Meghan stared deep into Aubrey’s eyes, assessing. Aubrey imagined she was looking for the madness within, hoping to touch it, capture it, stamp it out.
“No, sugar, I don’t think you slept with him carelessly. I think you’ve been repressing so many emotions over the past five years that it finally all came to the surface.” She leaned forward. “Listen to me. This isn’t rocket science. You fucked a guy, Aubrey. The first one since your husband disappeared. It’s frightening and unnerving, but it is not a sin. You are still a good person.”
“Jesus, Meghan. Are you not listening to anything I’ve been saying?”
“Yes, I have. I ask again, have you been taking your medicine?”
“Meghan. I’m not joking around here. Something—”
“Aubrey, honey.” Meghan ran her hands along Aubrey’s arms. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but only served to distress Aubrey more. She hated to be touched when she was upset. She shuddered and yanked away and walked to the other side of the table, out of reach.
Meghan eyed her coolly. She knew better than to try to touch Aubrey again. “Okay. Let me run this down for you. Chase doesn’t look anything like Josh. He has a completely different build. His hair and eyes are different. His face shape is different. He has a history. A family. A life. Do you agree with all of that?”
“Yes.”
“Verifiable information.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely. Then you understand where I’m coming from. He is not your missing husband.”
“I don’t think he is Josh, I just think . . . Dear God, Meghan, you of all people should know how easy it is to fake a background. You’ve been doing it successfully for years.”
The dart found its mark. Meghan flinched, her mouth narrowing into a fine line.
“Point taken. But, Aubrey, it’s one thing to fudge a few things about your past so people don’t go looking and making assumptions. It’s a completely different thing to morph into another person entirely. Now. You had a lot to drink last night. You had a one-night stand with a relative stranger. And it’s a good thing. You look more alive today than you have in years. Don’t regret it. Just let it go.”
“Meghan—” Aubrey began, but the woman held up a hand.
“No more. I have to get going. Relax. Take your pills. You’re just having a little bit of buyer’s remorse.”
Buyer’s remorse. How dare she. How dare she?
“You can see yourself out,” she snapped.
“Come on, sugar—”
“Out. Now.”
Meghan shrugged and wandered out the door. Aubrey slammed it behind her.
She went into her office and opened her laptop. It took her less than a minute to find the right Chase Boden. She should have done this first, before she talked to Meghan. She clicked on his website and scanned until she found the bio page. With the picture. And his background. He had been modest; he was clearly a respected journalist, with multitudes of articles to his name.
As she burrowed into his website, her head began to swim.
The large, glossy professional portrait definitely showed the man from last night. Square jaw, little cleft, floppy blond hair, deep brown eyes. God, he was handsome.
Stop that, Aubrey. Focus.
She scanned the bio. It was a bit short, but had all the relevant details: After graduating from Dartmouth, he’d joined his family business, a now-defunct jewelry store just outside Philadelphia, in an area called Upper Darby. An image search brought up more pictures, Chase with people she assumed must be his family—his father, stooped a bit, with graying hair, but a smile that mimicked Chase’s own; his mother, a stern-looking woman with light dancing behind her eyes.
Of course Chase wasn’t Josh. But maybe he’d met him, or knew him . . .
She closed the browser and sat back in her chair.
You’re grasping at straws, Aubrey. You’re so desperate to have Josh back you’re trying to turn a stranger into him.
What a fool she was. Meghan was right; Aubrey had gone off her meds, and maybe that wasn’t a good thing. She saw no point in taking them when she was feeling fine, but if she was starting to imagine things again, maybe she should, even if only for a little while. At the very least, she could have some of the blessed numbness back. The pills wiped her clean, let her skate lightly through her daily life, not connecting fully with anyone or anything.
Winston began to bark, loud and insistent, the kind of frantic baying that signaled a stranger was near the house. Probably Meghan coming back to apologize. Aubrey rose and glanced out the window down to the front steps. There was no way to see to the front door from the dormers, but she could see onto the street. A dark blue beat-to-hell Camry was sitting in front of the mailbox, half on and half off the curb.
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The doorbell rang, and Winston’s bark reached a fever pitch.
She could pretend she wasn’t home. But he started yelling.
“I saw you look out the window, little sis. Come on down.”
CHAPTER 12
Aubrey