The Magnolia Affair (11 page)

I buried my head again, letting the sobs rise. They surfaced, crowding my throat, choking the air from my lungs. Spencer was dead and my lover was in the living room. Alive.

“Audrey, is there someone I can call for you?” He was at my side. “Audrey?”

I was hyperventilating, struggling for air. Sucking in the heat of the blanket. I wished it would cover me, take me into the darkness.

“Audrey!” Paxton shook me. “She’s in shock,” he called to the officers.

I closed my eyes and stopped fighting. I didn’t want the air or the light.

I
t was a nice service. That was what everyone kept telling me. The flowers were lovely. The sermon beautiful. Spencer would have loved it. Why do people make idiotic statements like that? No one would enjoy his funeral. His mother hadn’t let go of my hand since we left the church. She clutched it, her white knuckles almost blue from the grip.

I watched as he was lowered into the ground. The minister nodded when it was turn to throw a rose on the casket. I stood and walked to the edge of the pit that would swallow my husband. Red. It was a red rose.

I turned, finding my seat, but glanced up by accident. I knew better than to look around. He was there in the back of the crowd. His sunglasses masked his expression. I couldn’t stop him from showing up. I sat next to my mother-in-law, letting her make indentations in my skin.

A car took us home after the graveside ceremony. The driver walked us to the door before the mourners descended upon us.

I couldn’t escape the flowers. The smell of them invaded my nostrils, and seeped into all the cracks in the house. Sympathy flowers. Your-husband-is-dead flowers. Your-husband-was-murdered flowers. I slammed the bedroom door behind me.

“Audrey, come on. Let me in. It’s Avery.”

I cracked the door enough to let my sister see my face. “What is it?”

“I can hide out with you back here. No one would blame us.” She squeezed in through the opening. “Spencer’s mom has lots of friends out there.”

“Mmmhmm.” I sat on the edge of the bed.

“There’s a ton of food. Want me to bring you a plate?”

“Not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat,” she cautioned.

“Why? There’s no point.” Our wedding picture mocked me from the dresser. The pure whiteness of my dress was nauseating.

Avery put an arm around me. It seemed like she was the older sister, instead of my twenty-four-year-old sibling. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly in a bun.

“Don’t say that. It’s not going to be today, but you’re going to want food again. You need to keep up your strength. I’ll bring crackers.”

I nodded. “All right. As long as it’s you and not mom. I can’t take the way she looks at me. Don’t let her back here.”

“I won’t. I’ll tell everyone you’re resting. Don’t worry about them. I’ll be back with crackers and water.”

“Wine,” I instructed.

She paused at the door. “Wine. Got it.” She closed the door behind her.

I fell back on the bed, the pillows scattering around me.

The ruin was tangible. Cold and porous, hanging around me, making me shiver, drowning out light. Hot showers didn’t suffocate it. Nights of pill-induced sleep didn’t ward it off. Visitors and flowers only masked it. It was always there, lurking in every picture I saw of Spencer. It took up residence in our bed. My life was ruined.

I heard the door lock. “That was fast.” I sat up when I saw him.

“What are you doing in here? Get out!” I hissed.

Paxton stood against the door. “I needed to see if you’re ok.”

“My husband is dead. I’m not ok.” I glared at him.

“Let me hire security for you. Let me do something.”

“Get out, Pax.” I recoiled at the way I used his nickname. It reminded me of how familiar we were with each other.

“You can hate me. But, there is someone out there who killed Spencer. Let me hire a bodyguard. Install a security system. Something.”

“My sister is going to be back. Get out. I don’t want anyone to see you near me.” My jaw clenched, gritting my teeth.

“We have to talk. Just get some rest. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He closed the door behind him.

I threw a pillow at the door and screamed. I couldn’t see him and not remember.

It had only been a few days. At night, I would crawl into bed, gulping water to wash down the pills that promised to help me sleep. At first the dreams lulled me to sleep. I would see Spence. We would talk about our summer mountain vacation. He apologized he had been too busy with the Columbia trips to take me this year. And I would tease him, saying he could make it up to me with a big cruise or trip to Venice. As dreams do, this one would move from scene to scene without warning.

I’d grab a suitcase and start to pack, laughing and planning outfits, but when I turned around, Spence was lying on the bed. His face splattered with blood. It pooled down his body and soaked the sheet. He lay there limp, his eyes lifeless, and his skin cold. The car was smashed and crammed through the wall of our bedroom. The shards of glass from the windshield cut into my feet. Each step I took shot pain through my body as the glass buried deeper in my skin. It was moving in my body as if each piece had come to life in my veins.

