Page 55 of Playing Along
“This is going to be fun!” Lucy exclaims with a clap of her hands. “Touring a mansion like there’s actually a chance one of us could live here!”
We all step out of the car.
“Text me when you’re finished,” Jack tells them. “Or I’ll text you if we finish first.”
“Sounds good,” Emily agrees. Lucy is busy ogling the house and Mel is back to pursing her lips repeatedly, giving me the impression of a human jack-in-the-box that just needs one more turn of the handle before it bursts out.
“Don’t worry,” Emily follows my gaze. “I’ll keep an eye on Mel.”
“We should go,” Jack tells me. “Officer Moore could show up anytime.”
I nod and the two of us set off down the sidewalk toward Ian’s house.
“Are you doing okay?” Jack asks me as we walk. “Are you sure you can handle this conversation we’re about to have?”
“No,” I reply honestly; my palms have gone clammy and my heart is beating far too fast, “but we have to talk to her, right? Figure out what she knows before she talks to the police, so we can come up with excuses for whatever it is.”
Jack nods. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, “but yes.”
I shrug, trying to appear more composed than I feel. “Then there’s no point in wondering whether or not I can handle the conversation, is there?”
Jack stops walking, tugging me to a stop by my elbow. “The point of checking in was to let you know that you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, Nora. This is scary as hell. A nightmare come to life.” He blows out a long breath as he scans my face. “And although I may not be able to make this particular monster go away, I can at least help you fight it.”
I will myself not to cry at his words. I have to hold it together. Not trusting myself to speak with my emotions so close to the surface, I just nod in response.
Don’t even say thank you.
Or tell him that all of the monsters in my life seem smaller with him by my side.
Jack rakes a hand through his hair as he turns away from me and starts for the Wharfman’s house again. I skitter forward, hurrying to catch up with him and feeling like an idiot for not being able to communicate any sort of truths with this man.
People say the truth will set you free, but what if I don’t want to be set free from this man?
“Here goes nothing,” Jack says as we reach the front door. He presses the doorbell and I hear it chime through the house. I drag in a breath and as I exhale Jack’s hand slides into mine, comforting me without words.
Why is he such a good man?
This fake marriage would be so much easier if he wasn’t.
“Coming, darling!” a female voice calls from inside the house.
The door swings open a few seconds later, and Connie Wharfman stands before us looking outrageously expensive in an outfit that I could swear I saw in one of the issues of Vogue magazine I flipped through at one of my vendor’s medical offices last week. Her hair and makeup are impeccable as well and, though it falters when she sees the two of us standing there instead of whichever darling she was expecting, her wide smile pops quickly back into place. Basically nothing about her screams, my husband just got murdered!
Which could very well be because she doesn’t know yet. But still, hasn’t she at least noticed he’s missing?
Unless she doesn’t care.
That’s a sobering thought. To get to the point in a marriage where you don’t care whether or not your spouse comes home at night…not exactly what anyone imagines for themselves going into marriage.
My eyes flit to Jack, and my stomach turns at the very thought of him not coming home at night.
Which is ridiculous. We’ve been married for approximately two hours. I’ve never even experienced what it's like to have him come home at night.
The thing is—I don’t have to experience it to know how wonderful it would be. Coming home to Jack or having Jack come home to me…that sounds like the epitome of cozy perfection. Like that moment you sit down next to a roaring fire and the heat shoves away the cold. Or the feeling you get when you sit down at a table surrounded by your family. Or the all-encompassing warmth of a hug from a loved one. Or the softness of your pillow as you settle down for the night.
Jack is fire and family. He’s a warm hug and a soft place to land. He’s—no. No, no, no. I shake my head, pulling the plug on this dangerous line of thinking.
These are the thoughts of a woman in love, and I refuse to be in love with my husband.