The New Husband (32 page)

Simon sounded surprised. “Why would he be worried?”

Nina swallowed a gasp. She'd forgotten about the camera in the woods. It was still taking pictures in the daylight. Connor must have been checking for signs of Daisy and maybe saw a picture of Nina entering the house. He would have at least noticed her car parked in the driveway. There must have been another picture of Simon's arrival, and Connor would have known she was still inside. That's why he had called her. And when she didn't answer, he called the police.

Good boy. Good boy,
she thought.

Nina moved out from behind the stairs to take a tentative step toward them. Trying to sneak up on Simon while he had his back to her was like playing the children's game, red light, green light.

Simon stood to the side of the staircase closer to the dog crate, Wheeler splayed out at the bottom step, Nina creeping up from behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Wheeler watched Nina approaching. Then he looked away, focusing as best he could on Simon—to keep him from noticing her, she thought hopefully. Nina continued her silent advance, bending at the knees to pick up something off the floor.

Wheeler spit a gob of blood from his mouth. “Officer down. Backup—call for backup … call, backup.”

He was disoriented. A pool of blood darkened his shirt. Every word he spoke was a struggle. Nina now knew the detective hadn't asked for
backup when he came to investigate. No additional police were coming. Help
wasn't
on the way.

Simon covered his mouth with his hands like he couldn't believe what he'd just done. His shoulders slumped as though he was supremely disappointed in himself.

“I'm so sorry for doing that to you,” Simon said, indeed sounding genuinely remorseful. “You've been … helpful to my efforts. You did a really exemplary job. End of watch, that's what the police call it, right?”

Simon raised his gun, aiming it at Wheeler's head, but lowered it as he surveyed the rest of him. There was no need to fire another bullet.

“Why?” Wheeler had to know what he was dying for.

“For love. For a second chance,” Simon said.

Wheeler's fading gaze looked past Simon at Nina, who had snuck up close enough to be within striking distance, wielding a huge glass shard from the smashed television like a dagger.

She thought of Maggie, at lunch, gasping for air as her swollen throat closed up. She thought of the EpiPen she had driven hard into her daughter's thigh on more than one occasion.
It's just another pen,
Nina told herself, thinking of the glass.
Do it again. Do it again.

Nina locked her eyes on her target. Swinging her arm in a similarly wide arc, she drove the glass shard into the side of Simon's neck with powerful force. When the glass had penetrated the skin and dug in far enough to do damage, Nina yanked hard, slicing open her palm in the process as Simon's neck split wide. The severed veins made a ripping sound as jets of dark blood sprayed geyser-like in a horizontal direction.

Simon sank to the floor, dropping his weapon to clutch at his bleeding throat, choking to death on his own blood. His legs spasmed as his body jerked about wildly.

Reaching for the gun Simon dropped, Nina picked it up, and retrieved Wheeler's weapon as well. She thought about shooting Simon, but preferred to watch him writhing, gasping, dying as blood poured
from his body in rivers. She looked over at Wheeler. His wide eyes were open, seeing nothing. His chest no longer rose or fell.

Nina had taken CPR as part of her numerous certifications. She pumped hard and fast on the middle of Wheeler's chest while Simon gagged on his blood. With her hands soaked in Wheeler's blood and her own, Nina delivered rescue breaths she knew were pointless as she watched Simon die. She could deliver all the rescue breaths in the world; Wheeler wasn't taking them. His eyes were milky with death. There was no point in doing anything more, and Simon was still alive.

Nina had something important left to do. She approached Simon without caution, knelt down next to him, not caring that his blood was getting all over her shoes, her pants.

“Where is Allison? Did you do something to her? Where is she? Where is the baby?”

Simon gazed up at Nina with a look of pure bewilderment.

“Give her peace, Simon,” she said, pleading now with urgency in her voice. “Did you hurt her? Do you know where she is?”

Simon's breathing grew labored. He gurgled on his blood. Time was running out. He was going to take this secret, if there even was one, with him to his grave. But she had something else to say. The last words she wanted him to hear. The last words he'd ever hear.

“I want you to die knowing I don't love you. I. Don't. Love. You.”

