What Alex had been thinking about nearly as much as, if not more than, her Christmas to-do list was Mandy Kumar. Friendsgiving might have been weeks ago, but the memory of what she’d overheard at the bottom of the stairs continued to occupy her thoughts. She was well aware that medications could be used to manage behavior, but was it possible Samir was forcing them on Mandy as a means of control?
She’d brought up the incident to Nick, who did not share her concern. “She probably needs meds and lots of people don’t like the side effects,” he said.
“But she’s a psychologist,” Alex reminded him. “I’d think a psychologist would know to take her medications. I’m sure she counsels her patients on medication compliance all the time.”
“Do as I say, not as I do,” Nick said, smirking slightly, as if that settled the matter. “I don’t want to go around thinking the worst about our neighbors. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
It wasn’t exactly the support she was looking for. Then again, he always made light of things when they didn’t affect him directly. Alex wasn’t ready to let it go. She’d seen too much from Samir, too many odd behaviors—dark expressions, general caginess, arguments, possessiveness—to ignore this episode.
After dinner, Alex used the excuse of delivering a holiday present to engage with Brooke. She hoped her friend would offer a more sympathetic ear than Nick had regarding her concerns over Mandy. She also felt Brooke deserved some neighborly support after the harsh treatment she’d received at Friendsgiving.
Alex squinted against the low winter light in the late afternoon as she made her way across Alton Road to Brooke’s sprawling home, buttoning up her coat to help ward off the chill. Snow swirled across the pavement in hypnotic patterns. As she neared the house, her eyes ventured to the woods beyond, where the stalker lurked. Was he out there now?
As far as she knew, all had been quiet since she’d received that threatening note attached to Zoe’s collar. No one had reported any new sightings of the stalker. But police patrols had died down to next to none. As Alex traversed the walkway to Brooke’s front door, she had a sense of being watched.
Brooke came to the door with a bright smile. “This is a surprise,” she said warmly.
“Merry Christmas,” said Alex, presenting her with the small, wrapped gift.
Brooke took the present and started to shake it, but Alex stopped her. “That might break it.”
“Ooh, I’m curious,” Brooke said. “Do you have time to come in and join me for a drink?”
“Love to,” said Alex. She always had time for a drink.
They made their way through the spacious entryway toward the kitchen. Alex noticed a large fake Christmas tree, brightly lit all in blue, shining in the corner of the living room. Even Brooke’s Christmas aesthetics were a bit cool and contemporary, veering away from the traditional red and green.
In the kitchen, Alex noticed a bottle of red wine already open on the marble countertop, next to a half-empty glass.
“Let me grab another wineglass,” said Brooke. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Alex peeked out the window toward the dark woods at the edge of the lawn. A shiver ran through her.
“Any new word from your … admirer?” asked Alex as she settled onto an upholstered leather barstool at the counter.
Brooke shook her head. “No. But that doesn’t mean he’s through. He’s persistent, even if he’s been quiet. Hope you haven’t received any new threats.”
“No, nothing,” said Alex, still looking out the window, half expecting a figure to emerge.
She accepted the glass of red Brooke handed her, appreciating the warmth the first sip provided. She hoped it would ease the discomfort she felt as she broached the issues that had been weighing on her.
“I’m sorry about the way everyone judged you at Friendsgiving. I can’t imagine how it felt. I have no problem with your decisions, and they’re just that—your decisions. Fair warning, my gift is a silly attempt to make light of the matter.”
Brooke waved it off. “I’m used to those remarks,” she said. “But I do appreciate your support. And now I really want to see this gift. I can’t imagine how you managed to tie the Friendsgiving hubbub into something breakable.”
Brooke pulled the bright red ribbon off the gift box. She opened the package, revealing a hand-painted porcelain figurine of a vintage pinup girl in a bikini top and short shorts.
“Oh, I love it!” She held the miniature statue up to her eye level and started to giggle. “She’s gorgeous! And I agree—the perfect gift under the circumstances.” Her smile glowed.
