Dear Debbie, page 20
DEBBIE PLEASE CALL ME!!! I’M SO SORRY FOR EVERYTHING!!!!!
Hmm, a little late for that, isn’t it? But fine. He’s so, so sorry. I’ll deal with him soon enough.
A few minutes after I get on the highway, my dash screen announces a call coming in from Harley. It’s sort of a coincidence, because I had been planning to call her myself, so this saves me the trouble.
“Hi, Harley,” I say.
“Debbie!” She’s likely at home, based on the lack of noise in the background. “I know it’s kind of last minute, but do you have any interest in coming over for dinner tonight?”
I smile. Cooper and the kids can call out for pizza tonight. “That sounds great. Are you cooking?”
“Absolutely! Any allergies?”
I laugh. “No, I’ll eat anything you make.”
“Great! Can you be here by six?”
With the amount of traffic on the road, that sounds about right. It’s going to be a slow drive back to the South Shore. “Sure.”
“Wonderful! I can’t wait!”
I’ll just bet.
That girl has some nerve. She really thinks that I don’t have any idea what she’s doing. When I first met her, I thought she was “cool,” and I was stupidly excited to make a new friend. I thought maybe after all these years, I found somebody I could confide in.
How could I have been so wrong?
Harley isn’t my friend. She is a terrible person.
I glance at the glove compartment of the car, which contains the gun I’ve been carrying around for the last couple of days since I took it from its hiding place. Whenever I touch it, I put on a pair of leather gloves, careful to keep my fingerprints from rubbing off on it and careful to preserve the prints that are already on it.
Tonight will be the last time I use the gun. The next time someone picks it up, it will be evidence.
61
COOPER
I need to get out of Ken’s house as quickly as I can.
He’s got a fence encircling his property, so hopefully the neighbors did not see me. It’s about five o’clock, close to dinnertime, and people probably aren’t paying much attention to this house anyway. They’re focused on getting home to their own families.
I consider wiping down anything I might have touched in the house. I can’t remember what I touched though. I definitely touched the doorknob and the front door, but that could be easily explained. He’s my boss after all. It’s not suspicious that I would have been in his house.
There’s his phone though. I would have trouble explaining why my fingerprints are on that.
I find his phone where I left it on the coffee table. I want to get out of here, but I’ve got to wipe this down, or else it’s going to look really bad for me. I go into his kitchen and grab a paper towel. This shouldn’t take long.
Unfortunately, wiping fingerprints off a phone proves to be more difficult than I thought. If I had gloves, it would be easy, but attempting to wipe it down without touching it more during the process seems impossible. I am tempted to search his kitchen to see if he has any rubber gloves I can borrow, but what if I got fingerprints on that?
I do the best I can. I wipe one side, then I hold it around the edges to flip it onto the other side and wipe it down while it’s lying on the coffee table. I can’t guarantee there isn’t a partial print left behind, but I’m wasting too much time. I’ve got to get out of here—now.
I think about slipping out the back, but that seems like it could be worse. Someone sneaking out the back could be more suspicious to the neighbors. Better to just walk out the front door as casually as I can. It’s dinnertime, and a person entering or leaving a neighbor’s house shouldn’t attract much attention.
But as I’m going out the front door, I notice something I hadn’t seen when I came in. Something that makes me realize I shouldn’t have been quite as concerned about the neighbors.
There’s a door cam.
A camera is mounted over the door, which captured me entering the house and now leaving. I was worried about the neighbors, but this camera will tell the police everything they need to know. I am beginning to realize how screwed I am.
But wait. Ken must’ve been shot at least a day ago. The police will match up the camera feed with the time I’m here, and they will recognize that it does not coincide with the time of his death. Maybe this will be fine. I can pretend that I came in here to water his plants, and I never went upstairs.
Again, a voice in the back of my head is telling me that I should just call the police and let them deal with it. And I will.
But first I have to get home and check my garage.
I walk as briskly as I can over to my car and jump into the driver’s seat. I grasp the steering wheel with both hands, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. I need to get a hold of myself. I’m not going to make the situation better if I get in a car crash.
I think about Coach Pike, who dared to kick Izzy off the soccer team, and now he’s in jail. Then I think about Lexi’s boyfriend, Zane, who is lying in a hospital bed with a broken neck.
I reach into my pocket for my phone. I send off a text message, then I start driving.
62
HARLEY
Debbie will be here soon.
I’m cooking spaghetti for dinner. I have a feeling she’s not going to be very hungry, but I have to make something. That’s what a good hostess does after all.
Tonight, I’m going to tell Debbie everything.
I’m sick of sneaking around with Cooper. I prefer more mature men, and it just so happens that a large chunk of them are already married. Over the last decade, the only one who was ever willing to leave his wife for me was Edgar, and that was a huge bust. I can’t stand it anymore. When you’re the other woman, you’re always second-best. Even if they pretend they like you better than their wives, you’re always just their dirty little secret.
