The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Fifty-Four
Saylor
I’m dealing with a nasty case of heartburn after scoffing one too many leftover fajitas for lunch when there’s a knock at the door. My heart leaps but when I peer through the curtains it’s Frankie, not Ruston.
I’m not in the mood to socialize with anyone at the moment but she knows I’m home. We waved to each other about half an hour ago as I returned from a walk and she was putting out the trash. Left with no option, I open the door and paste a welcoming smile on my face.
“Hi, Frankie. How are you?”
“Great. You?”
I pat my growing belly, which has popped more in the last week. “Still incubating.”
When I make no move to open the door further, she asks, “Can I come in for a moment? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
I’d rather slam the door in her face but I say, “Sure,” and open the door wider. She enters and when we go into the living room she stands there, uncomfortable, glancing around, and I realize the last time she was here was the night of the dinner party when she got drunk and flirted with Ruston.
It had been a game to him. I know because he’s done it in the past to make me jealous. But the way she reacted I’m embarrassed for her.
When she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming, I ask, “What can I do for you?”
She blinks, as if refocusing. “Celeste and I want to throw you a baby shower.”
I want to say hell no. I don’t have the backbone to fake it much longer. With every passing day I don’t get the money to pay off the blackmailer I’m increasingly panicked. He gave me a month and it’s like I hear a giant ticking clock every second of the day, reminding me how seriously I’ve messed up and how much worse this will get if I don’t pay up.
“That’s nice, but I’m pretty tired these days—”
“You won’t have to lift a finger. We’ll take care of everything. All I need from you is a guest list.”
These women are so nice. Frankie welcomed me into the neighborhood and Celeste listened to me moan after Ruston threatened to turn my world upside down. While I organized that share-a-plate supper at the park and the dinner party here, I feel like I haven’t made much of an effort to get to know them, considering how consumed I am by my problems. They’re offering to do something incredibly generous and maybe I should take advantage before my life is upended.
Tears sting my eyes and I try to blink them away, but not before a few trickle down my cheeks and I swipe them away.
“Oh, honey, come sit down.” She guides me to the sofa like a mother hen marshaling a chick. “Can I get you anything?”
“A redo of my life,” I say before I can censor the words, and she pats my back.
“We all make mistakes.”
“Yeah? What have you done lately that’s so bad?” I ask, irritated by her condescension.
Rather than laugh it off, she pales and glances away for a second. “Like I said, nobody’s perfect and if you want to talk, I’m here.”
I wish I could. I wish I had somebody to unburden my secrets to, someone who won’t judge me. The sad thing is, I do—Lloyd—but I can’t confide in him about any of this. Not yet.
“I’m assuming Celeste told you what we discussed in the park. Is that what this shower is about?”
Sheepish, she nods. “She’s worried about you and feels you deserve something special to cheer you up.”
The only thing that will cheer me up is the money I’m expecting so I can put this all behind me.
“When did you have in mind?”
“Maybe two weeks from today? That gives us time to invite people.”
I want to refuse. I can’t summon the energy for this or anything else these days. Lloyd has noticed and he’s worried. He’s been especially attentive, cooking dinners, doing the washing, buying my favorite choc-chip ice cream. He even sits beside me on the sofa and listens to soulful eighties ballads when I know he hates them. He’s an amazing husband and every day I’m living a lie with him, my guilt increases exponentially.
Perhaps this shower will be a welcome distraction. And a way to get the money I’m owed sooner rather than later…
“Sounds good,” I say, rising to my feet in a blatant hint I want her to leave. Because the longer she stays, so sweet and solicitous, the more likely I am to blab my secrets for the simple fact I’m desperate for somebody to talk to.
Thankfully, she does the same. “So you’ll text me a guest list?”
“Absolutely. I’ll get onto it now.” I walk her to the door, eager to get rid of her as the burn of tears prickle my eyes. “Thanks, Frankie. And thank Celeste for me too.”
“Our pleasure,” she says, but she’s studying me like she knows I’m on the brink.
As I battle tears I close the door quickly. I don’t deserve her understanding or sympathy. If things don’t go to plan and the truth comes out, everyone will hate me.