I’d begin to scream, calling his name, begging for help and then I’d bend down, desperate to tear the glass from my feet, and would see Pax under me, guiding me, rocking my hips over his. The car and Spence were gone. I was on my bed with Pax. He’d tell me to keep screaming louder. He liked it loud. He said the louder I was, the harder it made him. I’d start sweating and screaming his name until eventually I awoke, my shirt drenched and my heart racing.

The dreams came whether I dozed off on the couch or went to the bed for the night. I couldn’t stop them. Pax popping in my room like that only reminded me more of what I had done to Spence. He reminded me I would see them both the next time I fell asleep.

I hugged a pillow to my chest and waited for my sister. I could hear the neighbors talking in the living room. The sound of china clinking as people ate funeral food made me want to gag.

She tiptoed in.

“Lock it.” I pointed at the door.

“I don’t think anyone is going to barge in here. They know you need a little space right now.”

“Lock it.”

“All right. All right.” She twisted the lock. “Spencer’s mom is asking for you.”

I shook my head. “I can’t handle her right now.”

“I think it makes her feel better to see you,” Avery offered. “She doesn’t have any other kids, Audrey.”

“I’m not her kid.” I grabbed the wine from her and slung half of it back. It slid down my throat and I closed my eyes. Something had to make me forget.

“Maybe you two could help each other. That’s all I’m saying. You both lost him.”

“No one can help me.”

“But there are so many people who want to. Mom and I are here. All your friends are out there. Teachers from your school. The women from your book club. You have a big support circle.”

“I just want to be alone.” I placed the empty wineglass next to the bed.

“Are you sure? I can stay back here awhile until you fall asleep.”

“That’s ok. I sleep better alone.”

She walked to the door. “You can text me if you need something. I’ll keep my phone on me and no one will even know. Ok?”

I nodded.

Avery left the plate of crackers next to the bed. I didn’t touch them, but I emerged when I was ready for another glass of wine. I was certain there was no way Paxton would still be in my house. The crowd had mostly dispersed. I crept to the kitchen, hopeful I could refill my glass and sneak back to my room.

“Sweetheart, you’re out.” My mother was washing dishes.

I nodded. “Refill.”

“Did you eat something? Avery said she fixed a plate for you.”

“I did,” I lied. It seemed to come easily to me now.

She eyed the glass of wine in my hand. “We talked and Avery is going to stay with you this week. I’ll come next week if you want. We’ll just set up a rotation as long as you need us.”

“No. I’m fine alone.” I needed to suffer in a quiet, dark house.

Avery walked through the kitchen, her arms full of dirty plates. “Bag is here. Stuff in the guest room. I’m staying.”

If I had to pick one person, Avery was the most agreeable. She would give me space. “All right.” I trudged back to my bedroom.

The next morning, I walked to the kitchen to find my sister sitting at the table with the paper in front of her.

“Hey.” She smiled meekly.

“Hey.” I scooped grounds into the coffee pot and hit brew.

“Not sure about this, but you should read this article.” She handed the paper to me. “It’s about Spencer’s death.”

I skimmed the article. There was a rundown on the events from Tuesday’s accident. There was a picture of Spencer, the one the law firm had given the press. He looked handsome in his suit, but stiff. It wasn’t how I remembered him. I folded the paper; I couldn’t read the speculations.

Then I saw the front page. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Avery asked.

“The front page. It’s about Paxton.”

“The guy running for state senate? He lives over there, right? I met him yesterday.”

“Yeah, that’s him.” I stared at the story. I searched. I turned the page. Where was the big expose? The incriminating piece on the ski weekend and abortion cover up?

“I read some of it. Sounds like a nice guy. He really wants to make a difference.”

“Uh-huh.” They had done it. It was taken care of, just as Paxton said they would. His people. They had kept it out of the paper. It made me sick to think about that night he divulged his secrets to me. How I sat and listened, worried and concerned for him.

“What is it?” Avery pushed a plate of toast in front of me.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

I couldn’t drag my sister into this. There may have been a time when she would have listened to my story about Paxton. I could have explained how the relationship started, feeding her romantic morsels, leading her to support me. But, that was before Spence died. No one would understand. They would look at me as if I were a whore. A greedy, slutty wife who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. I fucked another man. I was a monster.