Page 53 of Circle of Strangers
“—should be satisfying because that’s exactly where people like her belong,” I say. “That’s where they put people who hurt others, the ones who think the law doesn’t apply to them.”
He groans. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” I cock my head and give him an incredulous smile. “Youcan’thurt me. No one can. But you lost my trust. My respect, too.”
His dark brows knit as worry lines spread across his forehead. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Surely we can fix it?”
“I’m done talking about this,” I say, throat tight. “Good night, Will.”
“Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath as he storms down the hall. The door to the guest room slams behind him, rattling the walls. Never mind that the children are sleeping.
I stand there, staring at the empty doorway, my heart pounding against my ribs. I should feel victorious—like I’ve won this argument, like I’ve put him in his place.
But I don’t.
Instead, I feel like I’ve lost my footing, like I’ve just opened a door I can’t close—I have no idea what’s waiting for me on the other side.
Locking the door behind him, I make my way to bed, and before I close my eyes, I remind myself that my entire life, I’ve always landed on my feet—and that’s not about to change now.
41
“So, when do I get to meet Ezra?” I ask the next morning. With everything that came to light about Will yesterday, home is the last place I wanted to be. Stewing and pacing won’t change what he did, but clearing my head with a little distraction in the form of Sozi Hahn might keep me from going over the edge—which will prevent me from making rash decisions.
I take in Sozi’s living room as I sip my coffee. She talks about him so much I feel like I know him, yet I’ve never seen proof of his existence. “Also, how do you keep your house so spotless with a little guy? Jackson can destroy our family room in under sixty seconds flat.”
No stray toys, no colorful messes, nothing to indicate a child has ever set foot in here, let alone lives here. The couch pillows are perfectly fluffed, the books on the shelves neatly lined up, and not a single LEGO or Matchbox car in sight.
Sozi waves her hand toward a wall of built-in storage, her gold bracelets jangling.
“All his toys go in there when he’s not using them. Austin hates visual clutter.” She rolls her eyes. “So I make sure everything is put away before he comes home. He can’t stand stuff lying around. It makes him irritable. You know those OCD types ...”
I’d think a highly educated, modern-day woman would know the difference between “OCD” and “anal,” but I bite my tongue.
I glance around the open living room and toward the kitchen, casually scanning the space for a family photo, but there are none in sight.
“Who does Ezra look like more? You or Austin?” I figure it’s better than straight-up asking why she doesn’t have any photos on display. She loves her kid so much she placed her career on ice to raise this child—she doesn’t want to plaster his face where anyone can see it?
“Oh, you want to see pictures? We’ve got a gallery wall in the hallway by the bedroom. Austin doesn’t like a lot of things on the walls.” She rolls her eyes again. “I have to pick my battles with that man.”
If I’m getting this straight, first he petitioned for her to quit her professor job to stay home and raise their kid, but he wants their home to appear as if they don’t even have him—and on top of that, he won’t let her hang pictures of the kid anywhere? I didn’t spend much time with Austin at the party, but he seemed nice. Basic and boring, if anything. An average suburban, run-of-the-mill, middle-aged white guy.
Then again, you truly never know what people are like behind closed doors—a fact I know all too well.
Sozi leans back on the couch, crossing her legs under her.
“I promise, Ezra exists,” she says with a playful grin. “I’ll text you some pictures later.”
“Just let me know when we can get the kids together.” I sip my coffee, letting the silence settle for a beat before asking, “What’s Austin been up to lately? I feel like I haven’t seen him around for a minute.”
She releases an exaggerated sigh, her gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“He’s in Dallas for work. He’s been there all week.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “He travels a lot. Half the time, I feel like a single mom.”
It makes sense why she’s so desperate for attention, for interaction, why she peers out her window watching Saguaro Circle like it’s her own personal reality show. She’s stuck at home with a kid who’s in school most of the time and a husband who travels for work. It’d be enough to make even the sanest person a little nutty.
“What about you? How are things with Will?” she asks.
The mug is suddenly too warm for my palms, so I place my coffee on a nearby coaster. I would never tell her about our fight last night. That’s no one’s business, especially not hers.