“So glad you like it. And I meant what I said about not judging.”
“Not sure Emily feels the same. I had no idea she was going to drop that bombshell at dinner, and I haven’t spoken to her since.” Brooke sounded regretful. “Does she hate me?” She grimaced, as if bracing herself for bad news.
“I’m not sure what she’s thinking,” said Alex. “Right now, Em’s focus is on Dylan. He and Riley broke up, and it’s hitting him hard.”
“Sorry to hear,” said Brooke, though her tone wasn’t overly concerned. “Dylan’s a great kid. I’m sure he’ll bounce back.”
“I hope so. It’s hard for Emily to see her son so despondent. She’s already got enough on her plate with Ken.”
“My pictures,” Brooke lamented. “I really hope they haven’t caused any trouble in her marriage. I remember at girls’ night, she talked about hiring a PI because she didn’t trust him.”
Alex’s conscience warned her not to overshare Emily’s personal travails. But she was still conflicted about what to do with the information she had about Ken. She worried honesty would create more conflict in her sister’s marriage, but was she causing more problems by withholding potentially important information? She couldn’t tease it out on her own. Perhaps Brooke could help.
She took a deep breath and exhaled with force.
“Their marriage may be in trouble for reasons that have nothing to do with you,” Alex said. “I saw Ken sneaking away from the Kumars’ house last summer, and I still don’t know what to make of it.”
“For real?” said Brooke. “Does Emily know?”
“No,” Alex said. “It happened not too long after the Kumars moved in, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her. She’d already convinced herself that Ken and Mandy had something going on. I didn’t want to make matters worse without conclusive evidence of an affair. Emily’s always been highly emotional—so that alone could have blown up their marriage. You saw her at Friendsgiving, how impulsive she can be. That was hardly the time to get into marital issues, but she lets her feelings get the best of her.”
“Why did Emily think something was going on between them in the first place?” Brooke asked.
Alex didn’t want to gossip about her sister’s personal life, but without any backup from Nick, she felt in need of a confidante. “That first day, at the block party, there was definitely a vibe between them,” Alex said. “Emily and I both picked up on it.”
“Could it be they already knew each other?” asked Brooke.
Alex shook her head. “Emily asked Ken point-blank, and he said no. If you ask me, Samir sensed something as well. I’ve heard them fighting, and he hardly lets her out of his sight. And then the afternoon Samir stopped over to invite us to Friendsgiving, he told us that Mandy was away in New York—at the same time Ken had taken a sudden trip to the city.”
Brooke’s troubled expression deepened. “No wonder that dinner got so weird,” she said.
“Samir has been hot and cold with me,” Alex said. “I think he’s worried I might be onto him as an abuser.” She recounted the events that followed Emily and Ken’s departure that evening, culminating with what she overheard at the bottom of the stairs.
“Could be innocuous,” Brooke said. “A lot of people don’t take their meds, even doctors.”
“Yeah … but it’s not just that. It’s all his behaviors put together. He’s grabbed her arm a few times, dictates who she spends time with—so why wouldn’t he be using medication as a means of further control? He’s a psychiatrist, so who knows what he’s giving her? It makes me wonder if we should be worried for Mandy’s safety.”
Brooke considered the implications carefully while Alex drained the remnants of her wine, already wanting a refill.
“I suppose there could be something devious going on,” she said. “You never know what happens behind closed doors. No one around here ever realized I was the victim of a controlling and abusive husband myself.”
“What?” Alex said. “You’re right about that. I had no idea. I didn’t even know you were married before Jerry.”
Brooke laughed scornfully. “Before Jerry? It was Jerry.”
To this, Alex had no reply. All words seemed to fail her.
Eventually she found her voice. “Wow … just … wow.” Alex’s eyes were wide. “I’m honestly stunned, Brooke. I don’t get it.” She fumbled with her thoughts. “You never said anything to us, there were no hints at all—and you vacationed with Emily and Ken, spent so much time with them … I don’t think Emily had any idea.”
