Page 72 of Circle of Strangers
“I didn’t say Iwouldpin it on you,” he says. “I said I’ve taken precautions to protect our family. There’s a difference.”
I shake my head, disbelief washing over me. I’m not mincing words with him. I know exactly what he said and exactly what he meant.
“How exactly do you plan on pinning it on me?” I ask. “I was with the kids the entire time.”
Will leans back against the pillows, his expression cool.
“I’ve got it figured out,” he says. “I hope you understand that I can’t reveal all my cards.”
His words are laced with arrogance. I search his face, trying to decide if he’s bluffing. But the thing about Will is, I wouldn’t know what bluffing looks like on him. He’s never had to bluff before. He’s always been a straight shooter—or so I mistakenly believed.
He’s thought this through, every step. I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to slip, or if he’s already set the trap and is just watching to see when I’ll step into it.
Instead, I pull the mask over my face, the one I’ve worn for years. I smile—small, careful, measured. “I understand. I’d do the same thing in your shoes.”
And it’s true.
I would.
I’d do it ten times worse, though.
He’s a rookie.
His posture turns relaxed, like a man who’s won some small victory.
“Good.” He reaches, pulling me close. “You know I love you, right? And I’m doing this for us.”
I do know that—Will reminds me every chance he gets.
“We’re lucky to have you,” I practically coo into his ear as I wrap my arms around him tight. He all but melts against me. “And I can’t wait until we right this ship.”
55
I leave my phone on the kitchen counter, tucked beneath a stack of unopened mail. Will tracks my every move now, and I need just one day—one day—without his watchful eye.
The consignment shops that give cash on the spot are few and far between, scattered across town, hole-in-the-wall places crammed with clothes and shoes that smell faintly of mothballs, perfume, and time. I wander through each one, handing over whatever I can: Georgie’s ballet flats from last year, a few higher-end boutique dresses she’s already outgrown, Jackson’s like-new Nike sneakers, and some of my own upscale pieces—things I haven’t worn since San Diego.
They won’t be missed. Will never notices what we wear. He doesn’t do laundry; he doesn’t know the inventory of our closets.
At every shop, I act cordial and friendly, attempting to look natural, but my heart pounds with every item they toss in the “buy” pile. I watch the numbers climb on the register in each store, only for the final payout to fall short of what I need.
When the sun dips low on the horizon, I’m left with a handful of cash: $287. It’s wrinkled and pitiful in my wallet, but it’s enough for two tanks of gas, some gas station meals, maybe a dingy motel for a couple of nights.
But I still have no plan. No one to run to.
Without real money, I wouldn’t be able to keep us hidden for long. I could drive somewhere, sure, but Will would find us. Eventually.
I swallow the knot forming in my throat, push my grave concerns down for now, and pick up the kids from school. They chatter happily in the back seat, oblivious to the storm cloud gathering inside me.
When we pull into the driveway, I find Will standing in front of the house, talking to Mara and Oscar.
A week ago, my vision would’ve blurred red at this sight.
Now? I’m just annoyed. What’s his angle? What’s he trying to accomplish? Is he arrogant ... or just plain stupid?
After what he did, he shouldn’t be talking to anyone—especially loose cannons like the Morenos. Besides, Will and I still have yet to discuss the dating app thing. Strangely, it’s as if he’s been going out of his way to avoid the conversation altogether, and with everything going on, I’m not about to open another can of worms.
I park and tell the kids to head inside, giving them an absent smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. Strolling over, I maintain a dignified posture.
