I try to avoid going by Hampton House. I tell myself that I do not need to see it, and that I really don’t need to risk running into Matt, who is living there with his new wife.
But I end up driving across town anyway. No one has ever accused me of making good decisions.
The sun has just slipped away when I arrive, the streetlamps clicking on. The lawns are still perfectly manicured, and there isn’t a single car parked on the street. The homeowners association is always watching.
I pull up to the curb in front of the house and turn off the engine.
It looks the same. The flowers I chose to line the front of the house are still there. So are the misters above the porch, my best effort to make the porch comfortable in the summer months (it didn’t work).
Through the front windows, I can see the white wood shutters I chose, shut tight. I guess it doesn’t make sense to get rid of custom shutters, but I’m still surprised she didn’t trash them. I might have worried they were cursed. I might have burned everything in a house where my new husband’s murderous ex-wife used to live.
I enjoyed decorating the house, even though I hadn’t really even wanted it. Matt was the one who was enchanted by it, by what it would say about us.
“That house will make us the stars of that town,” he’d said. “Everyone will be talking about it.”
He was right, of course. The whole town was buzzing about it. Matt’s right about everything, though. Just ask him.
I’d been reluctant to take money from Matt’s parents, the only way we could afford the house. He’d dismissed that concern. They’d put aside money for his first house years ago. He said it like, Obviously they did that. Who doesn’t put aside nearly a million dollars for their son’s first house? Obviously!
I’d never gotten the hang of the rich-person lifestyle. There was so much guilt involved. Every time his parents would come over there were little jabs thrown everywhere. Remarks about upkeep and resale value. A snide comment about the brewery (which they also paid for). I’d rather be broke in an apartment with a foot-fetishist landlord than deal with that.
A car turns onto the street, and I quickly turn the key in the ignition, turning my head so the driver can’t see my face. I watch it get smaller in my rearview mirror, and slowly let out a breath.
A knock on the window makes me jump.
I turn to look out the passenger’s-side window.
It’s Matt.
Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens EPISODE THREE—“MATT WAS TOO GOOD FOR HER”
Stephanie:?????I’m sorry, but Matt was too good for her.
Ben:???????????????Why did you think that?
Stephanie:?????It wasn’t just me who thought that. It was a pretty common sentiment.
I spoke to a lot of people about Matt, including Stephanie Gantz, who was friends with Matt and Lucy, and lived in the same neighborhood. She squeezes in an interview with me between shuttling her teenagers to soccer practice.
Stephanie:?????Matt was just so friendly. So easy to be around. He came over and had a beer with my husband the first day he moved in. I didn’t meet Lucy until a few days later—I’m from here, but I’m a good ten years older than Lucy, so I didn’t know her when she was younger—and it was just like … okay. Not the warmest lady you’ll ever meet. It’s weird that she and Savvy became such good friends, actually.
Ben:???????????????Why is that?
Stephanie:?????Because Savvy was a sweetheart. Bubbly, and charming, just the whole package. She would have been a better match for Matt, if you want to know the truth.
Ben:???????????????But you and Lucy became friends eventually?
Stephanie:?????Acquaintances, I guess. I lived down the road, and we’re a tight-knit bunch here. Lucy never quite fit in, though. She was so young. Me and the other ladies … I probably shouldn’t say this, but, oh well. We all used to joke about Lucy being Matt’s first wife. We always knew a second would be coming.
Ben:???????????????Because they were young, or something else?
Stephanie:?????Because they were young, for sure. At that age, it seems fun to have someone who is your opposite. Later, you realize that it’s exhausting. You want someone who brings peace to your life, not someone you’re always at odds with. Matt and Lucy were at odds.
Ben:???????????????Do you mean that they fought a lot?
Stephanie:?????Oh, they definitely fought a lot. You could tell when you saw them together; they’d be doing that thing where you’re trying to subtly fight but hope no one notices. But you could hear the yelling coming out of their house. It was that loud.
Ben:???????????????Who was yelling? Matt or Lucy? Or both?
Stephanie:?????Both.
Ben:???????????????Was that ever cause for concern? Did anyone ever call the police?
Stephanie:?????Oh goodness no. Of course, knowing what I know now, I might have feared for Matt’s safety a bit more back then. And, of course, I feel so bad for Matt now, with everything.
Ben:???????????????You mean with Savannah’s murder?
Stephanie:?????Well, no, I mean Kyle. Kyle Porter. You know about him, of course.
Ben:???????????????I’ve heard some things.
Stephanie:?????You should talk to Kyle.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCY
I roll down the window, like an idiot.
Matt leans into the car, casually resting both forearms against the bottom of the window, his hands hanging over the passenger’s seat.
He has great hands. Long fingers, and nails that he keeps perfectly trimmed. I have a thing about hands. I once ghosted a guy after one date because his nails were long. That was it. He was really nice, and cute, and we had a great time. But I wanted to hurl every time I thought about those fingernails.
He’s wearing his dark hair much shorter these days. I wonder whether he’s starting to lose it. The petty part of me hopes so.
His eyes were the first thing I noticed about him—blue and bright—and they’re hard to look away from, even now.
“Hi, Luce,” he says.
This is a real shit stain of a situation I’ve gotten myself into here, so I say nothing.
I imagine closing the window, trapping his neck, hitting the gas, and dragging him down the street.
“Let’s kill—”
“Were you going to knock, or just sit out here all night?” he asks.
I sigh. “I was just driving by.”
“You’re parked.”
“I was curious to see how the house looked.”
He glances back at it, and then at me. “Since you’re here, do you want to come in?”
I give him a truly baffled look. “I don’t think your wife would appreciate that.”
“We’re getting divorced. She moved back to Houston.”
I try not to smile. I swear to god, I try not to be the asshole that I am, but I utterly fail.
If he sees the twitch of my lips, he pretends not to.
“Come in,” he says. “Have a drink.” He’s got that glint in his eye, the one that means he’s already debating whether to have sex in his bed or on the kitchen table. He loved having sex on the kitchen table. We picked out a very sturdy one specifically for that purpose. I wonder whether he still has it.
No. Shit. No. I am not doing this again.
I look out the front window. “You sure you want to be alone with me?”
“Lucy.” He sighs heavily. It’s his “Lucy is being ridiculous again” sigh.
“Lucy, just go to your parents’. Please? Just for a few days. I need to think.” He stood near the front door as he said those words to me, nervously cracking his knuckles. I remember thinking he was poised to make a quick escape.
He’d looked terrified. Of me. I’d been home from the hospital for less than twenty-four hours. The police hadn’t started seriously questioning me. The media hadn’t even turned on me yet.
But Matt? Matt was sure I was guilty. My husband was too scared to be in the same house with me.
“Maybe some other time.” I put the car in drive, and he steps back onto the sidewalk.
I don’t look in the rearview mirror as I drive away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LUCY