“So that’s it? He’s just allowed to retire?”
“My guess is he was told to clean out his desk and allowed to slink off to Florida like the reptile he is. And just like that, it all goes away.”
Christy-Lynn shook her head, disgusted. Another body blow, and one more thing that wasn’t what it seemed. Suddenly she was exhausted, too tired or disillusioned to vent the frustration roiling in her chest. “Is that all?”
Wade seemed surprised by the question. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I was hoping your guy might have learned when it started or how they met.”
“Sorry. If you want those kinds of details, you’re going to have to talk to her family. He did do all the standard legwork though, ran the usual searches through Factiva and Lexis, even talked to one of his guys.”
“One of his guys?”
“An investigator. At least that’s what he calls them. A little shady, but they aren’t shy when it comes to turning over rocks.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“No arrests. No public records. Sketchy work history—waitressing mostly, a stint at the local grocer. He did manage to dig up an old yearbook photo from Riddlesville High, which he e-mailed to me if you really want it, but that was the extent of it. It would appear Miss Rawlings kept a pretty low profile before hitching her wagon to Stephen’s.”
Christy-Lynn stared down at the spaghetti congealing on her plate as she absorbed the information, trying to make sense of her disappointment. Wade had been right. She’d been kidding herself, thinking a name would be enough. She wanted more, needed more. But what exactly? Did she even know?
“Sorry,” Wade said, interrupting her thoughts. “That last crack was indelicate.”
“Yes, but factual. It seems your friend was very thorough. I was just hoping—” She paused, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was hoping.”
“The things you want to know aren’t something a reporter or PI is going to be able to get at. No one will. You understand that, right?”
Christy-Lynn picked up the page of notes, running a finger thoughtfully along one of its creases. “I could talk to the grandmother—to Loretta.”
“Christy-Lynn . . .”
“She’s a woman. She’ll understand me needing to know.”
“No. She won’t. Her loss is different than yours. She lost a granddaughter, not a philandering husband.”
Christy-Lynn folded the paper and laid it in her lap. “I just want the dream to stop.”
Wade said nothing for a moment, as if weighing his next words very carefully. “Before, it was just her name. Now it’s where they met and how long ago. There’s a point where wanting to know becomes something else, Christy-Lynn.”
She heaved a sigh. “I know. I know. It’s crazy.”
“No. Not crazy. But painful. And not just for you. The woman just lost her granddaughter. Think about how you’d feel in her shoes.”
“It’s not like I’d be badgering her. We’d just . . . talk.”
“Woman to woman, you mean?”
There was no mistaking his sarcasm. Christy-Lynn stood and moved to the railing. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. Because we talked about this when you first came to me. I told you I needed to be sure you weren’t going to use whatever you found out to cause trouble. And here you are, thinking about doing exactly that.”
Christy-Lynn turned to face him. “Yes, here I am. And I meant what I said. This isn’t about causing trouble. It’s about a ghost—a woman whose name I don’t know, whose face I see every time I close my eyes.”
“I understand the pain you must be feeling. What I don’t understand is how you think what you’re talking about is going to fix any of it? Stephen’s dead. Honey’s dead. And you’re here in Sweetwater, starting a new life. Maybe that needs to be enough.”
She forced her eyes to his, her throat burning with the effort it took not to tear up. “What if it isn’t?”
“Did you love him?”
“What?”
“Before all this—did you love Stephen?”
Christy-Lynn’s mouth worked soundlessly, sensing a trap in the question. “He was my husband,” she said finally.
“So a ring, a piece of paper? That’s love?”
“It was a commitment.” She shifted her gaze toward the lake where a pair of egrets waded near shore. “Or it was supposed to be.”
“It takes two people to make a commitment work, Christy-Lynn.”
“I suppose.”
“Are you going to contact Loretta Rawlings?”
She thought about the question. He was right. Of course he was right. About all of it. So why couldn’t she let it go? “I don’t know,” she answered finally. “I know you think I shouldn’t, and you’re probably right, but I need some time.”
“Time for what?”
She looked at him then, shaking her head. “I don’t know that either.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Sweetwater, Virginia
May 18, 2017
It had taken Christy-Lynn more than a week to make her decision. A week of grappling with her conscience, of weighing a wife’s right to know against a grandmother’s right to grieve in private, of struggling with her promise to Wade.
Honey Rawlings.
She had waited for the stab of jealousy the first time she heard the name, had braced for the squeeze in her chest, the heaviness in the pit of her stomach, the things any red-blooded wife should feel. But it hadn’t come. Instead, she’d felt only an obsessive curiosity. And shame that she had been so blind, so gullible, so unplugged from her own marriage.
Had Stephen really been that good at covering his tracks, or had she simply stopped paying attention? She cringed as she recalled Wade’s point-blank question. Did you love him? Her response couldn’t have been more tepid if they’d been talking about her mailman.
It was hard to deny that their marriage had lost some of its spark over the last few years. As the demands of Stephen’s career took center stage, their lives had intersected less and less, until they seemed to have little to talk about. Toward the end, even their sex life had become more about habit than passion. But that was normal, wasn’t it? For things to settle into predictable patterns, for the sameness to set in?
The truth was it had been the sameness she most enjoyed about her life with Stephen, the sense of stability that came with knowing every morning when she opened her eyes exactly what the day would hold. But they had also enjoyed a lifestyle she could never have imagined growing up—money in the bank, a stunning home, travel, and a fashionable social circle. She had never stopped to wonder if it was enough for Stephen.
And that was why she was going to West Virginia, to learn what the missing piece might be. Because a sparse background check and a high school yearbook photo weren’t enough. And because her own attempts at online sleuthing had turned up even less. But then they would. As Wade had pointed out, the things she wanted to know weren’t likely to show up on a Google search. She had no idea what she’d find when she got to Riddlesville or what she hoped to come away with when she left. Answers, perhaps. Closure, hopefully. And a way forward.
She had arranged store coverage for the next three days and was already packed, but now, as she popped in to make sure Tamara and Aileen had gotten the doors open without any hitches, she couldn’t help wondering if the trip to West Virginia was a mistake.
She was reaching for the door, her mind a million miles away, when she barreled into Wade as he stepped onto the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Oh no!” Christy-Lynn stared at his dripping shirt in dismay. “You’re soaked. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Wade seemed surprised to see her but took the coffee dripping down his shirtfront in stride, blotting the stain absently with a soggy paper napkin. “I didn’t expect to see you. Tamara said you were taking a few days off.”
“With Mother’s Day over, I thought it would be a good time.”
“You’re going, aren’t you? To see Loretta Rawlings?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “Yes.”