Page 61 of Thicker Than Water
Sienna’s right about one thing, though. In terms of motive, Henry’s is so much cleaner than Jason’s, so much easier to understand: money, rage, revenge—all the things that have driven men for centuries.
“Have you talked to Beck about this?” I ask her. “Your theory about Henry?”
“I can’t. I don’t know how to bring up the tax evasion angle without revealing how we know that Gavin was cooking the books in the first place. And Lou told me yesterday that what we did in the warehouse would only hurt Jason’s case.”
I press my lips together. This is the first I’m hearing of Lou’s warning.
“Okay,” I say after a moment. “So can Lou do some digging on our behalf? Maybe he can find evidence of Gavin’s tax evasion and thenhecould discuss it with Beck.”
“Lou’s no help right now. I talked to him a couple hours ago.He says he’s only going to start building a caseaftercharges are brought, andafterhe can talk to Jason. But I’m not willing to wait that long.”
“Okay, then what about Wyatt? He might get pissed that we searched the warehouse, but given your history, I’m sure he wouldn’t, like, turn you in about it. And at the very least, he could tell you if he thinks it’s worth having Lou pursue this lead. And who knows, maybe he’ll give you some other info about the case, something else that could help us, or insight into—”
“Jules, no. I told you before: I’m not going to Wyatt—for this or anything else. I don’ttalkto Wyatt. I don’tseeWyatt. I’m on a very strict No Wyatt Diet.” As she speaks, her voice climbs in pitch, as if her throat is closing around the words, forcing her to squeeze them out. “And do you really think I’d just run right over to him, throwing away everything I believe in? You know me better than anyone. You should know I’dneverdo that.”
Everything I believe in. She means one strike and you’re out. One wrong and you’re gone.
Except when it comes to Jason.
Irritation twists inside me at this double standard. Our partners both cheated on us. But while Sienna’s response is to cut Wyatt out of her life completely, she wants me to keep standing by Jason’s side—even when my faith in him has been shaken, even when I’m no longer sure that his side is the right one to be on.
And that’s another way Wyatt could be helpful. If he thinks Henry Hendrix is a credible suspect, then great; I’d love to look in a direction that isn’t Jason’s. But if he doesn’t, if he knows some reason to count Henry out, then it’s validation, as gut-wrenching as it is, that I’m not wrong to be feeling so much doubt.
I’ll never get that from Sienna. Not when she sees words as“smoking guns.” Not when she warps and contorts each fact until it supports Jason’s innocence.
“I’mnotturning to Wyatt,” she reiterates.
And that’s fine. She doesn’t have to.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t.
I park in Wyatt’s driveway, behind his silver Nissan. Even in the fading light, I recognize the dent in his bumper, shaped like a lopsided heart.A love tap, he called it when Sienna whacked it by accident, and I’m surprised to see it now, surprised he didn’t finally fix it after the two of them broke up. Instead, a year later, he’s still carrying the mark she left.
I ring the bell, then listen to Wyatt’s footsteps inside, bounding closer. When he opens the door, his eyes are bright with anticipation, until his expression collapses, first with disappointment, then with concern.
“Julia,” he says. “Sorry, I thought you were—someone else. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry to drop by unannounced.”
His eyes flit over my shoulder, as if searching his driveway for another visitor.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask. “I can come back.”
“No,” he says, the word a little strained. “No, I’m not expecting anyone. Come in.”
I follow him into his living room, then stop in front of the couch, awkward and unmoored. I’ve never been here on my own before. In the old days, Sienna would plop onto Wyatt’s couch, then tug me down into the space beside her. She’d joke that Wyatt was our “cabana boy” and ask him to bring us some drinks. But now I don’t know whether to sit or stand. I’m not sure what the etiquette is forvisiting your best friend’s ex behind her back. When I got off the phone a little while ago, I didn’t tell her I was coming here. Instead, I invented an excuse—driving Aiden to his semiformal—and tried to ignore the cramp of guilt.
“Have a seat,” Wyatt says. As I settle onto the couch, he pitches a thumb over his shoulder, back toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? I have water and… well, water. Sorry. I don’t have beer or wine or anything like that.”
“No, I’m good,” I decline, “thanks.”
Wyatt sits in a chair opposite me. “How’s Jason doing?” As he drums his fingers on his knees, he seems to be sharing my awkwardness.
I look at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. “Actually, the doctor thinks he could wake up as soon as tomorrow.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so great.” Wyatt pauses, tilting his head. “When did you hear that?”
“This morning. I guess he responded to a test in a way that seemed promising.”