“Abuse is usually a private affair,” Brooke said. A heavy pause fell. “Come with me to the living room. I want to show you something.”
Alex’s footsteps echoed as she followed Brooke into the adjacent room. They stopped in front of a picture of Jerry hanging on the wall. He was sitting on a beach, looking relaxed and self-assured in a linen shirt and cargo shorts. His neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard hid his mouth, while sleek Ray-Bans covered his eyes.
“When you look at this picture, what do you think?” asked Brooke.
“I see Jerry on a beach,” said Alex.
“Okay, right. Why do you think I hung it up? Why would I have all these pictures of Jerry and our various exploits on display?” Brooke gestured at the framed photos adorning her walls.
“I’d say—because you miss your husband?” Alex said.
An expression Alex had never seen before came over Brooke’s face, a mixture of contempt, shame, and—was it relief?
“Best thing that happened to me was when Jerry Bailey went overboard on that cruise ship,” Brooke said.
Alex’s breath caught.
“I’m not suggesting I’m responsible for his death, despite what some people think,” she clarified. “But I can’t say I ever mourned him, not for one second. Trust me when I tell you that my marriage is the perfect example of a relationship not being what it seems.”
Her cold, defiant stare pierced Alex. The word calculating popped into Alex’s mind.
She placed a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry … Do you … want to talk about it?”
Brooke seemed unsure, but spoke after a brief silence. “I’ve kept so much of this to myself, I don’t even know where to begin.”
They made their way back to the kitchen, settling onto their respective barstools after opening a fresh bottle of wine.
Thank God for that, thought Alex.
“If Jerry was so abusive, why would you keep his pictures on the wall?” she asked.
“At first I was maintaining the lie that I was the grieving widow,” Brooke said. “The last thing I needed was to take all the pictures down and have even more suspicion cast on me. Insurance money is grist for the rumor mill. But as I lived with those photos, they came to represent something else—a test of my resilience, I suppose.”
“How so?”
“If I could keep looking at them,” Brooke said, “and not turn to Jell-O, then it meant I was in control. Jerry had no power over me anymore.” Her gaze darted to the kitchen door, as if it were Jerry stalking her, not some mysterious stranger in the woods. “Those photos became a symbol of what I’d endured, all my suffering, and a reminder of how I’d never let anyone control me and my life again.” Brooke shook her head as if to dislodge an unwanted memory. “Having those pictures up, it’s like facing my demons on a daily basis—they give me strength, resolve.”
Alex tried to maintain a neutral expression. A look of pity crossed her face nonetheless. “I really had no idea,” she said softly. “I feel like such a terrible friend and neighbor.”
Brooke brushed it away. “Not to worry,” she said. “Nobody had a clue. Not even Emily and Ken suspected—well, at least not Emily. Ken and Jerry grew up together, so I suppose Ken knew quite a bit about Jerry’s—um, tendencies.”
Brooke looked right through Alex as though she were somehow peering into the past itself. “It all started with love-bombing, that fairy-tale romance crap,” she continued. “Jerry swept me off my feet. He was unbelievably charming, successful, super confident … and it felt so good—no, no, make that incredible—when he focused all of his attention on me.”
Alex had never heard Brooke speak so candidly about herself, apart from her OnlyFans work, which she understood was a mask of sorts. This Brooke was honest and open, as unfiltered as the pain etched on her face.
“We fell for each other pretty quickly, got married within six months. Everything seemed perfect … for a while, at least. Eventually, though, Jerry’s doting turned into something, well—I guess I’d say darker. You might even call it sinister.” She looked at Alex. “He insisted on me wearing certain outfits, started dictating not only what I wore and how I spent money, but who I spent time with as well. Sound familiar?” She paused.
“Samir,” Alex breathed in a low whisper.
