Page 8 of Circle of Strangers
Taking a deep breath, I steady the storm of thoughts twisting around in my head.
I know Will inside and out, better than anyone else possibly could. He’s been chipper lately, but that’s only because things are going exceptionally well for us after a stressful couple of months. He’s only smiling because that’s what he does now. He’s happy and he smiles. Constantly. It’s as simple of an explanation as that.
Still, Sozi’s words linger in the nighttime desert air, and a whisper of doubt trails down my spine.
“She’s pretty,” I say, because it’s true and it’s much nicer than what I really want to say. That and I don’t trust Sozi not to repeat things. If she’s going to gossip about me, the last thing I want is to come across as petty or insecure.
“Pretty dangerous,” Sozi replies, nudging her shoulder against mine like we’re girlfriends who’ve known one another much longer than a week. “I have a feeling you’re too smart for her games, though.”
Lucinda would eat Sozi for the sheer sport of it.
I could, too, if I wanted to—but I won’t.
“Honestly, she’s not Will’s type.” Before Will met me, he’d only had two somewhat serious girlfriends. I stumbled across their photos at his parents’ house once. Strangely they didn’t look too different from me.
She tilts her head, her dark eyes twinkling like she knows a secret I don’t. “Oh, sweet girl, men don’t have types. That’s just a myth. AllI’m saying is she can be very persuasive when she wants something. Just be aware.”
Sweet girl?She’s being condescendingandtrying to pit me against a complete stranger.
I let it go—for now.
Across the yard, Austin lets out a distractingly loud laugh, clapping Will on the back. From here, the two of them look like they’ve known each other for years, not hours. It’s uncanny, the ease with which my husband blends in here. Almost like we’ve always been a part of this cul-de-sac club and not the new kids on the block. I, however, still feel like an outsider. While it isn’t something that bothers me in the least, I should probably do a better job at fitting in and projecting normalcy.
“How was Ezra?” I change the subject. “Is he feeling better?”
Sozi’s expression falters just a touch before she masks it with a bright smile.
“He’ll be fine,” she says, her voice a shade too casual. “Just a little bug. I’m sure he’ll be back to his rambunctious self by tomorrow. You know how kids are.”
“That I do.”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” she says once more, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “But he’s miserable missing out on all this fun. He’d just love Georgiana and Jackson.”
“I’m sure they’d feel the same about him, too,” I say, though I have no idea if that’s true. My kids tend to like about anyone close to their age—but Sozi hasn’t even mentioned Ezra’s age.
“So, how are you liking Arizona so far?” Sozi’s question pulls me back. She’s watching me intently, like she’s genuinely curious about my answer, or maybe like she’s searching for something beneath the surface of my reply. That or she simply wants validation that this istheplace to live. People were like that when we moved to San Diego, too—they wanted me to gush about how great it was.
“It’s been a nice change. Hotter than we’re used to, but a fresh start is exactly what we needed.”
Her lips bend into a smile that’s both warm and knowing. “A fresh start can do wonders. New faces, new places, new beginnings. It’s like shedding your old skin, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience?”
Before Sozi has a chance to answer, Mara’s laughter drifts over again, and I look up to spot her leaning toward Will again, fingers grazing the hem of her cutoff shorts. Will says something, and she throws her head back, the last of the day’s sun catching the gold streaks in her hair as she does. Something about this scene stirs a familiar itch under my skin. It takes all the energy I have left to tamp it down to a more manageable level. For a mere moment, I grip my wineglass so hard, it could shatter in my hand.
I turn back to Sozi, who’s watching me with a hint of amusement, like she’s imagining the maelstrom of thoughts running through my head. She clearly enjoys stirring the pot, which might explain her desperation. No one wants to be friends with someone like that.
She leans closer, her voice low. “Mara may seem harmless, but she’s a shark. And the key with sharks is when they start to circle, you have to know how to scare them off.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, because I refuse to be. “Will’s not going anywhere.”
After Will learned about my hidden past and my personality disorder, he easily could’ve taken an out and bailed on our marriage, but he chose not to. If anything, he doubled down on his commitment to me by professing his appreciation for my actions, staying by my side, and picking our family over his mother’s inappropriate behavior.
I think back to earlier in the day, that little creeping doubt that plagued my thoughts all because Will seemed overly happy.
Of course he’s happy.
Weare happy.