Confusion sparked in Simon's eyes before a profound pain set in. In that moment, Nina felt certain Simon had heard and understood her. She saw recognition linger in his eyes for a moment before the light went out of them for good.

Lakes Region General Hospital, the same hospital where Maggie and Dr. Wilcox were treated, had a new patient. Glen was malnourished, and despite his efforts with bodyweight exercises, had lost tremendous muscle mass, but overall he was in surprisingly good health. The nurses trimmed his beard, tended to his cuts, and pumped him with antibiotics to fight off possible infection. He was feeling woozy from the medication, but alert enough to give multiple statements to the police, who were reeling over the death of their fallen brother. It would be a long time before Seabury recovered from Simon Fitch.

The media was on the story. Already the headlines were juicy, and online,
PSYCHO TEACHER OBSESSES OVER FIRST WIFE LOOK-ALIKE
was getting plenty of shares.

But Nina wasn't focused on what people were saying. This was a time for her family to heal. And the best treatment for Glen was seeing his children again. Maggie had hugged her father so hard Glen pleaded with her to let go. She brought
A Wrinkle in Time
with her, thinking her dad might want her to read to him at his bedside.

“You're so much bigger,” Glen said. “I missed so much. I missed you all so much.”

The tears fell freely. Maggie, biting her lip, trembling with emotion, couldn't find the words.

“I tricked you, Bunny.”

“Bear,” Maggie reminded him, struggling to speak while a sad smile crested her lips. “You're supposed to call me Bear. Remember?”

Glen's laugh was tinged with sorrow. “I forgot. I keep forgetting that.”

Nina rested her hand on Glen's bony shoulder. So much of him was gone, both physically, and emotionally. They'd all recover, even Dr. Wilcox—all except for Hugh, and Detective Wheeler, and Emma. Maybe Allison. Or maybe she did get away.

“It was the worst thing, lying to you like that. I wanted to tell you … but I … I couldn't.” Glen made his confession with his eyes shut tight, those never-ending tears rolling down his cheeks. “I didn't mean to let any of you down.”

Maggie broke into a sob, eventually clearing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You … didn't let me down, Daddy,” she managed. She took a big gulp before she could say more. “If you didn't tell me to make nice with … with him … Ben and I wouldn't have thought to look at the house … and … and…”

Maggie couldn't finish; instead she went back to hugging her father again. They all enjoyed a group hug.

What would have happened?
Nina wondered. Without Maggie and Ben, she might never have thought to look for Daisy at Simon's house. Glen could have been left for dead. Eventually, Simon would have shown his true colors. Most likely, at some point he would have killed them all, Nina was sure of it. Glen hadn't failed them. He had saved them.

“Daisy's the real hero,” said Glen, brightening as a tender laugh escaped him. “Thank God for her sense of smell.”

“And her loyalty,” added Nina. “She wouldn't leave without you.”

“You could have left the house with her and nobody would have known I was still in the basement.”

Glen laughed again, this time with notes of astonishment and awe. His survival had been so tenuous. One event linked to another, starting with Dr. Wilcox, who led Nina to Teresa, then to Hugh … Hugh,
who knew who Simon really was … Maggie, who unwittingly clued in to something being amiss with the rental property … Daisy, who had found Glen … Connor, who had stayed vigilant.

It took everyone Glen loved most to save his life and the lives of his family.

Connor wiped away tears. The nurses and doctors were giving the family space to reunite.

“Dog of the year,” Connor said, barely holding it together. “I love you, Dad.”

And then Connor fell to pieces, and so did Nina, and Maggie cried even harder, as the nurses, keeping their distance, got teary-eyed as well.

Eventually, everything and everyone settled. The kids, still numb, took off to get something to eat, leaving Glen and Nina alone for the first time.

“How are you feeling?” Nina asked. It was a loaded question, but what else could she say?

Glen closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I … I just feel so guilty and ashamed. It's my fault.”

“Stop … this won't do us any good.”

“But I'm responsible.”

“No you're not, Simon is,” she said, with a lack of conviction.