Well, I’m sick of being a dirty little secret.
Debbie needs to know that her husband has been messing around behind her back. It might seem cruel to spill the beans, especially since she thinks of me as her friend, but really, it’s cruel not to. She deserves the truth.
For months now, Cooper has been telling me that he doesn’t love her anymore. He says they’re like strangers and barely talk. He admitted that he no longer finds her attractive, and he has no interest in having sex with her anymore. He said they haven’t had sex in years.
He’s grateful to me for coming into his life. He says it every time we’re together. His kids are almost grown, so there’s no reason for him to stay with Debbie. He needs to leave her and start fresh with me.
But none of this will happen if Debbie remains in the dark. She needs to understand that her marriage is over.
And I will be the one to tell her.
As I stir the pot of spaghetti, I wonder how she’ll take it. Will she cry? Am I going to have to comfort her while she cries? Oh God, I really don’t want to.
I’d prefer if she got mad. Maybe threw a few things. I’m more comfortable with anger than sadness.
In the end though, she will have to accept everything. And Cooper will be grateful to me for ripping off the Band-Aid.
I leave the sauce to simmer and return to the living room. I left my phone on the sofa, and I see a new text message on the screen. I hope it isn’t Debbie canceling. Obviously, it isn’t necessary to tell her tonight, but I got myself all psyched up for it. It’ll be disappointing if we don’t get to do this.
But when I get to my phone, it’s not Debbie after all. The text message is from Cooper.
We need to talk.
Hmm, what does that mean?
We need to talk. Is that a good type of talk, like he wants to take things to the next level and leave his wife? Or is it the bad type of talk? I really, really like you, but this just isn’t working for me anymore. I can’t keep sneaking around like this.
Ugh, I hate that kind of talk.
I type back a message to him:
You’re still coming for dinner, right?
The conversation with Debbie is going to be difficult, and she might not believe me. She might think I’m making the whole thing up or at least exaggerating. But if Cooper is here, then that will force the issue. When Cooper shows up at the door, she will understand everything immediately. She’ll probably kick him out on the spot. And whatever he wants to talk about will suddenly become moot.
I smile at the thought.
Yes. I’ll be there at 6:15.
See you then.
63
COOPER
When I get home, I’m tempted to go right for the garage. But first, I need to check on the girls.
To my surprise, they’re sitting together on the sofa, talking quietly. It’s nice to see them leaning on each other in a difficult time. I’m glad they have each other, because there could be a day when that’s all they have.
That day could come sooner than expected.
Both of them jump to their feet when they see me. Lexi’s eyes are still swollen like she’s been crying intermittently the whole time I’ve been gone.
“Did you talk to Mom?” Lexi asks.
I shake my head. Not for lack of trying. I have been texting and calling Debbie nonstop. She’s not answering.
“Not yet,” I say. “I just… I need to check something in the garage.”
“What?” Izzy asks.
I can’t tell her. I can’t even begin to let my two daughters know what I suspect. “I’ll be right back,” is my answer.
The garage is empty, because Debbie has her car and I’m parked in the driveway. I have a worktable in the garage, although I don’t use it that much because I’m not exactly handy. I do try to fix things around the house to save money on our repair bills, but it’s not my greatest skill. Everyone has things they’re good at. I’m good with numbers, and Debbie is good at everything else.
I crouch down below my worktable. Debbie bought a six-pack yesterday for reasons I still don’t understand, and the only one still left in the pack is on the floor. For a moment, I’m tempted to grab that beer and crack it open. I have never needed a drink more in my entire life.
But no. I can’t. I have to stay clearheaded.
There is a toolbox down there too, and I lift it off the object it’s on top of, which is covered in a blanket. I pull off the blanket to reveal a small gun safe.
Like I said, Debbie adamantly did not want to buy a gun. She pointed out that you’re more likely to shoot a member of your family than a burglar, and I pointed out that I’m not naive and that I would take precautions. In the end, she couldn’t stop me. The gun is in my name, and she just had to deal with it.
One of the precautions I took was keeping the gun in our garage, inside a gun safe. So far, I have only taken it out to go to the firing range. There hasn’t been a burglary in a while, so I considered getting rid of it, just to ease Debbie’s anxiety. But I enjoy firing it on the occasional weekend.
The gun safe is small enough that I can pick it up off the floor and lay it on the worktable. It opens with a four-digit combination that I chose because I knew I’d remember it—our wedding anniversary—and my hands are shaking so badly that I’m having trouble punching it in. I finally hear the click that means the safe is unlocked. I pull it open and…
It’s empty. Just as I feared.
I stare down at the empty gun safe, realizing that my worst nightmares are true. I wasn’t sure what was going on until this minute, but I know now.
Ken Bryant and I had an argument, and I quit in a fit of anger.
There is a lot of money missing from the company, and all signs point to it being an inside job.
Ken has been murdered. He was shot in the head.
