Page 88 of The New Year's Party
Then they sat in silence. They heard Doug leave the house. Shortly after, they heard Olivia from the hall, calling out for Bennett and pounding on their door. Hellie made a motion to Will not to move, so he just closed his eyes and lay there.
When the police arrived, Will could hardly bear to look them in the eyes. If they asked him anything about the state of his marriage with Jenn, he would crack. He could feel it.
Then Doug exploded, and as Will listened to his bizarre confession, he slowly realized that somehow, salvation had found him. Unexpected, as salvation often is.
Will took his last sip of coffee as he entered the city limits of Indianapolis. The sun was coming up. Only now was he remembering the gun hanging from Hellie’s hand. Will never did ask her why she had the gun, or what she meant to do with it.
At this point, it didn’t matter.
What mattered for all of them was moving forward.
“God,” he breathed out loud. He hadn’t prayed in so long. Will let his name hang in the air for a while, trying to feel any hint of his presence. Any hint of comfort or reassurance. Anything.
Finally, he spoke again. “I don’t know how to do any of this. Help.”
He kept on driving. He didn’t sense any divine guidance. That’s okay, he didn’t expect to. And then...
You let someone take the fall for you. You just sat there and let everyone cover for you.
The cold voice snaked up his spine. Not God... Jenn. Sneering.
Not man enough to step up. Not man enough to face your problems.
Will’s heart slammed in his chest. He darted a glance at the passenger seat. Of course it was empty.
This isn’t a fresh start, Will. Don’t delude yourself. This is the part where it really gets fun, because you killed me, and now I get to hold that over you forever.
“No!” he shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. He accidentally swerved in his lane and a car behind him honked.
Doug is in jail because you didn’t have enough courage to stand up and take accountability.Her words bit, deep and hard.You’re passive, Will. A passive nothing of a man.
His body clenched.
No, no, no. He wasn’t who Jenn said—she didn’t get to define him, accuse him—
Youpathetic, bland, weak—
“Shut up!” he screamed, shaking his head viciously, as if to throw her out, even as his trembling hands struggled to keep the car steady. As his head shook, it felt like she was slapping him, back and forth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” he roared.
Silence fell suddenly. It felt violent after all his noise. He released a whimper. His heartbeat was wild, his eyes hot and pulsing like they were going to pop out of his skull—
He took a right turn. A shaky breath. Looked at the passenger seat. Empty... and quiet. Had he purged her? Shouted her down, shaken her out? Was she gone?
He had to fill the space, right away, so she didn’t talk again—
“Mackenzie,” Will said desperately. “Tessa. Vivi. Mackenzie...”
Over and over, he repeated their names.Raise them and love them with everything you’ve got.Will was all they had now. He couldn’t let himself fall apart—he couldn’t let guilt corrode what was left—couldn’t let Jenn whisper her venom any longer—
He was still soundlessly murmuring the girls’ names as he pulled into the driveway next to his mother-in-law’s minivan, sweaty and sick.
Through the windshield, he looked up at Mackenzie’s bigsecond-story picture window and the early sun rays reflecting off it. The same window Mackenzie looked through five years ago, watching her mom leave in the middle of the night to burn down Phelps’s restaurant.
As Will opened the car door, his gaze flitted once more to the passenger seat and he thought of the Jenn that social media knew. The Jenn who briefly blinked to life again in the statements they all gave to the police.Jenn was a sweet, dear friend... Jenn was an awesome mom... So blessed to have her for a wife...
He slammed the car door. Their statements would fit right in on her Facebook wall.
Let her have it. The good opinion of the world. The perfect image. Even the beautiful eulogy he would have to write for her funeral.
