiful, the young and the free, not a mom with strands of gray and a soft belly to prove it.
Yet here he was, happy to share a drink with me.
I felt a spark of something in my gut. Desire. Longing.
For a brief moment, Henry’s words flashed through my head.
You and her, you still go after guys like George and me. You pretend not to want the money, but you’re desperate for it all the same.
No, I thought. This was just a drink shared between two people who had been hurt. Nothing more, nothing less.
“To this nightmare being over,” I said, catching Jack’s eyes and lifting my glass. “To never seeing that bitch again.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jack said.
And we did.