Page 46 of The Thinnest Air
Adjusting my oversize shades, I spread the spine of my book and follow the sentences on the page with my eyes, though I don’t read them.
I can’t focus right now with all these realizations hurling themselves at me faster than I know how to process them.
Taking five long, deep breaths, I focus on the here and now. The faint scent of chlorine in the air mixed with sunscreen. The trickling sound of the water feature at the end of the pool. Couples laughing. The heat of the sun baking into my skin.
My eyes burn for a moment, a mix of bruised ego and wayward sunblock, but I suck it up and flip to the next page.
A beautiful young woman with thick onyx hair and ruby-red lips strides in our direction, a small notepad in her hand and a drink list beneath her arm.
“Would you like to order a drink?” she asks, her accent thick but her English perfect. She’s wearing a bikini, and though her body is covered by a resort-issued sarong, there’s surprisingly very little left to the imagination.
Andrew orders a beer, his eyes glazing over as he searches her body. Either he thinks I can’t see through his sunglasses, or he doesn’t care. When she leaves, he swipes his fingers across his iPad, pretending to check his work e-mail as he stares at the beautiful women across the pool dripping from the arms of potbellied, gold-chain-wearing, new-money types.
A second later, I watch my husband from the corner of my eyes. He’s passed out now, his iPad lying on his ripped stomach and his head turned away from me. The faintest snore escapes from his lips.
My hand dips down, retrieving my phone from the cement ground beneath my lounger.
I text Ronan.
Just to say hi.
Just to see what he’s up to.
I’m playing with fire, but I don’t care.
Match. Strike. Whoosh.
CHAPTER 20
GREER
Day Five
I couldn’t sleep last night, which was nothing new or unusual, but the moment the sun came up this morning, I hightailed it to Ronan’s so I could hopefully try to put a few of these questions to rest.
“When was the last time you spoke to my sister?” I ask, standing in Ronan’s living room. His house smells like breakfast, the air savory and heavy. A small shelf lined with family photos catches my eye. They look like nice people, all of them smiling in matching blue jeans and various shades of blue sweaters and button-downs.
“A couple of days before she went missing,” he says without pause. “We ended things. For good that time. She’d found out she was pregnant, and she knew we couldn’t keep going. Plus, she always felt guilty ... about being with me. I did, too. We just couldn’t stop, you know? And we’d tried. Many times.”
“So her leaving you ... it didn’t send you over the edge?” It’s a difficult question, but one that needs to be asked.
He chuffs, his head cocked. “I hated Andrew. I hated that she was with Andrew. But our decision was mutual. We were two good people who did a bad thing, and we were making it right.”
I study his face, so earnest, so insisting.
“Is there any chance the baby was yours?” I ask.
He shakes his head, quiet for a second. “It’d be a one-in-a-million chance. I was told I couldn’t have kids a while back—sports injury in college. And we were always ... safe.”
“And you’re sure Andrew never knew about the two of you?” I ask.
“As far as I know,” he says. “Unless she came clean about it when she told him about the baby? I don’t know. It’s possible. Anything’s possible.”
A scenario plays in my mind: Meredith confessing to Andrew, telling him she’s pregnant and that she strayed from their picture-perfect marriage. Andrew blowing up at her, wanting to hurt her for hurting him. Their future hanging in the balance. Emotions running high.
Meredith wouldn’t have wanted to hurt him. She would’ve wanted to please him because that’s who she was. A secret like this would’ve been one she’d have kept until her dying day.
“Do you think he ever suspected anything? Any ... infidelity?” I move toward the window facing his front yard, watching a few cars pass by and slow down. Word spreads quickly in these small towns, and everyone loves a scandal, be it fact, fiction, or shameless speculation.
