Page 74 of Happy Wife

I stop and down two-thirds of the glass.

“At least make me feel a little better and enjoy it? It’s a 2003.”

I stifle a giggle so I don’t spit wine all over the white cloud Restoration Hardware couch Will and I picked out after we got married. He said he wanted me to feel like this house belonged to both of us. Now it’s only mine.

I’m a widow, Marcus. This isn’t funny.

It’s like the flip of a light switch. Something about laughing or feeling anything other than soul-crushing dread or fear feels like I’m cheating. On Will? No. Maybe more like I’m gaming grief.

Will is dead and I’m cracking jokes with Marcus?

The guilt seeps into my bones until I start to shiver and ache. I sit up and put my wine down, and instantly I feel a wild squall of anger move in.

“Why are you here, Marcus?” I ask quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here with me, at my house?”

Marcus shifts a little and sits up, confused. “Because it’s what you do for your friends. Especially given the circumstances.”

“But we’re not friends. We were never friends.”

I don’t know why I am saying any of this, but I can’t stop myself. My brain and my heart are no longer in sync—they no longer have any connection to each other.

“Nora, what are you talking about?”

“You and I—We’re…something else. Something terrible and wrong.”

“What?”

“Will is barely dead and you’re here cooking me dinner and plying me with wine—”

“I’m not…plyingyou with anything. I’m not—”

“I’m not some pity case for you to take on. I’m not some poor little interloper widow who can’t handle her own shit. Okay?”

Marcus stands up, shakes his head. “Nora, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything other than trying to help out a little. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.”

“You’re right. You can’t.”

“Okay, that’s my cue.” Marcus takes his wineglass to the sink and washes it.

Even with me shitting on him, he can’t help but be a chef. Never leave the kitchen undone. It’s always ready for the next meal, the next masterpiece.

Marcus heads for the front door. He stops and turns back to me. “I never meant anything other than a show of kindness, Nora. I’m sorry for what’s happened. For everything that’s hurt you.” And with that so-sincere-it-rips-my-heart-out sentiment, he leaves.

The door closes, and I’m left in total silence. I have no idea what just happened. No idea why I said what I said. I can feel a wave of emotional destruction building in my throat, but I’m not ready for it. I can’t lean into this pain. If I do, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to pull myself out of it. I down the rest of my wine, scoop up the bottle, and head upstairs to my room.

In the back of my mind, though, I know there’s no amount of shouting I can do at Marcus to undo everything that’s wrong. And there’s not enough Malbec in the world to wash away the fact that someone killed my husband.

Chapter30

Before

After my Dear Prudence dinner, Marcus started stopping by Este’s house with fresh produce every few weeks. He’d bring strawberries or cucumbers or spring potatoes and make a dish for all of us to share. I chalked it up to coincidence that he stopped by on the nights I was there for dinner, because when wasn’t I there for dinner?

It became a relaxed little routine for the four of us. Marcus would teach us a recipe or Beau would fire up the grill. We’d eat in the outdoor living room of Este’s backyard with the ceiling fans spinning and watch the wakeboarders and the crew shells glide by. It was nice to have people to share the days with while Will was buried in work, but sometimes, when we were sitting out on the deck, I would catch myself staring at our house, looking for the light in Will’s office and silently begging him to come out and join us.

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