The murder weapon is almost certainly my gun, registered in my name.
The gun is now missing, but I suspect that it will eventually resurface, covered in my fingerprints. Not to mention all the fingerprints I surely left behind at Ken’s house.
Holy shit. Debbie is framing me for the murder of my boss.
“Dad?”
I look up, quickly closing the lid of the gun safe. Izzy is standing at the doorway of the garage, a troubled expression on her pale face. She steps into the garage hesitantly.
If I go to prison for murder, how often will I see my daughter? Not very much. It’s not like Debbie will bring her to see me.
“Hey, Iz,” I say around a lump forming in my throat.
“Dad,” she says. “What’s going on? I’m really worried about Mom.”
“Yeah.” I don’t know what to say to reassure her, but I know that’s what I need to do. That’s my job as her dad. I’m supposed to make her feel safe. “She’s going to be okay.”
“Where is she?”
I can only shake my head. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m trying my best to find her.”
“I know,” she says quietly.
The two of us just stand there for a moment in the garage. I’m trying to think of the right thing to say, but my mind is blank. I’m so bad at this. If Debbie were here, she’d know the right thing to say.
“Izzy?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
I try to smile, but I know it’s crooked. “I don’t want you to worry, Iz. I love you very much.”
She frowns, because that isn’t something I say very often. I do love her very much, but I just don’t think to say it. But I need to say it right now.
In case it’s my last chance.
Her face crumples slightly. “Mom is going to be okay, right?”
She is so worried about Debbie. I feel like I’ve been a good father—or at least done the best I could—but she’s been their whole world. I don’t want to lose her. If it comes down to me or Debbie…well, they should have her. Even if she’s a little off right now, their lives would be destroyed without her.
“Mom is going to be fine.” I grab my phone from my pocket and look at the screen one last time. “I have to run out again. I need to… I might know where to find your mother.” I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Will you and Lexi be able to get some food in the house?”
Izzy nods slowly. “Yeah. Mom went to the grocery store yesterday. There’s lots of food.”
Of course she did. Debbie always makes sure our household functions like a well-oiled machine.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise her.
I hope I don’t have to break that promise.
64
HARLEY
Debbie is prompt. I have to give her that.
She shows up at exactly six o’clock. She’s well dressed in a cream-colored blouse paired with a light pink skirt and chunky heels. She looks ready to go to a business meeting, except that her hair has come slightly undone from the bun she must’ve tied it into earlier today. It’s falling in tendrils around her face, and not cute, stylish tendrils. She’s too old to look so disheveled—she can’t pull it off.
“Hi, Debbie,” I say brightly.
“Hi, Harley.” She smiles warmly at me. “Sorry I didn’t bring anything. I’ve been on the road.”
“No worries.”
I lean in for a brief hug, and while she hugs me back, she seems stiff. We’ve gotten in the habit of hugging at the beginning or end of seeing each other, but it feels different this time. It feels like she doesn’t want to touch me.
Is it possible that she knows?
No. She doesn’t know. She wouldn’t come here and smile at me if she knew I was sleeping with her husband. Who would do that?
“Is there anything I can do to help in the kitchen?” she asks me.
I almost suggest that she help me chop the salad, but then I think better of giving her a knife. “No, I’ve got it under control.”
She follows me to the kitchen so I can tend to my pasta and finish up with the vegetables. She stands there for a moment, watching me.
“That’s a lot of food,” she comments.
“Actually,” I say, “I invited another guest to join us. Someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Really?” She looks intrigued as she leans against the kitchen counter. “Who is it?”
“It’s my boyfriend.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Harley! I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Who is he?”
“He’s a great guy,” I say honestly. “I met him at the gym, and we just connected. Like, soulmates, you know? He’s a bit older than me, but he’s really hot.” I wink at her. “We can’t keep our hands off each other when we’re together.”
“Wow.” She blinks at me. “That’s so fantastic. How long have you been seeing him?”
“A few months, but it feels like it’s getting serious. He told me he’s falling in love with me.”
“Oh my gosh,” she says. “That’s so great. I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m glad to hear you feel that way.”
She adjusts her purse, which is still hanging off her shoulder, even though she’s been here several minutes. I don’t know why she doesn’t put it down. “What does your dream guy do for a living?”
“He’s an accountant.”
“Oh!” She looks surprised. “Like Cooper.”
“Right,” I say meaningfully. “Like Cooper.”
I let that hang in the air for a moment. An older guy who does the same job as your husband. Hint, hint.
“Well,” she says, “I’m excited to meet him.”
I rummage around in the refrigerator, coming up with a bottle of oil and vinegar salad dressing. I tried to find the miso ranch at the supermarket, but no luck. “Is this okay?”
“Sure, whatever is fine.”
I unscrew the bottle of dressing and release a few dollops of it onto the salad. They land wetly. “There is one thing about my boyfriend that isn’t entirely ideal.”
