Heather answered my Facebook message promptly, as I knew she would.

I’m home in Westport for the weekend—I’m there a lot these days—and I’ve brought Lexy with me. I filled Lex and Iz in on everything over Christmas, and Lexy has insisted on accompanying me today. My dad doesn’t ask any questions when I tell him we need to borrow the car to run some errands, and we’re heading north on I-95 just after breakfast.

It snowed a few days ago and the highway is lined with gray slush, but the sky is a sharp, relentless blue. There’s hardly any traffic, and we reach New Haven in just under an hour. I pull into the coffee shop ten minutes before our scheduled meeting time.

“Let me come inside,” Lexy pleads from the passenger seat. “I’ll just sit in the corner at my own table, I promise I won’t say anything. You just—you can’t be alone with her, Skye. She’s a sociopath. She could be dangerous.”

I shake my head. “Lex, it’s a coffee shop. It’s not like she’s going to pull out a knife and stab me. Just stay here, keep the engine running. I’ll text if something comes up, but I need to do this by myself.”

“Okay.” Lexy reaches across the center console and squeezes my hand. “I understand. Proud of you.”

“I love you for being here.”

I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I’m terrified, even though I know what I have to do. I’ve known it since last month, since my meeting with Burke at the Oyster Bar, where I felt it—some complex but enduring semblance of love—still between us.

Heather is early, too. I spot her instantly and feel fleetingly creepy, the way you do when you recognize someone from the person’s social media. She’s sitting at a table by the window, her hair pulled back. I can see the peppered gray roots wiggling their way into the bleached blond. Lines are etched into her forehead and around her mouth, but she’s undeniably pretty, with her high cheekbones and big green eyes. She wears an oversize tomato-red sweater and black leggings with quilted boots. When she sees me, there’s a flash of disgust in her expression.

“Do you want to order something?” She glances down at the steaming mug of black coffee in front of her. Her voice has a crisp delivery I wasn’t expecting.

“No thanks,” I say, though I’m craving caffeine. I just want to get this over with. I slide into the seat across from hers. My heart feels tight inside my chest, as if it were a towel being wrung out. The cafe is busy and most of the other tables are occupied, which gives me a vague sense of security.

“I’m surprised you agreed to meet me.” I say this even though it’s not true. In my Facebook message I’d written that I had some important information to disclose, off the record, regarding Burke’s plea deal. I said a settlement for Heather was possible, given the emotional toil this whole ordeal had inevitably caused her. In other words, I’d used money as bait, knowing Heather would take it.

She shrugs. Even through her thick sweater I can detect the boniness of her shoulders. She’s thin in the natural, waiflike way my mom was.

“Burke’s a manipulative scumbag,” Heather says evenly. “I’m sorry for all he put you through. I’m sorry for both of us.”

“I don’t think you’re sorry, Heather.” I make every effort to keep my voice even, though I’m flailing inside.

“Excuse me?” She tilts her head, and I notice the faint crust of mascara underneath her eyes.

“In fact, I know you’re not sorry.” I fold my hands across the table, my heart thrashing behind my rib cage. “I know you helped Burke. I know you were in on everything. How did you think I wouldn’t find out that you worked for my mother? That you resented her and blamed her for your brother’s death?”

Heather swallows hard, color rushing to her porcelain cheeks. “I have nothing to hide, Skye. I figured you might connect the dots. But the fact that Burke chose you to prey on was a coincidence. Life is full of them. There are a lot of shitty guys out there.”

“Bullshit.”

“That Max LaPointe certainly seems like a real scummy one.” Heather shrugs again, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

The air in the room goes still. I feel violated, exposed, as if I were sitting across from Heather completely naked. I inhale slowly, letting it all sink in. Confirmation of something I already knew in my gut.

“You really did your research on me, Heather.”

“Yes. When I found out the identity of the woman who was sleeping with my husband, my curiosity was piqued.”

