Page 41 of Thicker Than Water
Maeve stares at us both, apparently blindsided by Jason’s secrecy. And there’s something almost funny about that. Shouldn’t she know how easily my husband keeps things from me?
“He— My store, I—” she stutters. “After I told Jason how I caught Gavin in the warehouse that night, and how Gavin—how he cornered me after, talking about that dream, Jason told me I should quit. That I should stay away from Gavin. And I told him I’d love to quit, I’d wanted to for a while anyway so I could start my store, but I didn’t have the money to make that happen yet.”
“SoJasongave you the money?” Sienna asks, incredulous. But then she straightens in her chair, as if buoyed by a thought. “Actually, you know what? That’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that actually sounds like him.”
Sienna’s right. Jason’s always rushing to people’s rescue. I just never imagined that him helping someone else would end up hurting me.
But even as that thought crosses my mind, I’m wondering if it might not be true. I think of Aiden’s fifth birthday party, the one Jason missed because he was at the hospital with the hit-and-run victim. As he explained his absence to me on the phone, I couldn’t understand it. The woman was going to be fine; she’d already made her police report, he’d already made his own statement, so why did he need to be there with her? After I hung up, still confused, unsatisfied, Sienna said it was “so sweet” of Jason to stay with the woman, deemed the whole thing “exactly like him,” but I remember watching Aiden tear into presents, gobble down cake, with something cold and cloying in my stomach, like the sick, sticky feeling of eating too much ice cream.
And that’s not the only example. On our tenth anniversary, Jason and I had to forfeit our fancy reservation—one we’d had to book weeks in advance, one with only a tiny grace period for tardiness—because, on the way there, Jason stopped to change a woman’s flat tire.It’s okay, the woman said, seeing Jason’s suit, the shoes he’d recently shined.I can call for roadside assistance. But Jason insisted it was no problem, he’d do it himself, and I watched him from our parked car, love and frustration drumming inside me on different beats. Afterward, we attempted to salvage the night by ordering takeout, lighting candles, dancing in the kitchen. And it was then, Jason’s hand on the small of my back, that he told me about the account he’d opened for our second honeymoon.I want to dance with you in as many countries as I can, he said—a moment so sweet it rendered the missed reservation just a blip in our celebration.
Now, I sway on Maeve’s couch, other memories pushing to the front of my mind: the morning Jason shoveled our elderly neighbor’s driveway, even though I needed the extra hand with ours to make it to a meeting on time; the day he didn’t show up to Aiden’s parent/teacher conference because his co-worker needed a last-minute ride to the airport. Where once there were separate, distinct anecdotes,I see now a constellation of behavior. Jason is desperate to rescue people, even if it’s to the detriment of his own family.
And what about him rushing to propose to me as soon as I got pregnant? Is that what the start of our family was to him—a way for Jason to rescue me?
“He told me he talked it over with you,” Maeve says. “That you agreed to lend me the money. I wrote a thank-you card for him to give to you, but—I’m guessing you never got it?”
I shake my head, covering my mouth against a wave of nausea.
How many betrayals is this now? I’m quickly losing count. And I’m not sure how to manage it all at once: not just Jason’s cheating—which has already cut me to the bone—but his lies, too, each one a layer of secrecy he built around the truth.
“Wait,” Sienna says to me. “Jason took ten thousand dollars out of your account, and you never even noticed?”
I bristle at that, the implication that it was my fault for missing it. But I know she’s struggling, same as I am, to understand how Jason could be this man: duplicitous and cruel.
“I noticed.” My voice is small, barely a shard of sound. “But when I questioned it, he— I guess he lied to me. He told me someone talked him into a bad investment. And when I told him to get the money back, he said he couldn’t, because the person he gave it to had screwed him over.”
Maeve’s eyes bulge. “I didn’t screw him over.”
“No, you just screwed him.”
Sienna’s comeback is quick and vicious, like a cat batting a mouse. Maeve’s gaze darts to her lap, instantly chastened, but it’s me who feels the swipe of Sienna’s claws.
Fighting more nausea, I grip the arm of the couch—a move that draws Sienna’s attention. She’s at my side in less than a second, blanketing her hand over mine: “Jules, are you okay?”
I don’t respond, but she nods as if I had; she can read my posture, my grimace, the room: of course I’m not okay.
“You did this to her,” Sienna says, whipping her head toward Maeve. “She’s only ever been kind to you, and this is how you repay her, by sleeping with her husband? Did you eventhinkabout her that night?”
“No,” Maeve says without hesitation. “I wasn’t thinking at all. I was only acting.”
“Yeah, acting like a—”
Whatever insult Sienna’s about to hurl is cut off by a shrill ring. Maeve frowns toward the entryway, then scurries away to answer the door.
Out of sight, there’s the rumble of a man’s voice, followed by the clomp of footsteps. I straighten, swiping tears from my face, uncertain who we’re about to see, and for a dizzying second, I think it’s going to be Jason; I think I’m about to see him and Maeve laugh and twirl into the living room, tangled in each other’s arms.
But the man who enters is not my husband. It’s Detective Beck.
“Oh, thank god,” Sienna says, “finallyyou’re on the right track. You saw the emails, right—when you searched Jason’s computer? We beat you to it, butshe’shis alibi!Shecan account for his missing hours on Friday night.”
Sienna points to Maeve—and though her finger is stiff and accusing, it’s clear that her anger has short-circuited. It’s rewired into something lighter, giddier. The pitch of her voice is high with anticipation, and I want to wince at it like it’s a shriek of feedback. Instead, I keep my face blank, my own voice tucked inside my throat, and I try not to feel Sienna’s thrill as its own kind of betrayal.
Beck turns to Maeve, whose gaze darts across the floor. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” he asks.
“No need!” Sienna says. “You can talk to her all you want. We’re done with her.”
She casts a blistering glance at Maeve before pulling me to my feet. Then she kicks through tote bags, purposefully sending them askew, to guide me past Maeve and Beck. As my shoulder brushes Maeve’s, I shrink into myself, my skin feeling scraped beneath my clothes. I let Sienna lead me to the front door, which she thrusts open before nudging me through.
