Page 22 of Circle of Strangers
I glance at her, waiting for more.
“And Mara,” Sozi continues. “She’s always been very reactive, impulsive. For better or worse. You put two people like that in the same room, let alone let them marry each other? And it’s a recipe for disaster. The two of them have a lot of highs and lows, probably more lows than highs, but nothing much in between.”
Makes sense given the lovey-dovey way they were behaving in my backyard last night.
Some couples are addicted to that roller-coaster ride.
“Thing is,” Sozi adds, “they fight like hell, but they always come back to each other. It’s almost impressive, in a sick way. She’s never going to leave him, you know. Not really. And he won’t let her go either.”
She’s confirming exactly what Mara told me, though I imagine Mara has told Sozi this as well. For someone who lives in a private community, Mara’s not exactly a private person.
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious. “If he’s looking for other women, he’s not happy with her. He should let her go.”
“Because they’re addicted to the chaos. Oscar loves a challenge and Mara loves attention and validation, she loves to feel chosen.”
Sozi confirms my theory that Mara suffers from low self-esteem.
“Here’s the thing about Mara,” Sozi goes on, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “She’s a lot better at playing the victim than people realize. Don’t get me wrong—Oscar’s no saint. But Mara? She knows exactly how to twist things to make people feel sorry for her.”
I file that away, remembering the tears Mara shed over coffee the other morning.
“And Oscar?” I ask. “What’s his deal?”
Sozi shakes her head, her expression darkening.
“He’s complicated. His temper’s real, but it’s more than that. He’s the kind of guy who needs control. Everything has to be on his terms—when they fight, when they make up, everything. And if Mara ever tried to leave him for real?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.”
We walk a little farther, the weight of this disturbing intel settling between us. With all the conviction in her voice and a distinct lack of details to back up her claims, I have to wonder what she’s not telling me.
“Sounds like a mess,” I say.
“Oh, it is,” Sozi replies. “That’s why I stay far away from their drama. Trust me, it’s safer that way. I suggest you keep them at an arm’s length, too.”
“Will and Oscar are supposed to go golfing sometime.”
Sozi rolls her eyes. “He’s probably going to try to sell him some financial product from his firm. That’s all that is. He’s a financial adviser and he makes commission off that stuff. Your husband’s a doctor. You have money. He’s not looking to make a new friend, trust me.”
“Good to know.” If I told Will, he’d likely tell me he’s perfectly capable of telling people no.
“So, whatareyou going to do with this Oscar thing?” Sozi asks, her tone light but curious.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I say, staring out onto a lifeless street. “He thinks he’s meeting me for coffee tomorrow. Well, not me, but the woman he thinks he’s talking to. If he shows, I’ll have proof, but after that, I’m probably going to wash my hands of this. Sounds like the two of them deserve each other.”
Sozi gives me an ornery smirk, shaking her head as we turn back toward our cul-de-sac. “Well, whatever happens, keep me in the loop, pretty please. I get just as bored here as you do some days.”
14
I lean against the kitchen counter the next morning, coffee mug warm in my palms as I watch Will grab his keys from the hook by the door. He’s already dressed for his Saturday class—crisp white shirt, navy blazer, dark jeans, and those tortoiseshell glasses I love. His contacts must be bothering him again, but I don’t mind. The frames make him look more professor than doctor—a man who could spend hours debating medical studies or grading papers in a sunlit office. It’s a good look for him.
Salt-and-pepper streaks at his temples catch the morning light. No denying the man looks gorgeous, and unfairly, he’s only gotten better with age, like a rare bottle of wine. He runs a hand through his chocolate-brown hair, and I catch the faintest hint of something new—a scent that isn’t quite familiar.
“New cologne?” I ask, tilting my head and inhaling the sharp smell of pepper and leather and vetiver. No hint of the familiar cedar aroma I’ve come to associate with him.
Will glances at me over his shoulder, a playful smile curving his lips. “Yeah. Been wearing the same stuff since the day we met. Wanted to try something different. You like it?”
His expression is eager, like he’s silently inviting my praise and approval.
I inhale once more, softer this time, catching all the warm, woodsy notes. It’s subtle, but it lingers, grounding him in a way that makes me want to pull him close.
