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My mind races long after Ivy’s left my apartment for brunch with her husband, Rick. Her theory isn’t out of the question, but I don’t know who to trust at this point. I’m deeply in love with Connor and our unconventional love story, and the thought of the book Rest in Pieces makes my breakfast threaten to reappear.
The questions come hard and fast. If Allegra is alive, does that also mean she faked her death to escape Connor, an abusive husband like the one in the book? Or are only tidbits of the story real? Is the whole thing just fiction, and I’m making mountains out of molehills? Could she have left him for someone else? Would she have abandoned her babies to run away with a lover? And did Marcus somehow figure this out and threaten to expose her or Connor? The Allegra I feel like I’ve come to know wouldn’t leave her kids like this, but did anyone truly know her?
Maybe her stories were meant to be clues to her truth, her story within a story. I begin to read Rest in Pieces and wonder if this tortured character is based on Allegra’s real life, or if these are even the exact words Allegra Hudson wrote. I’m assuming Ivy, or whoever is helping Allegra, hasn’t tampered with her stories, but I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore.
After an hour of reading, I slam the book on my coffee table, dying to know what Allegra’s closest friends think of it. Once more, I have to ask Ivy and Mayven if they’ve ever suspected Connor of abuse. If I don’t, I’ll drive myself mad.
I ring Mayven first, thinking she might still be home since it’s before noon and Ivy’s likely still at brunch with Rick.
“Hey, Madeleine. How are you?” she asks as I hear some loud drilling in the background.
“Is this a bad time?” I’m barely able to hear her but desperate for her feedback.
“Oh no, let me just go inside. They’re doing some light construction work in our backyard. We’re having an outdoor planning meeting for our charity in a few days. It’s bitterly cold outside, so we’re putting up a nice tent with heaters and the whole nine. Can you hear me better now?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I have a serious question for you. Can you talk for a few minutes?”
Mayven’s voice drops. “Yeah, I can. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to explain why I’m asking. I just want a straight answer from you. Okay?” I hope she tells me what I want to hear.
Mayven robotically responds, “Okay, I can do that for you. Go ahead.”
“Did you ever suspect any kind of abuse from Connor when it came to Allegra?” The question comes out in one long breath.
Mayven pauses, and it seems like a lifetime passes before she answers. “No. I can’t say I ever did.”
Tension leaves my body like a fierce gust of wind. “I didn’t think so, but thank God you didn’t either. Okay.”
“I’m not saying they didn’t argue or that they didn’t have their own unique issues. They weren’t perfect, but abuse, no. Not that I was aware of, at least,” Mayven adds.
When Ivy answers the same question a few hours later, she echoes Mayven’s sentiments exactly. The irony is almost laughable considering how different those two are and how much they despise one another. I wonder how my opinion of Connor would’ve changed if they’d answered yes and whether I would have believed them.
Connor’s never waved any red flags my way, and I’m hopelessly in love with him, whether I want to be or not. But this is a dangerous spot for me to be in, even if he isn’t abusive.
***
A FEW DAYS LATER, MOM, Graham, and I are eating her homemade fried chicken, green beans, corn, and potato salad in front of the TV as we introduce Graham to the wonderful world of The Lion King. Mom’s phone beeps, and she runs to my front door. I find it odd that she’s expecting company at my house, but the movie is at its climax, and I can’t look away.
“Ugh, I always hated that awful Scar. He’s so evil,” a familiar voice says from the doorway. I jerk my head around and drop a piece of fried chicken when I see both Connor and my mom smiling. I hadn’t planned on introducing Graham to Connor, but it appears Mom and Connor have concocted some secret plan, and now I’m forced to make introductions.
“Connor! Hi.” I wipe my mouth, pause the movie, and give him a platonic-like hug in front of Graham. “Connor, this is my Graham. Graham, this is Mommy’s friend Connor.”
“Hi,” Connor says as he high-fives Graham. Connor high-fives him up high and down low, but when Graham gives him a hug out of left field, tears fill Connor’s eyes. It strikes me as odd, but I assume he’s having flashbacks of his boys at a younger age and feels nostalgic.
“The jig is up,” Mom whispers in my ear. “We plotted against you since you’ve been too busy to hang out the past few days. I’m going to stay the night with Graham, and you two are off for a romantic getaway.” Mom beams as she hands me a basket full of food and an overnight bag she’s already packed for me.
I unpause the movie, and Graham is glued to the screen again. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She pushes Connor and me toward the door. “We’ve worked it all out. Now you two go and have fun.”
