Page 61 of Happy Wife

“This all must be so much to navigate. So many…personalities.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Constance has had a tough go these last few months. I mean, I get it. You fully dethroned her with Will’s birthday party. And now Will is missing. She’s got to be spiraling like the rest of us.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dethroned? Idethronedher?”

“Your party for Will was the party of the year. Everyone was talking about it in the weeks leading up. Tippy flew to West Palm just to get her dress. Constance could feel all of her friends pulling away. Moving on. She’s not part of this group without Will. He’s the golden boy, and her identity has always been as his wife.”

I hadn’t considered that until now, but it made sense. The social circle Will moved in was as elite as it was intertwined. Pull one thread and you can start to see how they’re all connected. I always worried about bumping into Constance at the events Will and I were invited to. After her antics with the wine and the haranguing at pizza night, I feared our paths crossing would create a scene. But the run-in I dreaded never happened. I should have known other people saw how sticky inviting her was, too, so they just left her off their lists.

My thoughts catch on one detail, though, and I frown. “I heard that Constance had her own party that night?”

“No. I mean, maybe that’s what she said she was going to do, but there would have been no way. Ever since you and Will got married—maybe even since the divorce—Constance has known the tide would turn, and she would be collateral damage. She had to have known. That’s just how things work around here, and she’s been as big a player in the social game as anyone. But that birthday party for Will sealed the deal. Everyone she might have cared about inviting would’ve turned her down to come here.”

“Probably out of morbid curiosity to see how I would fuck it up.”

“Even if that was the reason, which it wasn’t, everyone was here. Constance got super drunk and yelled at the delivery boy who brought her food.”

So Constance was dethroned the night Will disappeared. And now she’s working on some kind of fucked-up comeback?

I turned this information over in my head.

“I’ve said too much.” Autumn covers her mouth. “I’m sorry I keep bringing Will things up.”

She stands and gathers the dishes. I follow her to the kitchen with my neglected croissant.

“It’s okay,” I assure her.

Autumn’s phone dings with a text. Then another one. Then it starts pinging in rapid succession. She picks it up, and her face falls.

“Shit. They didn’t bring the right dimensions for the stage and dance floor.” She catches herself. “Which can wait…”

“It’s okay, Autumn, you should go. Thank you for coming by.”

Her phone is still dinging angrily as she comes over and gives me a hug. Then she goes, and I’m left leaning against the counter, biting my lip. I can’t stop thinking about Constance suffering a social death the night Will went missing.

How did I miss that?

My mind starts sifting through all the possible things this new information could mean. And while I think, I realize I’m ravenous.

I stand at the sink wolfing down the fig jam, cheese, and crackers from the basket Autumn brought over a few days ago. I can’t tell what brings me more relief, the food hitting my empty belly or the new puzzle piece that Autumn has handed me.

Constance was home alone the night of Will’s party.

Maybe this is finally a lead. Maybe her vitriol is masking whatever she’s hiding. But what would that be? And where does that leave Will?

I hear phone chimes from between two couch cushions and head back toward the living room. It’s a text from Perry:

10:23a.m.

A friend of Dean’s is helping with the phone logs.

That’s more than I’ve ever gotten from Ardell.

Walking back toward the kitchen and my haphazard snacks, I look toward Este’s house, wishing I could tell her about this development.

I haven’t poked my head out since our fight. I’m embarrassed that I was so shitty toward her. She’s the only real friend I’ve had in Winter Park. And I know deep down, even if I refuse to entertain the idea, that she’s right. I have to at least leave the door ajar for the idea that Will really is just…

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