Page 27 of Circle of Strangers
“No one’s worth losing your freedom over,” I tell her, snapping us both out of this.
Mara chuckles. “Oh, you think I’d kill someone? No, no, no. I’m too pretty to go to prison.”
I swallow and sit straight. Perhaps we’re not as similar as I thought a moment ago.
“What would you do?” I ask.
“No idea. But I’d find a way to make life a little less enjoyable for them,” she says. “They’d be sorry, that’s for sure.”
My mind conjures up a scenario where Oscar comes clean to Mara after the coffee shop incident earlier and the two of them are conspiring to bring me down—or inject a little discomfort into my “picture-perfect” life. It’s impossible to know what anyone is capable of, but we’re all capable of doing the unthinkable in extreme circumstances. People like me have more rein over their emotions because we don’t feel them the way average people do. In a way, that makes people like them more dangerous. Like loose cannons. High emotions and impulsive actions are a dangerous and often deadly combination.
“Didn’t Oscar’s wife do that to you?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “And it was awful. A special kind of hell I wouldn’t put on anyone—unless they were trying to come between me and my husband. I think as women, we should reserve that right to protect what’s ours.”
Mara goes still, her expression unreadable until she leans back with a sigh, staring out at the water.
“Women tend to blame other women in these situations,” I say. “I don’t think that’s always fair. I bet there are plenty of married men out there claiming to be single. Some of these women have no idea what they’re getting into.”
“Any woman who blindly dates someone these days without vetting them is an accomplice—unwitting or not. It’s not hard to see if there’s an indentation on their left finger, to do a search online and see where they reside and if they live with anyone.”
“Some men give fake names,” I say. “And some men are extremely charming and know all the right things to say. I’d be willing to go as far as to say they know exactly the type of woman who would fall for their tricks, too.”
Mara rubs her lips together, contemplating something in silence—hopefully my perspective on this whole thing.
“I wish I didn’t love him so much,” she says under her breath, like a heartfelt confession. “It feels like a sickness sometimes. I need him. Even when he’s at his worst.”
“Pretty sure that’s codependency,” I tell her. “It’s not healthy for either of you.”
The juxtaposition of Mara waxing on about her love for her husband contrasts against my memory of Mara cozying up to Will at the party, fluttering those thick dark eyelashes, making him laugh in a way I haven’t seen in months.
If she’s so obsessed with her husband, why was she all over mine?
This isn’t adding up.
Then again, with people as unstable as Mara, nothing ever does.
“Enough about Oscar,” she says. “I feel like we’ve been talking about me this whole time. Tell me more about you and Will. You’re like, I don’t know, some sort of golden couple.”
No denying that’s the image we project.
“I think when you find the right person, it just works,” I say. I refuse to give her so much as a single tidbit of information. She doesn’t need to know the key ingredients to my proprietary marital recipe. No doubt she’d use them to her advantage if she ever had the opportunity.
“Well, that’s boring,” she teases. “What did you like most about him when you first met?” she asks. “What was your first impression? Ilivefor these stories.”
The afternoon light shifts, turning golden and soft. But before this conversation has a chance to get off the ground, the sound of the front door opening pulls me from my thoughts. Will steps out onto the patio a minute later, Jackson trailing behind him. Georgie skips close behind.
My perfect little family has perfect timing.
“Hey.” Will grins when he spots us.
My dashing husband looks especially handsome today—dark khakis and a merlot-colored polo that clings in all the right places andmakes his blue eyes appear bluer. He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper temples, his eyes scanning the yard until they return to us.
Mara sits up a little straighter, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. She unfastens her swimsuit wrap with a flick of her fingers, letting it fall off her hips to reveal her lithe, toned legs. The move is as obvious as it is intentional.
I catch a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes as Will’s gaze shifts—just for a second—before he turns back to me. There’s no sense of enjoyment on his face, much to my relief. If anything, he seems momentarily speechless.
Mara stretches her arms over her head, her bikini top shifting just enough to make her cleavage distractingly noticeable.