Glen wasn't entirely wrong, Nina thought. He had done things—terrible things—that had made them vulnerable to Simon. He had stripped his family of security and lied for years about his job. She had accepted Teresa's version of their affair, but still …

“I want to talk. I want to tell you what happened. How it happened.”

“Not now. You need to rest. There'll be time for that later.”

“I'm so sick of time,” Glen said with a sneer of disgust. “It's all I've had.”

Nina tried to wrap her mind around it. Two years. He'd been kept in that horrible space for almost two years. No doubt, Glen was struggling to grasp it as well.

“He drugged me. That's why I did … with Teresa … why it happened. I wasn't in my right mind.” Glen ran his tongue across his chapped, dry lips. “We didn't have an affair. I swear to you. I know you thought that we did, and it tore me up inside. But it was only once, and Simon orchestrated it all.”

Nina nodded. “I had pictures, you know—including one of you giving Teresa a big kiss. It was quite believable.”

“Simon sent them to you. Put a name to the face to make it more credible when he found out Teresa had left the area, probably for good. He wanted you to think I was with her so you could move on from me.”

“Well, it worked. We'll talk about it, too, all our regrets—later though, after you rest and get your strength back.”

“Regrets,” Glen muttered under his breath, his gaze drifting to another time and place. When he looked up at Nina, he was present again. “I thought a lot about those in the box. But I want you to know why I was in Carson. Why I lost my job at the bank. It's important you know.”

Nina glanced at the bandage covering the cut to her palm from the glass shard she had turned into a weapon. She could still hear the skin rip as she pulled the makeshift dagger across Simon's throat. It was as if she could feel his warm blood on her skin.

“Let's get you healthy. Focus only on that for now. Then you can tell me your story. And I'll tell you mine.”

A week later, Nina showed up at the hospital with a bottle of whiskey. Truth serum. Glen had finished his daily physical therapy session, but instead of going back to his bed, he and Nina found an empty conference room where they could talk and drink.

It was time.

They sat next to each other on a hard-cushioned couch. Glen looked much better with each day. His color had returned; his cuts and abrasions were well on the way to being completely healed. His doctors were impressed with his progress, and the nurses and PT therapists managing the lion's share of his care and rehabilitation were equally encouraged.

Nina and the kids had come to see Glen every day, but he had requested this private session with his wife. He was tired, beaten, battered, but he had to cleanse himself. He had to purify.

They both did.

“I like your hair,” Glen said.

Nina had cut it short, modern and stylish.

“Thank you,” she said. “I couldn't stand it the way it was one second longer. Bad memories.”

They shared a quiet laugh. Nina poured two fingers of whiskey for each of them.

“Am I even allowed to drink?” Glen said slyly, sneaking glances like he was getting away with something.

“Not long ago this would have been the only medicine you'd have been given. So drink up.”

“Don't tell the nurses,” Glen said. “They're very protective of me.”

That was a bit of an understatement. Those nurses were hawkish at holding the media at bay. The story of a man imprisoned in a soundproof box wasn't dying down anytime soon.

“Cheers,” Nina said, lifting her glass.

They both kicked back the first drink, and Nina poured them another. Truth serum. She'd tell Glen everything, but first, Carson.

It all started with the bank. If Nina hadn't been left in dire financial straits, Simon's efforts might not have worked so effectively. Instead, he had taken advantage of a perfect storm, a confluence of events that had nearly served his purpose. So now it was a moment of reckoning. Why had Glen lied to her for all those years?

“I lost my job.”

Nina appeared nonplussed. “So you got fired. Why? And why not just come to me?”

“No—no,” Glen said, sounding impassioned, a man with pride still in him. “I didn't get fired for something I did wrong. I got fired because I was suspicious that my bank was acting unethically. I tried to report it, but the CEO wasn't interested in hearing what I had to say. I guess he preferred the profits.”

Nina became more intrigued. “Unethical, how?”

“Branch managers at my bank were opening hundreds of unauthorized accounts, issuing unauthorized credit cards to our customers so they could charge all sorts of fees. The scheme was netting big dollars.”

“Just like Wells Fargo,” said Nina.

“Screwing customers out of their hard-earned money isn't the exclusive privilege of the big banks.”

“So they fired you for trying to blow the whistle?”