“Oh, is that it?” I cock my head at her, suddenly boosted with confidence. “You were completely oblivious to Burke’s scheme? I don’t think so.”

“Believe what you want, Skye. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Why, because you think there’s no evidence?”

Heather’s eyebrows jack up at this, and I know I’ve caught her off guard.

“Look.” I sigh, meeting her gaze. “My mom used to say that it’s important to keep your side of the street clean. But I’ve realized in the past few months that maybe she didn’t always take her own advice. That maybe she wasn’t … the woman I thought she was.”

Heather stares at me, the expression in her eyes indiscernible.

“I’m not going to go after you, Heather.” I shift in my seat. “My lawyer is a shark and one of the best in the Northeast, and if I told him to find evidence that you collaborated with Burke, he’d dig something up in a matter of hours. Believe me. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you want?”

“I’m going to give you a choice, Heather.”

“Are you, Skye?” Her tone is mocking.

“Yes. I think you and Burke fucked up, but perhaps so did my mother.”

Heather jaw tightens. “Your mother got away with murder. Literally.”

“My mother should’ve made things right with you a long time ago. But she’s not here—only I am—and I can’t apologize for her. I can’t justify her actions. I don’t justify her actions. Speaking of, I know things about you, too, Heather.” I pause, remembering what Burke said at the Oyster Bar in January. “I know that you spent a great deal of time and energy trying to emulate my mom. And it’s funny, because for so much of my life, I’ve done the same thing. You and I have more in common than I ever expected. But my mother wasn’t perfect, Heather.” There’s a block in my throat, and I swallow it down. “So, that two million dollars that disappeared from my bank account and magically landed in your neighbor’s account weeks before she died? That two million I know you have? It’s yours. Go do whatever you want with it.” I let that sentence hang in the space between us, watch as Heather’s eyes instantly glitter at the mention of all that money.

“Or you can return the two million and keep Burke. I’ll work with my lawyer and get the charges dropped—as many of them as I can, at this point—and you can have your marriage back. It’s your decision.”

Heather’s expression instantly hardens. I hold her stare, listening to the background noise of the coffee shop: clinking utensils, coffee beans grinding, the hum of a dozen different conversations.

“And why would you make me an offer like that?” Heather asks eventually.

“Because you deserve something.”

Heather considers this. “Well, I can’t have my marriage back.” She snorts. “Seeing as Burke doesn’t give a shit about me.”

The moment between us is sticky and stretches on for several long beats. “I’m sure that’s not true, Heather.”

“He doesn’t love me. Not anymore.” Her eyes land on mine, a shock of emerald. “He fell in love with someone else, Skye. You of all people should know that.”

I’m suddenly debilitatingly tired. There’s a pain behind my forehead. I just want to get back in the car with Lexy and go home.

“I can’t stay long,” I say quietly. “Just choose. Do you want the money?”

Heather brushes a loose strand of hair from her temple and drains the rest of her coffee. Then she tilts her chin down slightly, just once. A nod. Her lips spread into a contained smile.

My answer.

I sit in silence as Heather signals to the waitress for the check. I’ll let her leave the cafe first—the last thing on earth I would do is give Heather Michaels the satisfaction of watching me do my knocks.

“By the way, Skye.” Heather stands, and she’s shorter than I realized. “Your mother knew Burke. When I first met her, the two of us were dating. She never liked him, always said I could do better. She thought he was trash and that he was always going to be an addict, that he’d only cause me pain. Just figured you might like to know that.”

A stream of sunlight spills through the windows and washes over Heather’s face. But I can see her eyes—the enduring spite that lingers there, the quality of a person who steamrolls through life without due remorse. All too quickly, she is gone.

I stay for a few more moments, absorbing Heather’s words. I let them land. I let them sting. Then I leave the cafe, and Lexy and I drive south in the yellow winter sun.

Chapter Fifty-One

Burke