Page 19 of Circle of Strangers
While the lovebirds aren’t looking, I shoot my husband a questioning glance. He clears his throat and straightens his posture.
“Oscar got home from work while I was outside playing with Jack,” Will says, swirling his whiskey. “He mentioned some golf courses in the area. He knows all the best ones and wants to take me out sometime. Then we got to talking more and decided to have some drinks out back since the weather’s so nice.”
“Won’t be long until we’ll be frying eggs on the sidewalk,” Mara interjects. “Everyone stays inside in the summer. Have to take advantage of these nicer months while we can.”
Oscar is nose-deep on his phone. “I can get us a tee time at Tomahawk next Friday at noon if that works for you, Will?”
Will likes golf, but he doesn’t love it enough to continue the conversation in the privacy of our backyard. Honestly, I can’t recall the last time he golfed. It had to have been before Jackson was born. If he knew the thoughts going through my mind right now, he’d probably tell me I’m overthinking it.
But I’d rather overthink it than underthink it.
Will reaches for his phone, tapping on his calendar app. “I’m open. Let me put that in so I don’t forget.”
I told Will this man had a temper, that Mara cried over his infidelity and was afraid to leave him, and now they’re here, drinking on my patio, and making plans like a couple of old friends.
Like the Morenos aren’t completely unhinged and unstable.
After everything we’ve been through, why would Will invitethisinto our lives?
I wait until the Morenos eventually leave two never-ending hours later—Oscar with his arm wrapped protectively around Mara’s waist—and only then do I turn to Will, setting my wineglass down on the tablewith just enough force to make a point. I’ve been so distracted, I haven’t checked on the kids since I sat down. I blame Will for this.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, keeping my voice low but sharp. Over the course of our marriage, I can count the number of times I’ve taken this tone with him on one hand.
“Oscar got home, and we started talking. I was just being polite.” Will shrugs, unbothered as we carry dishes and stemware inside. He leans against the kitchen island, casual, as if inviting a man I told him was abusive into our home is perfectly reasonable behavior.
“Polite?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes. “I told you he cheats on her. That he has a temper. And the very next day, you invite them into our house and feed them dinner?”
“I was hoping to get a better perspective,” Will says, tilting his head slightly. His curious gaze is pointed at me, as if my reaction intrigues him more than anything. “You said not to make assumptions about these people, so I figured I should get to know them myself and form my own opinions. All couples fight, Camille. Maybe she was overselling it. They seemed happy to me.”
I scoff. “Overselling it? You weren’t there. She was a wreck. Practically dry heaving, she was crying so hard.”
Will crosses his arms, watching me with that maddeningly calm expression of his—the one he wears when he thinks I’m overreacting. “Look, you know how people are. They say things when they’re emotional. I just wanted to see for myself what their dynamic was like.”
“Why?” I demand, frustration bubbling up in my chest. “Why do you care? What’s your role in all of this?”
His gaze softens, and he steps toward me, brushing a hand down my arm. “Because you’re home all day next to that. If things are bad between them, if you’re spending any amount of time with her, I want to make sure you’re safe.”
Safe.
His words disarm me in a way I didn’t anticipate.
Safety has always been my arena. He’s the provider. I’m the protector. And we’re both exceptionally good at what we do. This dynamic isn’t something I’m used to.
Pulling me into his arms, he wraps me tight, breathes me in, and exhales slowly, his breath warm on the top of my head.
“You’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to keep our family safe over the years,” he says. “You can relax a little now. We’re on the same team. I’ve got us, too.”
His words land in the space between us, gentle yet heavy at the same time.
“You know I can handle him,” I say. “Oscar. If he ever tried to do something to me, the kids, or even Mara, I’d do what I needed to do.”
Will cups my chin, tipping it up until our eyes meet. “I know you would. But you know I’d never let it come to that.”
13
I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, watching the gray bubble pop up and disappear as Oscar types and retypes his message the following morning. Finally, it lands:
Oscar:Apologies if I came on too strong—your photos and bio have me really excited. There aren’t a lot of women like you on these apps. You’re exactly the kind of partner I’ve been looking for, and I’d love to meet up and see if we have any sparks. I promise I’ll contain myself. Believe it or not, I’m quite tactful (in public anyway). A total gentleman. Please consider it. I have a feeling we’d be perfect for each other.
