Romy stopped into the grocery store before heading back to her grandmother’s house—which she still had trouble thinking about as her own house—to pick up things for dinner. She texted Heath her plans.
It was gratifying how naturally they’d slipped into a domestic routine, and how comfortable it all felt. Yet, there was an almost continual back and forth in her mind of whether she should tell him about that night.
Only it would be more than telling him. She should then go to the police, which would finally free him from any lingering suspicions from the stubborn ones such as Gillian. But she knew she faced losing everything—not only the man she was growing to love in an adult way, but also her identity.
Once she confessed, she would never again be the artist, the talented young woman who went to The New School on a partial scholarship, who moved to New York City and became a designer.
From then on, she’d only be the one who killed Misty Glass, town princess, descendent of town’s forefathers, saver of squirrels. And for good measure, she’d be a baby killer, too.
She had no doubt her budding relationship with Heath would be terminated. She’d spent her entire adult life, from high school and into college, and then post-college, feeling awkward and hopeless around the young men who’d shown a romantic interest in her. Yes, she’d dated. Yes, she’d had sex. But a part of her had always been biding her time, waiting for what she finally had—Heath Asher. And he’d turned out to be as wonderful as she’d dared to hope.
All of this stuff about Misty being scared of him in high school. Romy had spent so much time watching the couple as they interacted at the pool. She’d never seen any sign of it.
In fact, Misty had appeared the initiator in their exchanges, constantly looking up at his lifeguard station for attention, even to the point where Romy had wondered how Misty was allowed to sit there distracting him from the important job of keeping people from drowning.
There are two Heaths.
Romy had seen only one of them. Sure, they’d been living in the same house for only a few weeks. But they’d spent almost all of that alone together. Wouldn’t she have seen a flicker of the “other” Heath by now?
In the produce aisle, she was trying to decide between two large, lumpy purple organic tomatoes when she heard, “If it isn’t Romy Renskler.”
She instantly knew the voice. “Mister—” She shook her head and smiled. “Avery.”
His warm dark-brown eyes, no eyeglasses this time, crinkled over his mask. “Thank you. None of that Mr. Sands stuff. Makes me feel ancient.”
He was pushing a cart with a few staples in it.
“I see you got lucky,” Romy said, indicating his package of toilet paper.
He slung his thumb over his shoulder. “They got a delivery. You should hurry before the toilet paper vultures descend.”
“I’m good,” she said, laughing. “Stocked up last time.”
“Smart.” He winked and tapped his temple. “I always knew you were smart. Hey, we should get together and catch up—outdoors, of course. I want to hear how it’s going with you these days.”
“Going as it’s going for everyone, I guess,” she said. “Though I’m lucky I can work from home.”
“Lucky for me I took early retirement last year,” he said. “Couldn’t have timed it better.”
“I know you always said you and Mrs. Sands wanted to travel the world. Now you can do that. Though probably not this year.”
His face darkened and he looked unsettled, rolling a plump, unripe mango around in his hands.
“Alicia lives in Saybrook with the girls,” he said. “Suppose she’ll do the world traveling with her new man.”
“Oh. I—I’m sorry to hear.” She internally kicked herself for not checking his ring finger—which was bare—before she’d brought up his wife. This was difficult news to take in. The couple had always seemed so perfect for each other, so in love.
“It happens.” He deposited the mango into his cart. “People get older, grow apart. A marriage starts to lose its spark. Well, it didn’t for me, but it did for her.” He hung his head, staring into his cart. “Sorry. What am I unloading this on you for? Inappropriate.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sorry to hear.”
“And you? You and Heath?” he ventured, eyes twinkling.
Romy felt herself beginning to blush, and she was thankful for the face covering. “Yeah.” She nodded, “It’s new but…”
He reached out and touched her hand. “You be careful, will you?” Then he pulled his hand back, as if he’d touched something hot. “Sorry, we’re not supposed to touch, are we?”
“It’s fine, but… be careful? You mean the virus?”
“Well, that and…” He hesitated, and looked around for a moment, as if a shopper might be eavesdropping. “I never told you this, but Misty… she was quite talented. Could draw very well, very realistically. Didn’t have the magic that you have but I thought she might do something with it. We had a few advisory sessions, where she might like to study if she pursued art. But one day she told me she had to stop coming to see me. That her boyfriend had forbidden it. I thought she meant that football player, what was his name…”
“Patrick,” Romy said, her stomach sinking.
“Right, right. Patrick Dugan. Remember, I rarely forget a student. But they’d broken up by then. She meant her new boyfriend. Heath Asher.”
Romy swallowed hard. The garish fluorescent lighting of the store was giving her the pinging of a headache.
“That—that makes no sense. Heath loves art. In fact, he writes novels.”
“Oh, I’m not sure it had anything to do with the art…” he demurred, his voice dipping conspiratorially. “I got the feeling he was overly possessive of her. Jealous, you could say. Which was concerning, given I was her teacher, twenty years older, and happily married. At the time.” He grinned—she could tell by the crinkling eyes. “But high school boys aren’t very mature. I’m sure he’s matured by now,” he finished, generously.
Romy wanted to get away. Away from all of this. Two people in the course of an hour telling her Heath Asher used to be a jealous maniac. The man she’d been in love with since she was old enough to have any concept of what romantic love was.
Couldn’t they tell that Romy was the bad person, not Heath?
Seeing what must have been distress on her face, even though he could only see half of it, Avery adopted an easygoing, apologetic tone.
“Don’t mind me. This was over a decade ago, and my memory is probably all haywire. If Heath is good to you, that’s all that matters. Still…” His voice became solemn. “Tragedy about Misty, wasn’t it? Utter and complete tragedy.”