Page 81 of Happy Wife

“The reins. Ofmyhusband’s funeral.”

I am too blinded by my anger to do anything with even a glimmer of rationality to it. Este must see the hues of red filling my complexion, because she steps in.

“Nora, did you have any ideas of things that you wanted at the service? Or anything Will might have wanted?”

I turn and look at Este. She has given me a place to put all my seething rage.

“Thanks for asking, Este, but no. I hadn’t realized that I was going to be planning a funeral that other people decided had to happen on their schedules and by their rules. So, I hadn’t put a lot of thought into any of it. But since you asked, I’d like to speak at the service.”

Constance and Gianna exchange scandalized glances, not at all subtly.

“What? What is the problem?” I say with all the confrontational venom I can muster.

“Constance and I felt that, since it might be hard for Mia to hear from you and not her mom, Fritz should deliver the eulogy,” Gianna advises primly.

“Fritz?” I stare at her.

“Yes. He’s known Will for so long—”

“And I haven’t.”

“That’s not at all what I meant to imply—”

“You didn’t imply. You said—”

Autumn steps in. “It might be nice if Nora, Constance,andMia lay a wreath at the table with the urn at the start of the service and then sit together with Gianna, and the other Hall family members. As a show of solidarity. And I thought that Nora might like to use a wreath made of poinciana—the national flower of Nevis.” Autumn smiles at me, hopeful.

Este starts to say something, but Autumn shoots her a look that makes Este go silent.

Whoa. Autumn shutting up Este is the Major Leagues.

I wait for Este to unload, but she doesn’t. She just shrugs atme.

God, even Este knows I can’t win this.

I take a sip of my boozy coffee. All I can do is watch the rest of it unfold before me. Gianna and Constance put me inmyplace inmyhouse aboutmydead husband.

About a hundred rounds later, including the one where I got to pick the memorial photo we were going to use—asmallvictory—Gianna, Constance, and Autumn show themselves out with the service planned from tip to tails. Autumn in her magical way has gotten us all to agree to everything, including the idea that Constance, Mia, and I won’t wear black—it’s too drab—but that we’ll all wear different shades of blue—like the lakes and the island waters Will loved.

“The Stepford Sisters thing was too much for me,” Este mutters as we regroup in the living room. “I’m not even completely sure that I understand what just happened. Should we scoop them and have a pop-up service tomorrow?”

“A what?” I lift my head from the couch, where I’m currently horizontal.

“Like an impromptu service.” She doesn’t expound. She’s already launching into another thought. “And why isn’t anyone talking about the fact that literally everyone is a suspect? Like, how the fuck did Autumn get a funeral planned so quickly? Did she know she was going to be burying Will?”

Those last few words make me shudder a little. “Lay off Autumn, Este. She’s the nicest one of that group of vipers, and she was in Jacksonville the night Will…”

I can’t finish the thought.

“Okay then, what about Gianna? Isn’t she Satan’s mistress?”

“Gianna doesn’t even collect her own mail.”

For a brief second, I wonder if she’ll mention Constance next. But before she can list the entire roster of Racquet Club members, I wave her off. “Can we make another drink? I have a headache.”

“Fine. But keep your eyes peeled at that funeral. I’m going tobring a notepad.” She heads toward the butler’s pantry. “Do you have any olives anywhere?”

“Check the bar.” It’s all I can say. Este’s heightened suspicions send me back to my questions about Constance. I’m consumed with the fact that she had no alibi, and she knows more than she’s letting on.

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