“I wasn't just fired,” Glen said, sucking down the whiskey like water. His lips were moving more freely with each sip.

“Go on,” Nina said.

“Before they got rid of me, senior management—and I'm pretty sure it was at the CEO's direction—trashed me in my Form U5.”

Nina looked perplexed. “Form U5?”

“It's like a report card for people who work in financial services—or at least, anyone who works as an investment advisor. I had one, even though I didn't really need it for my job. If you have one, a hiring manager looks at your U5 more than your r
é
sum
é
. Those comments in my U5 immediately turned me into poisoned goods. The system works well if a worker takes advantage of a customer, but if an employer unfairly defames an employee, it's impossible to get it corrected, and it means the end of your career. There is no recourse. No organization you can turn to for help. One black mark on the U5 and you'll never get a job in finance again.”

Nina nodded. She got it now. Glen didn't just lose his job. He'd been blackballed. He was persona non grata in a career and an industry he loved.

“I thought I was finally earning enough to stop worrying about every little expense—and then overnight, I couldn't get a job as a teller in Podunk, Anywhere. My U5 followed me like a curse.”

“That's outrageous,” Nina said, sounding genuinely upset. “Why didn't you tell me? I'd have understood that story a heck of a lot more than you secretly draining our bank accounts.”

“Why didn't I tell you?” Glen repeated the question with a pitiful little laugh. “God knows, I should have. I didn't start out intending to do what I did. I thought I could handle it on my own, that eventually I'd land another bank management job, one that didn't need a U5. I only went to Carson to fish, away from everyone who knew me, so I could think, come up with a game plan, a plan B.

“Instead, I found out that when you're approaching fifty and you've had only one career path, forging another isn't a quick and easy thing
to do. In my case, it was impossible. I kept thinking my luck was going to change. My r
é
sum
é
would land on the right desk, or something like that, but no. After a year of failure and constant rejection, I had to accept my fate. We were destined for bankruptcy no matter what I did.”

Nina puckered her lips, looking unconvinced. “I still don't see why you didn't tell me. You were the noble knight in this tale, trying to do a good deed, and you got a raw deal for it. I would have been on your side. What? You didn't want to worry me, is that it?”

“You don't get it,” Glen said, hiding his face in his hands. His breathing turned shaky. “The job was all I had. It was who I was.”

“That's not true. You also had a family. You were a dad.”

“Was I?” Judging by Glen's expression, either the whiskey or some memory had suddenly turned bitter. Nina poured them each another splash. “I was a father, sure, but I wasn't a dad.”

“Not sure I'm clear on the distinction.”

“You're not a father. You couldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

Nina thought Glen was going to clam up. This was the hard part. She took a sip of her drink, and Glen did from his as well. The alcohol was loosening them both. Maybe they could be honest with each other for a change. It wasn't about money and work. This was about their relationship. A rift in the marriage, the same kind of gulf the Coopers couldn't cross, had made it impossible for them to see and hear each other. That is, until Simon.

It was obvious to Nina now—so many signs, signs she'd missed. Simon had wanted the best possible source of information to make Nina fall in love with him. Glen was Simon's Cyrano de Bergerac—the man who could teach him what to say, how to act, how to be around her.

She fit perfectly into Simon's picture, and Glen was his guarantee that he wouldn't fail with her, and to her continued astonishment his plan had nearly worked. The gifts Simon bought her, that opal necklace, the eggplant dish he'd made, movies and TV shows they both enjoyed, his orangey-woodsy smell, things he'd say to her, even the truck
he owned—all so comforting to a woman in distress, so familiar. And that special attention he'd paid to Connor, his eagerness for time together as a family, it had all come from the same source, little tips Simon extracted to ensure he got his prize.

It sickened Nina to think of the time she had spent in Simon's bed, making love to him, while her husband had been chained up below, perhaps aware she was there, calling out to her in a voice she couldn't hear. Her children, too, had come to Simon's, toured the house, gone to the lake, unaware their missing dad was so close by. Simon was so twisted that he probably got off on the danger.

“You and the kids. That's what I thought about the most down there. I thought how I'm going … to … miss you all so much.”

