The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Twenty-Four
Frankie
THEN
Turns out my parents don’t take kindly to their only child having a mind of her own and leaving them without a backward glance, because when I marry Walter six months later in a tiny ceremony at City Hall, they don’t turn up. Considering I’d tried my blackmail spiel on them so I could leave Gledhill with Walt and they’d blown up, followed by a massive argument to end all arguments when we’d hurled awful accusations at one another, it’s no surprise. We’ve had zero contact since but a small part of me hoped they might still show up for my wedding after Walt insisted I invite them. Their no-show hurts and Walter, intuitive, as ever, does his best to make me laugh.
“Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“I bet you have.” I bat my eyelashes, more to blink away the sting of tears rather than an attempt to flirt.
“Not that.” He rolls his eyes but I know he loves my teasing. It’s our thing ever since he brought me to Connecticut. He’s the responsible one, I try to make him laugh, and it works surprisingly well.
While I fell for him at the start, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d been so hell-bent on escaping home and getting out of Gledhill and off Long Island I’d tried not to think too far ahead. I’d almost expected Walter to realize he’d made a mistake and ditch me after a month or two, but that hadn’t happened because he was easy to like, and easy to be around with, and we gelled. He had his own house, a modest Californian style bungalow, worked regular hours at the bank and liked nothing better than being with me in his free time. That was a heady feeling for a loner like me, having a man love me so much.
We fell into a routine when I moved in with him. I assumed the role of a fifties housewife—grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning—and he was the provider. He paid the bills and when I suggested getting a job he said to make the most of my gap year and figure out what I wanted to learn. I liked that about him, that I was enough for him. He didn’t place expectations on me, he didn’t give me grief when I exhausted my limited cooking repertoire of mac’n’cheese, potato salad and steak, and chili con carne, and he didn’t mind when I let the house go occasionally in favor of getting lost in a latest streaming release.
Our life was good and when he asked me to marry him I didn’t hesitate. But the moment he slipped a modest half-carat square-cut diamond on my ring finger, the incidents started. Small things at first—the rose bush I planted uprooted, the veggie patch doused in weedkiller, a dead squirrel on the back step—but escalating to finding only my clothes slashed to pieces on the washing line, a pair of my shoes at the front door smeared in dog poo, and “bitch” scratched into the driver’s door of the compact Walter had bought me.
I assumed it was some psycho ex of his but he denied it, saying the breakup with Julia—the girlfriend he’d dumped for me—had been amicable. But he couldn’t meet my eyes when he said it and I knew he was trying to placate me.
“Should I be scared of her?” I’d asked at the time and he’d distracted me with a brochure for our honeymoon, a long weekend in Manhattan at a trendy new hotel.
But now, as he leads me down the steps of City Hall, I wonder if Julia, or whoever is responsible for those incidents, will back off because we’re married.
“So what’s this great surprise?”
“You’ll see.”
He raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss on the back of it. Genuine love radiates from his eyes and in that moment I feel a flicker of remorse. Because, while this man has become my everything, I’m beginning to wonder if deep down I don’t love him in the same way he loves me. It’s only after living together for six months I realize how much I wanted to escape my parents, and maybe I convinced myself of our attraction to latch onto him as a way out. I do love him but I’m not sure it’s enough; not that I’d ever let him know.
I hope I can be the wife he deserves.
He leads me toward the realtor’s office and when we stop in front of the glass, he says, “Close your eyes.”
I do and feel him stepping in front of me, before brushing a soft kiss across my mouth. “Okay. Open them.”
As I do he steps away and I see a wedding bell with gold and cream streamers hanging from it pinned to a photo of a tiny cottage in New Haven.
“Surprise.” He smiles, throwing his arms wide, before pointing to the photo. “I bought us a vacation cottage.”
My mouth drops open. I know he has investments. His parents died in a ski accident four years ago and left him the house and some money, but we live frugally and his wage at the bank isn’t huge. At twenty-two he’s doing better than most who are struggling with student loans, but I brought nothing to our relationship beyond the five grand I’d saved working part-time at the local grocer when I was in high school.
But to buy a second house… I’m gobsmacked and he laughs at my obvious shock.
“I know I’m all about security and hanging onto investments but being with you has taught me it’s okay to take a chance when you know something’s right, and we’re right.” He hauls me into his arms and hugs tight, before releasing me as I battle tears again. “I know you miss the ocean. You get this look on your face when ads come on TV… anyway, I bought this for us, a seaside getaway whenever we feel like it.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
This man has given me everything over the last six months and now this. His generosity makes me want to burrow into his arms and never let go.
“Say you’ll make me the happiest man alive.” He snaps his fingers, his smile lop-sided. “Wait, you already did that about ten minutes ago when you said ‘I do’.”
This time, when he embraces me, I cling to him, hoping I can continue living up to his expectations of making him happy.
Because that’s the thing about making dreams come true.
Sometimes, they turn into nightmares.