Me: Can you come outside? I’m here . . .

Graham: Ooooh, a surprise visit. I like it. Be right out.

His enthusiasm pierced my heart, making me feel even worse about what I was going to tell him.

* * *

—

I WATCH HIM stride to the car, sandy blond hair being licked by sunlight, his hands jammed in the pockets of his khakis.

He climbs in, curves a hand around the back of my neck, and moves his soft lips against mine.

“Couldn’t wait till tonight to see me, eh?” He rests his hand on my thigh, delight twinkling in his eyes.

Placing my hand on top of his, I stare straight ahead. It will be easier to deliver this news if I’m not locked in his dreamy gaze.

“I’m just going to come out and say it.”

I feel his fingers twitch underneath mine.

“I just left the police station. I’ve been framed for Abby’s murder.”

He yanks his hand away. “Sophie, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know it sounds insane, but just hear me out.”

I turn and meet his eyes and tell him all about shooting the gun—how Margot urged me to use it—how she framed me. And about how Margot is banging Brad. And her ominous text to him about Abby.

“Wait,” he says, with true disdain clouding his face. “Margot’s sleeping with her best friend’s son? Sophie, how old is he? Is that even legal?” He shudders as he asks this.

And, of course, I know the answer. It’s legal. In Texas, consensual age is seventeen. Brad and Jamie are eighteen. I googled it late the other night when my mind was spiraling out of control, wondering if I was going to get locked up for being with Jamie.

“I told you these women were crazy. Especially Margot.”

He gnaws on his lower lip, thrums his fingers against the seat.

“So this Brad—he was out there that night with you and Margot, and you were okay with it?”

I was going to tell him about Jamie next, but my courage has now evaporated.

“No, I wasn’t okay with it.” The indignant tone I’ve adopted during our recent conversations has crept back into my voice. “That’s why I told you I would stop hanging out with them. Only, Abby went missing and I needed to be there for Jill, who genuinely seems nice. It’s honestly Margot and her shadow, Callie, who are nuts.”

“But why would Margot frame you? Why would she single you out?”

I don’t tell him that it’s because I became entranced by her and, therefore, was the easiest prey.

“I guess I was the new, dumb girl.”

“And you really think she killed Abby? With Brad’s help? You think they’re capable of that?”

I nod.

“I can’t fucking believe you’ve got yourself tangled up in this mess.”

“Well, I didn’t do it! It’s not like it’s my fault. And nothing’s going to happen to me, Graham. I’m innocent. Don’t panic,” I say, while my own voice rises with panic.

“Well, we need to get a lawyer. Like right now. Sounds like Margot’s dangerous and powerful. I’ll ask around the office—”

“Are you crazy? I don’t want everyone knowing about this.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll find out quietly. But we need to deal with this. The right way.”

His whole body is now contorted against the side of the door, as if he’s intent upon putting as much space between the two of us as possible.

The urge to tell him about Jamie comes over me again.

“Graham,” I say, my voice trembling. I glance over at him, and the look of concern on his face is so strong that my voice melts in my throat.

“What is it?” His eyes are lasers drilling over my face.

“Nothing. I’m just—I’m so sorry.”

51

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

THE HOLES I dug for the fig trees yesterday are filled with rainwater, a pair of black, blank eyes reflecting back at me. It poured last night and I’m now standing over them, trying to decide what to do with myself. Go to the nursery to buy the trees and actually plant them? Or do what I should be doing and pick up my cell to call the lawyer whom Graham found?

Instead, I stay outside and pace the length of the backyard, eyeing the herb beds for signs of new weeds and scrutinizing the flower garden to see if it’s time to deadhead the roses.

I’m procrastinating and I know I should step inside and get the call over with, but I’m not ready to talk to a lawyer just yet; there’s an irrational part of me that believes this will all go away. That Flynn will call and tell me there’s been some mistake and he’s sorry and I’m off the hook.