When Glen's voice broke and he began to weep, Nina reached over to take hold of his hands, consoling him.

“It wasn't all your fault, Glen,” Nina said. “It took me a lot of therapy to come to terms with the role I played. Maybe if I had helped you forge a stronger bond with the kids, you would have taken a different path. But I was selfish. I think I wanted them all to myself. I liked making all the decisions, liked having them come to me. I needed them, maybe even more than they needed me. But I'm not that person anymore.”

Nina took her hands away. It was her turn and she wanted no comfort as she fumbled her way through her admission.

“I know you're carrying a lot of guilt for what happened, but I've got my fair share of it, too,” she began. “I'm the one who let Simon into our lives so quickly. I ignored my better judgment, my own doubts, Maggie's warnings, misgivings from my parents and my closest friends. I was needy and vulnerable, and I put us all in danger and I have to live with that now.

“You've paid your price and I've paid mine. We can't erase the decisions we made, we can't undo what happened to us, but hopefully, we can try to rebuild.”

“With what? I have no job. We have no money.”

A slim smile crested Nina's lips.

“I thought about that,” she said, “so I got us a cushion.”

And that's when Nina shared what she really did when she'd gone upstairs to call the police from Simon's place using Simon's cell phone. Obviously, she could have made the call from his basement.

She had gone to the bedroom at the end of the hall, and again saw the picture of Allison Fitch, who bore such an uncanny resemblance to her. But she had other things on her mind.

She opened the closet door.

He said it was here, didn't he?

There was hardly anything in the closet, making it easy to locate the box she was after. It was big enough to hold a pair of hiking boots, but there was no footwear inside.

“Two hundred thousand dollars, cash, tax free,” Nina told Glen. “I put the box in my car before I called the police. I didn't tell the kids. They don't need to know.”

“You clever girl.” Glen was smiling.

“We deserve that money for what we went through. But I'm putting some of it into a nonprofit in Hugh Dolan's name to support addiction recovery.”

Glen nodded in approval.

“You know, he killed Hugh,” he said. “He broke into his apartment, subdued him, shoved a fentanyl-laced injection into his arm—revenge for his interference, that's what he told me.”

Nina wasn't surprised. She already knew Simon had spied on her Facebook messages, so in a way, she had played a role in Hugh's death. The money wouldn't cleanse her conscience, but it would help take away some of the guilt.

“Remember how we met?” Nina said.

“Match dot com,” Glen said with a laugh.

“I always wanted a better story to tell,” she said. “My broken jar of pasta sauce. We might not have the greatest how-we-met story, but we do have a good story to tell.”

From a pocket, Nina produced a business card belonging to a major book publisher. A large figure was written on the back.

“I suspect it's too soon for you to tell our story right now,” Nina said. “It's too soon for me. But when we're ready.”

Nina had plans for that money. In addition to funding drug treatment in Hugh's name, she intended to provide for Detective Wheeler's widow, and fund an effort to track down Allison Fitch, and if necessary, try to locate her remains. There was no way to make this up to Dr. Wilcox, but fortunately she was back on her feet and eventually she'd be able to resume her practice.

Glen's eyes misted over as he leaned in, put his mouth close to Nina's ear, and whispered, “I'm just so grateful we're alive to tell it together.”

They hugged.

At last, finally, after all this time, she harbored no doubts. This was her husband. The man she loved. True, he had made a terrible choice by not confiding in her, but she had made terrible choices of her own. They were flawed together—like all marriages, perfectly imperfect. With time and counseling, Nina had total confidence she could get over Glen's deception and his lone indiscretion. The mind was funny like that. It could adapt, shift, change directions like sand in the wind.

In another week, he would be officially discharged and they'd move back in together as a family. Nina had rented a new house in Seabury. She had the money. Ginny and Susanna were helping with the move—once again, the comfort of friendship.

As Nina pulled away from Glen's embrace, she caught sight of something, or someone, over his shoulder. Simon was in the room with them, a gaping wound in his neck, blood splatter in his hair, on his face, his clothes. She didn't flinch, didn't scream. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him.

Nina closed her eyes, opened them, and when she did, he was gone.