Page 6 of Circle of Strangers
Since leaving his job as an anesthesiologist, there are no longer hospital administrators to deal with. No on-call hours. He’s significantly less stressed. And we have much more time together as a family. It’s been an adjustment having him home so much, but it’s also been a reprieve. I imagine he feels the same.
Arizona, so far, has been a breath of fresh air.
Dry, hot air.
But fresh air nonetheless.
“Will,” I call out, trotting to the bedroom where he’s emptying the contents of his pockets onto the nightstand. “I can’t believe I forgot to mention this earlier in the week, but the Hahns next door invited us to a little neighborhood cookout ... and it’s tonight.”
While I’m secretly thrilled to get out of our sushi dinner plans, I prepare myself for his disappointment. The man rarely asks for anything.
“Oh.” He lifts his brows as if this is a pleasant surprise to him. “That sounds nice actually. It’s probably not a bad idea to get to know some people around here.”
“Right? That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I say, matching his energy.
Will cracks a half smile before leaning in to steal another kiss. He’s been overly affectionate lately, which I’ve been correlating to his less-demanding work schedule. That and in a strange way, being here feels like vacation so far, like we’re a world away from reality. The sensation will fade once the newness wears off, but for now it’s kind of nice.
After everything happened with Jacqueline, I expected to see a more vulnerable side of Will. His mother worshipped the ground hewalked on for over three decades, then turned out to be a deplorable, manipulative, calculating excuse for a human being. And it all happened so quickly ... Jacqueline going to jail, the no-contact order, the cross-state move.
Instead, Will’s handling it almost too well.
That or he hasn’t fully processed it yet.
I hesitate to bring it up because things have been going so great, though it’s only a matter of time before we have to address the elephant in the room. While I’m capable of numbing myself to the hardest of life’s emotions, Will isn’t.
“Thought I’d pick up the kids for you today since I’m home early.” Will checks his phone for a moment, pausing to read a text before slipping it into his pocket. “Should I stop by the store and grab something to take over?”
“That would be amazing. Maybe a nice bottle of cab sav?” I lift my brows and bite a smile as I mention his personal favorite wine. Part of being the perfect Mrs. Prescott is knowing everything he loves and pretending to love it, too. It’s why our marriage has always been so wonderful.
There’s no friction.
No tension.
Everyone’s happy.
Everyone’s getting exactly what they want.
“Consider it done.” He gives me a spirited wink before strutting off, and it occurs to me that while Will has always been a generally pleasant man, I’ve never known him to be in a constant state of exuberance, conducting himself like a twentysomething, giddy-in-love schoolboy getting laid on the regular.
I rattle that ridiculous fictional notion from my mind.
Will wouldnever.
But watching my husband calmly weave around the room, a near-smile on his agreeable expression, I can’t help but picture a ticking time bomb.
3
After Will leaves the room, I’m sifting through the stack of mail he left on the counter when I come across a slender white envelope with no return address—exactly like the one we received shortly after we moved in.
My heart stutters but I waste no time ripping it open, where a folded card stock letter waits to greet me.
My Gabrielle—
Your birthday is coming up, and I can’t help but think about the ones I’ve missed since you left. I can only hope that you’re happy, healthy, and loved. It’s all a mother could want for her child. Just know I’ll be thinking about you on your special day.
There’s no signed name at the bottom, but once again, the erratic, tangled penmanship is unmistakably Lucinda’s, and only Lucinda would include the word “my” before my birth name—a direct insinuation that I belong to her, a not-so-subtle attempt for my psychotic birth mother to burrow under my skin.
I’ve spent the last thirteen years evading this woman. The fact that she found me ... here ... is as infuriating as it is a problem. At seventeen, after a lifetime of torture and abuse at her hands, I attemptedto drown her. And she would’ve drowned had she not woken up in a gasping fit of rage, threatening to kill me if she ever saw me again.