But even the most stubborn part of me knows this isn’t true, and even though it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, I’m already coated in sweat, so I cease my pacing and go inside.

I’m in the back bathroom washing my hands and freshening up when I hear the back door open and slam shut. My heart lurches as I wonder who the hell is in my house. But then I hear Graham’s voice.

“Sophie? Where are you?”

He sounds steamed; I tread down the hall and find him in the dining room. His hair is mussed and his cheeks are mottled red as if he rushed getting over here. He’s clearly in distress.

“What the fuck is this?” He slings a newspaper from under his armpit and thuds it against the dining table.

I step over to the paper and peer at the headline.

TEENAGE SEX TRIANGLE WITH PROMINENT SOCIALITE LINKED TO MURDER OF LOCAL GIRL

My stomach coils into a knot. I scan the article and see my name. And then Jamie’s.

Fuck.

I scan further, my eyes roving over the print as fast as possible. Even though I’m not named specifically as a suspect—most likely thanks to some shred of decency in Flynn—the article does go into the fact that my prints are on the murder weapon and that I’m a person of interest. It also goes further than I’d like into the heady night of spin the bottle.

Reading it, I wince. The paper makes it sound as if Jamie and I slept together. The vague term relations was used, leaving the rest up to the imagination. And it hints at my obsession with Margot. “An unnaturally close friendship quickly formed between Mrs. O’Neill and Mrs. Banks.”

A picture of me, ripped from my Facebook profile, is parked next to a sleek shot of Margot in her signature, oversize sunglasses. I wonder if it’s even legal for the paper to have used my image without permission, but I decide I have too many legal problems already to care.

I look up at Graham. His jaw is tense and his fists clench and unclench. He’s shaking. “Did you know this was all over the papers this morning?”

“No, I’ve been outside all morning. I’m so—”

“So this is what you’ve been hiding all this time?” His eyes are darting over my face and filled with such hurt I can’t even hold his gaze. “Un-fucking-believable, Sophie!”

“Graham, you have to listen to me.” Tears fill my eyes.

“I’m done listening to you. You lied and lied to me, Sophie. And I forgave you over and over and bought all of your horseshit excuses.” He shakes his head in disgust. “I even apologized to you once! Here I was, trying to be the cool, evolved husband that lets his wife blow off steam with the girls, and all the while you’ve been playing me. Un-fucking-real.” He’s practically yelling at me now.

“Please, listen! This is so overblown; this is not what happened.”

But he turns to leave. I catch his arm and my fingernails accidentally graze his skin.

“You have to believe me that this is not what happened; what happened meant nothing.” My voice squeaks out of me. “I promise I can explain everything. I’ve been too afraid to tell you the truth, but I—”

“I’ll pick Jack up today. You have until then to collect your things and get out.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

The vein on his neck bulges and throbs. “Pack a bag and leave.”

“But you can’t just banish me! I need to see Jack!”

“Sophie, I honestly can’t think straight right now, so you just need to go. I need space.”

“But go where?”

“A fucking hotel! Or your fuck mate Margot’s house! I don’t know and I don’t care. I just don’t want to lay eyes on you right now; I don’t know what to think of you. You make me sick. Stay the fuck away from us for now. And if you don’t realize that I’m not fucking around here, you could push me so far that you might lose your son.”

He could’ve kicked me in the face and it would’ve hurt less than hearing these stinging words. My throat constricts and I feel like I might faint. I can’t believe he just said that about losing Jack.

“But you don’t think I hurt Abby, do you?”

“Of course not. But I also don’t believe that what you have going on with that kid, and with Margot, means nothing.” He grasps the handle on the door, flings it open, and slams it behind him.

Everything in me wants to follow him outside, to yell and plead for him to come back to me. But I can’t. I need to let him go for now.

My body is numb with shock. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from the look of betrayal pitched on his face. I go over to the sofa and lie down. Drawing my knees into my chest, I wrap my arms around them while I convulse with sobs.

Graham is gone.

52