Chapter 2: Skeletons in the Suburbs
The sedan ride back to the suburbs was as silent as a hearse. I sat in the passenger seat, watching the neon signs of gas stations streak across the glass like jagged blades. Garrett sat in the back, his dress shirt misbuttoned, stammering apologies that were repeatedly choked off by Martha’s murderous glares.
But the quietest person was Arthur. He sat pressed against the opposite door, his thumb frantically flicking the polished wooden worry beads he kept in his pocket. The manic clacking grated against my nerves.
The moment tires hit the paved driveway of their suburban ranch house, Martha leaned forward. “Not a single syllable of what happened tonight leaves this vehicle. Men get weak out in the world, Clara. Think about Khloe. What happens to our granddaughter if this gets out?”
I let the cold night wind slap my cheeks. Weaponize the child. When the foundation rots to sawdust, use the innocent child to bludgeon the woman into silence. I didn’t argue.
Once inside, Garrett dropped to his knees on the living room rug, an actor performing a practiced soap opera routine. “Clara, please. I swear it was just stress. Corporate is breathing down my neck. She was just easy to talk to. Just give me one more chance.”
I looked down at him. “Right. With her, you didn’t have to carry the weight. With me, you have to think about Khloe’s orthodontist bills, the mortgage, your parents’ appointments. I make you think about reality, don’t I?”
Martha immediately jumped in to salvage his defense, dabbing fake tears. “Look at him, Clara. He’s on his knees. A woman cannot be this rigid. Look at Arthur and me. We built a life. We honored our vows.”
I glanced at Arthur, who had sunken into his leather armchair. “Arthur? Is Martha telling the truth?”
Panic vibrated through his voice. “Don’t listen to that girl’s lunatic ravings. She’s an unstable grifter. A fairy tale to squeeze a settlement out of us.”
“Then how did she know about River Road?” Martha demanded, her suspicion finally breaching the dam of her denial.
Arthur needed a pause, a liar’s greatest vulnerability. Two generations of Campbell men; their cowardice poured from the exact same mold.
I walked calmly into the bedroom, retrieved a manila folder, and dropped it onto the glass coffee table. Three months of bank statements. Boutique hotels. Jewelry. And a $12,000 payment to Lindsay’s salon with a memo line that made my hands shake: A keepsake for our future family.
Martha snatched the papers, screaming at Garrett over the leaked money, not the betrayal of my vows. I left them bickering and walked down the hall.
A thin sliver of yellow light spilled from beneath Arthur’s study door. I stopped, pulling out my smartphone and tapping the voice recorder. Through the crack, Arthur’s voice drifted out, tight with desperation as he spoke on the phone.
“I can write you a check, Lindsay. I can give you cash, but you stay the hell away from Garrett. Why my boy? I don’t care what your mother told you on her deathbed. I don’t owe either of you a damn thing.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I don’t owe you a damn thing. The universal anthem of the cowardly man.
The next morning, after dropping Khloe at school, I drove straight to the farmers market. Brenda hauled me into her walk-in meat cooler, the air thick with the smell of cured ham. I played her the audio recording.
Brenda sliced off a thick strip of peppered beef jerky and shoved it into my hand. “Chew on this. When your life goes to hell, you need something tough between your teeth. I’ll make some calls. I know the old-timers from the mill.”
By the fourth morning, my phone buzzed with a text from my sister. It was an old, faded Polaroid with cracked yellowing borders. In the frame stood a young Arthur Campbell in a crisp white supervisor’s shirt, standing in an alleyway next to a slender young woman holding a bundled infant. Her eyes were an unmistakable, haunting match for Lindsay Hayes.
The apple didn’t fall from the tree, I thought, staring at the screen. The roots were diseased from the very beginning.