I walk over to Graham. “Mommy’s going to be gone for a bit tonight and tomorrow, and Meems is going to stay here with you. Are you okay with that, bub?” I kiss his forehead and smooth his hair to one side.
“Yay, a sleepover!” he cheers.
I sigh with relief. “We’re going now, okay? I love you, Graham Cracker.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” he says as he pecks me on the lips, revealing his dimples.
***
CONNOR WHISKS ME AWAY to a bed-and-breakfast resort in Kingston, the Whitestone Inn. The views, even in the dead of winter, make me forget all my troubles. The Inn calls their rolling hills a sanctuary for the soul, and they truly are. The inn also features a to-die-for view of Watts Bar Lake, a rustic red barn, two chapels, and farmhouse-like cottages on the property. There’s a reason it’s one of the area’s top venues for weddings and receptions; it feels like nothing bad can happen here. On the way over, I fought a battle in my mind about the photos of Ivy and Connor and concluded that I’m right to trust him. The photos are probably a lie. But a small part of me wonders whether they were hooking up.
We arrive at the inn after dark, so we stay in the room and relax for the night. Connor gets flames roaring in the fireplace and brings me a glass of champagne as I gaze out the windows at the star-filled sky.
“This place brings you a certain peace, doesn’t it?” he asks as he pulls me close.
“Like nothing else matters in the world except enjoying this view with you.” I rest my head on his shoulder and forget the Allegra drama. My brain is dizzy from all the switchbacks of theories, and I just want Connor to take care of me. Even if it seems selfish and dumb.
The owner pops by to welcome Connor—apparently, they’re acquaintances—and I step inside the bathroom to check out the oversized whirlpool tub and large custom waterfall shower with steam jets. Connor’s probably used to staying in the lap of luxury, but this is new to me, and I’m not missing out on a single detail.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Connor is standing in the middle of the room, streaming Alan Jackson’s Remember When through the Apple TV via his iPhone. He motions for me to come to him, and when I do, he takes me for a quick twirl before he pulls me into his chest for a slow sway. “I want us to always be this close,” he says as he brushes my hair away from my face. “I just thank God every day that he put you in my life.” He has tears in his eyes.
“I feel the same way.” Loving how safe I feel in his arms, I’m beating myself up on the inside for ever thinking this wonderful man could be part of anything evil.
“Things change, and the busyness life brings can get in the way of love over time. That, I know.” Connor’s head falls to the side.
“I’m different. We’re different. You won’t have to worry about all of that with me. I know Allegra’s success came between you two at times, but like you said, this is a second chance—for both of us. I know it’s hard, but don’t compare me to her. There hasn’t been anyone between Allegra and me, has there?”
Connor doesn’t hesitate to answer. “God, no. Why do you ask? I thought I made that pretty clear.”
“Just making sure I understood correctly when you said you were separated. I didn’t know what that meant exactly.” I see truth in his face when he answers me, telling me all I need to know.
Connor gives me a half smile and looks me in the eyes. “I want you to know I love you, Madeleine.”
I place my hands on either side of his face and kiss him deeply. “I love you, too, Connor.”
“Also, don’t feel any pressure tonight. I didn’t bring you here so I could... I’ll be sleeping on the sofa. Just so you know,” he assures me.
“No, I can’t wait to have you all to myself,” I say, wondering how I could’ve ever doubted him. Ivy was right. Those photos are absolutely ridiculous, and someone wants to keep us apart.
***
I WAKE IN THE MORNING with Connor still wrapped around me, holding me like I’m a precious treasure. Being with him last night felt so right and so natural, and I never had a moment of hesitation or guilt about being intimate with someone other than Clayton. Connor has a way of making me feel safe at all times, like he truly understands me and my anxious ways. I love that about him the most.
We have a decadent breakfast and tour the inn’s grounds as snow descends from the unyielding winter sky. We laugh, drink wine, and talk until our cheeks hurt. I haven’t felt so connected to another person since Clayton, and it’s wonderful and petrifying at the same time. I don’t want to lose him too.
The drawback to having a secret relationship, though, is that there’s never enough time: to hold their hand, to stare adoringly at their face when they speak, to soak them in entirely. The end is always in sight, ticking away in the background as it attempts to steal joy. And it’s impossible to shout our love from the rooftops because, again, it’s a secret.
When we return to Knoxville the following afternoon, Connor walks me to the door of my apartment. He’s holding my hand and squeezes it three times. “This was one of the best weekends of my life, Mad. I want you to know that,” he confesses before kissing and hugging me goodbye.