“I had my concerns. I’m no idiot,” Brooke continued. “But I ignored my intuition … my better judgment, because Jerry and I had such amazing chemistry. The sex was so white-hot it was blinding.” This put a ghost of a smile on Brooke’s face, but it was hardly joyous. “And Jerry was quite adept with his manipulations. I’m sick and angry with myself to this day, all these years later, over how he played me. How I let him play me.”
Alex had heard clients express similar regrets. Her own sister had said those things, too. She felt horrible for the avalanche of shame that Jerry buried Brooke under, and wished she had the therapist training to help her friend dig herself out. Instead, Alex offered what felt like empty platitudes. “It can happen to anyone. It’s Jerry who deserves the blame, not you.”
Brooke looked and sounded vulnerable. “He knew just when to give a compliment or how to turn a situation around so my concerns would feel unwarranted—paranoid, even.”
“If the stalker doesn’t get you rattled, I can’t imagine how bad it must have been,” Alex mused.
“Oh, it was bad,” Brooke said. “He made me doubt myself constantly—including making it seem like it was my idea not to have children, or at least that I was on board with his choice.”
“You wanted kids?” Alex was genuinely surprised. “I always thought—”
“Thought I was the odd one in Meadowbrook who relished my childless freedom?” Brooke asked with a little laugh.
“You’ve always been so independent, so calm and collected, while I’ve been anything but,” Alex said. “Even with only one kid, I felt out of control—and I’ll admit I’ve suffered a few bouts of jealousy.”
“Over me?” Brooke pointed to herself. “Please. Appearances are so deceiving. I always wanted children. Here you were envying me while I envied you. But I convinced myself that Jerry and I decided together not to have kids. In reality, he didn’t want my perfect body getting stretched out and deformed—his words, not mine.” Brooke sighed.
“And when I brought up the idea of adoption or even surrogacy, he made it clear he wasn’t raising anybody else’s kid and he didn’t want a stranger to carry his baby. One thing I knew about Jerry: when his mind was made up, there was no changing it. He told me if I got pregnant, he’d make me get an abortion or he’d divorce me. So I never got pregnant.”
Alex was speechless.
“But that’s not the worst of it,” Brooke said. She paused. Collected herself, gathered her resolve, sat more upright on her stool. “Jerry had quite the appetite for sex.” She templed her fingers as if in prayer. Prayer for what? A different reality? “He was insatiable when it came to the bedroom, or any room. He wanted sex all the time, and it kept getting more forceful … often, violent.
“There were some warning signs. Jerry even told me that he’d been accused of some sexual impropriety. At least that’s what he called it—who knows what he did. Told me it was all a bunch of lies designed to embarrass him, some jealous ex-girlfriend wanting revenge for a broken heart. But once I got to know his tendencies myself—well, let’s just say I’m certain he was guilty of something.
“Sex was just another outlet for Jerry’s anger and exerting his control, his dominance over me. If he didn’t get what he wanted, he would just … take it.” Brooke fell silent.
Emotions came at Alex from all angles. She felt guilt: Why hadn’t she been a better friend? How had she not picked up on the signs? Next came waves of worry for Willow, Emily, and Mandy, to whom the expression under my thumb applied in varying ways. What had felt somewhat shameful—nosing into the affairs of others, the spying and sneaking about—now seemed to have real purpose. With her friends getting stabbed in the back repeatedly by their trusted partners, somebody needed to be an unbiased observer to call out the warnings.
Brooke put her hand to her chest. Gone was the beauty queen. In her place stood a person—a woman—as raw and vulnerable as Alex had ever seen.
“It’s okay,” Alex said. “You don’t have to go on, but I’m here for you, no matter what.”
Brooke closed her eyes. “I was raped, Alex,” she whispered, “repeatedly raped by my own husband.”
It broke Alex’s heart to see her strong, resilient, stoic friend dissolve into tears. There were no words, not really, so Alex simply pulled Brooke into an embrace and gave her a shoulder to cry on.