Page 45 of Circle of Strangers
“And Oscar?” I press. “How’s he taking you being back?”
Mara shifts her weight, rubbing her arms like she’s cold even though the sun is warm. “He’s been overly nice. Which is ... weird. We haven’t talked about the dating app thing yet. I think we’re both pretending it didn’t happen.”
My gaze narrows. “That’s a lot to pretend away.”
Her mouth twitches into a small, humorless smirk. “We’ve gotten pretty good at pretending over the years. It’s kind of what we do best.”
I don’t tell her we have that in common.
“While you were gone, I talked to Oscar,” I say.
Mara’s eyes sharpen, but she keeps her expression neutral. “Oh?”
“He said that you weren’t exactly faithful either. That surprised me given what you told me before.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Oscar says a lot of things.”
Well aware.
“I don’t know either of you well enough to know who to believe.” I pause. “But I do know before you left, you’d been flirting with my husband.”
Mara’s gaze flickers, and she leans back slightly, the edge of a smirk playing at her lips. “Oh.That’swhat this is about.”
“No. This is about boundaries.” I keep my voice calm but firm. “I’m glad you’re back and that you’re safe. But from now on, you and Oscar are to stay away from my family. From Will. From me. We’re neighbors, but we’re not friends. We want nothing to do with ...this. With your dysfunction and impulsivity. Is that understood?”
If she and Will are having an affair, if I decide to let him go and not ruin him the way I so easily could, it’ll bemydecision and onmytimeline—not hers.
Mara blinks. If anything, she seems amused. “You think I’m a threat to your marriage?”
“I think you’re a liar,” I say, fueled by the fact that she isn’t taking me seriously. “And you make terrible choices in life. You’re weak. And quite frankly, you’re not that bright either.”
My cruel words roll off my tongue with frightening ease.
I could keep going, but I force myself to stop when her eyes grow glassy. If she gets emotional, she won’t hear what I’m trying to say and I want to make sure she’s listening, that my message is received loud and clear.
Mara studies me. “I thought we were really hitting it off, and I was looking forward to being neighbors. I’m sorry you feel this way.”
We stand for a moment, the deafening quiet between us heavy with things unsaid. Then, without warning, the beginnings of her tears dry up and she shrugs, like none of this really matters to her.
“Good talk, Camille.” Her tone is a blend of sarcasm and contempt, and her blue gaze now sparkles with a mix of amusement and victory before she disappears inside her house, slamming the door in my face.
As I head home, I settle onto the living room sofa and return my attention to Will’s phone, and I spend the next several hours poring through every file, every photo album, every text message, every email, and every note.
The thread between him and “M” is the only damning thing I can find.
Thumb hovering over the contact card, I tap the Google number and put the call on speaker.
It rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Will, hi,” a woman’s voice answers.
But it isn’t Mara.
It’s a voice I’d know anywhere—one that should still be locked up in a county jail right now, not answering a cell phone.
