“Thanks,” said Luna.
She could hear snippets of Owen’s conversation in the den. He was on the defensive. His tone bounced around among placating, unnerved, sweet, and righteous.
“Who’s Owen talking to?” Griff asked.
“His girlfriend,” said Luna.
Griff’s eyes focused on the ceiling, then back at Luna. “I’m confused. Who are you?” Griff asked.
“Owen and I are just friends. And Scarlet isn’t exactly his girlfriend. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why did you?”
“She’s his quasi-girlfriend. He’s not comfortable with labels, but they’re—you know.”
“I see,” said Griff. “Sounds like Owen is in the doghouse.”
“It’s my fault,” Luna said.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I accidentally answered his phone—I don’t have one of those things.”
“Where does this Scarlet live?”
“Connecticut.”
Griff strolled over to the den and knocked on the half-open door.
“Dude, invite her up here for a few days,” Griff said to his brother. He said it loudly enough that the person on the other end of the line would most definitely be able to hear.
Owen shot dagger eyes at Griff, who, in return, smiled with wicked innocence.
Luna, however, was no longer paying them any mind. Outside on the deck, Vera was straddling her husband on the chaise longue, her hands wrapped tightly around Tom’s neck.
Vera’s face was beet red, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You disgust me,” Vera said.
Her rage was so palpable, Luna felt it in her own gut.
“Fuck,” Griff said as he opened the sliding glass door and pried his mother off his father.
Luna returned her gaze to Owen to see if he was paying attention. Owen didn’t notice a thing. He continued to pace back and forth, talking on his phone.
“Hello. Are you still there? Yes, I’m here. It’s fine…. It’s fine. It would be great to see you,” Owen said. He said the words Scarlet wanted to hear, but he refused to make them sound sincere.
Outside, Vera was crying, and Tom said, “One day you’ll actually kill me, and then you’ll be all alone and no one else will have you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dad,” Griff said.
Griff shut the sliding glass door, avoiding eye contact with the houseguest.
Luna grabbed a half-open bottle of wine and her glass and retreated to the guest room. She opened the door to the deck and listened. The sounds of the water lapping against the shore mostly drowned out the domestic dispute on the other side of the house. This is why rich people need so much space, Luna thought. Although she was aware that space would never have saved her family.
Luna felt uneasy and alone and homesick for her abandoned dorm. She sat on the deck in her coat and hat and drank the wine until it warmed her and she felt like maybe she could fall asleep. She went back into her room, put on her pajamas, and crawled into bed.
Owen checked the call time on his cellphone. Sixty-five minutes. Almost 20 percent of his monthly call plan.
“Look, Scarlet, my battery is about to die, and my mom really wants the family to watch…uh, The Sound of Music together. I know, I know. I’ll text you the address. Yeah, I can’t wait. Me too. Bye.”
Owen had heard some kind of family scuffle during the call, but it had quickly died down. When he surfaced, the house was quiet and Griff was sitting by the fire with a beer.
“What did I miss?” Owen said.
“Mom strangling Dad.”
“Again? Is there a full moon?” Owen said.
“That’s your reaction?”
“They had too much to drink. They’ll be fine in the morning. They always are,” Owen said.
“Until the next evening when they get plastered and one attacks the other like a rabid dog.”
“Dude, you need to relax. They’re fine,” Owen said.
“You might want to have a chat with Luna about how your parents act out Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? every night.”
“She saw?” Owen asked.
Griff nodded. Owen walked down the corridor and knocked on Luna’s door. She didn’t answer.
“Luna, I know you’re awake.”
Luna opened the door just a crack. “Hello,” she said.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Want to talk about it?” Owen asked.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nah.”
“How’s Scarlet?” Luna asked.
“She’s coming here tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” Luna said, trying to summon any enthusiasm. “I’m surprised you invited her.”
“I didn’t,” Owen said.
“Ah. I see,” Luna said. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s not all your fault. I mostly blame Griff.”
“Yeah, me too,” Luna said.
Owen followed the family script. He yawned and said, “I’m beat.”
“Good night, Owen,” Luna said.
October 9, 2019
Late the next morning, Owen finally responded to Amy’s texts and made a plan to meet her for a hike at Poets’ Walk in Red Hook. As Owen opened the door to leave, he found the male detective standing on his porch.
“Detective?”
“Goldman, in case you forgot,” Goldman said. “Good morning.”
“Do you know something?” Owen asked. “Do you know who murdered my wife?”
“No. I’m sorry. Nothing yet. I do need to talk to you, though. I was hoping you might come back to the station with me.”
“Uh, I already talked to your partner.”
“We have a few more questions. Do you mind?” Goldman asked.
Owen wasn’t sure how to proceed. His phone was buzzing in his pocket, but he could hardly tell the detective that he was heading out to see his mistress.
“Also,” Detective Goldman said, “I have a warrant for any phones or computers in your residence.”
* * *
—
Owen’s head throbbed under the heavy fluorescent lights, and his mouth still carried the cloying taste of metabolized whiskey. He was sweating from his hangover, but the sweat made him appear edgy, and he worried that Goldman would interpret his discomfort as guilt.
He was afraid he was going to vomit, and he worried about how that might look. And then he was angry that he cared. His wife was dead. If she’d died of natural causes, he could behave in any manner whatsoever.
“When can I have her back?” Owen said.