“I feel exactly the same way.” I blush as I reach for my keys, feeling like a teenager again.
Connor starts down the hallway to the lot. “I love you so much.” He beams.
“I love you so much too!” I shout back, not caring if the neighbors hear.
Once my keys are in the doorknob’s keyhole and he’s walked away, a text dings on my phone. I’m not strange, weird, off, or crazy. My reality is just different from yours—a source.
The line sounds familiar, like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t place it. Maybe it’s another clue and they want me to guess who they are now. After I jiggle my keys in the doorknob a few times, my door swings open. “I’m back!”
Graham sprints into the living room with open arms as Mom follows him with a grin but at a much slower pace.
***
“ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT to do that?” I ask Connor the next day. My fingernails are shorter from my incessant biting.
“Yeah, I’ll just tell him you’re a trusted reporter doing a piece on his mom. I’m not spilling the beans about us or anything. Don’t worry. But believe me, if anyone would know the answers to your questions about the books, it’d be Mason. They always discussed her books as she brainstormed.” Then Connor shouts, “Mason, can you answer a few questions about your mom’s work to this nice reporter friend of mine?”
There’s some mumbling in the background and some shuffling around, then I hear Mason’s voice through the phone. For some reason, it’s familiar, and a chill runs through my body.
“Hi, Ms. Barton. What was it you wanted to know about my mom’s work, exactly?” Mason sounds almost like a grown man. I can’t help picturing what Graham might look like at almost eighteen and how significant an age it is to be without a mother.
“I just wanted to know what the two books she’d just completed were about, briefly.”
“The first one was about a woman who fakes her death so she can get away from her abusive husband and start a new life posing as her dead friend. That’s the one she wrote based on what was hot in the market at the time. The other one was unique. Genius, actually. It’s my favorite idea of hers so far, and it would make a great movie. It was about a socialite getting caught up in an elaborate embezzlement scam. It was suspense as well, very Hitchcock and noir-like. I didn’t get to read them completely, but I know they would’ve been brilliant. Her work always was. Does that help you, I hope?”
His answer verifies that the books probably weren’t changed, which is good. He’s so enthusiastic when he talks about his mother and her incredible talent. He sounds proud. Allegra must’ve been proud of him as well.
“Yes, it helps more than you’ll ever know,” I counter as my voice cracks and my vision blurs with tears out of nowhere. I clear my throat and cough. “Hey, Mason, do you read a lot?” I’m still annoyed that I can’t place the last line “a source” sent me. I’m not sure why I’ve asked Mason for his thoughts, but he feels like someone I can trust.
“Yes. Often, actually,” he answers. “Why?”
“There’s a line I can’t quite place, and I feel like it’s from a book I’ve read before. It’s ‘I’m not strange, weird, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.’”
Mason replies, “Sounds familiar. I think it’s a quote by Lewis Carroll. I don’t think it’s from a book, just something he said once.”
“Yes, that’s it! Lewis Carroll. Thank you so much,” I say, relieved to know its source without going to Google.
“My parents read his books to me when I was younger. They’re very deep stories, actually.”
I agree. My heart sinks when he says that Connor and Allegra read Lewis Carroll to him as a child because it gives each of them something else in common with “a source.”
I thank him, but I feel sick to my stomach with new information I don’t want to believe. “Thanks a million, Mason. You really saved me a ton of trouble.”
“Glad to hear it. Anytime. Here’s my dad again.”
After more scuffling sounds, Connor is back. “Get what you need?”
“And then some,” I reply as I jot some notes before I forget. Allegra and Connor used to read Lewis Carroll to Mason. Which is who “a source” quoted to me. Coincidence?
And my last note says, Give Graham a five-minute bear hug and at least fifty kisses.
***
AT TWO THIRTY IN THE morning, noise from my living room makes me stir. I’m not sure whether the noise was from one of my vivid dreams. But once I toss and turn a few more times, I realize I have to pee. Then there’s no going back to sleep until I get up and go to the bathroom. After shuffling there half awake and with my eyes still shut, I can’t help but think about the noise I thought I heard from the living room. I may as well go check it out.
A white envelope lies on the floor in front of my front door. Great. Who is it this time? Against my better judgment, I rip it open. I’m going to look eventually, anyway, and I’m not in the mood to waste time. An unsigned letter printed in Times New Roman twelve-point type reads: Stop looking. I’m giving you twenty-four hours, then the whole world will know about you and Connor.