20 Libby

Libby would never ever talk about Addison behind her back.

However, Addison had been acting very weird since Dean left on his trip to London. She'd actually gone downtown to his old office and become convinced that he'd been lying to her for years instead of the likely explanation that he'd rented a new space and she hadn't noticed. She'd gone too far when she got herself arrested and then later showed up at the Club with some Black detective she'd probably picked right out of the phonebook to interrogate Jimbo Hornsby. Libby thought Addison at least would've calmed down with Dean safe and back home—how tragic that he'd been mugged on his trip—but instead she'd only grown more paranoid and weird, so damn chatty after they'd dropped the kids at school and met up at the walking trails at Overton Park.

"You've been through some real shit," Libby said.

They walked at a nice, fast clip. Libby hoped she'd burn off the generous slice of cheesecake from last night, regretting it as soon as Branch had brought it home to her.

"It's not every night that you walk into your kitchen and find a one-armed man raiding your fridge."

"Right," Libby said. "I'd forgotten about the one-armed guy."

"And then Dean decides just to show up in our shower."

"Where else would he have shown up?"

"Duh," Addison said, walking nearly shoulder to shoulder with Libby. "How about you call first? He had to have woken up, been discharged from the hospital, met with the people at the embassy like he says, and then flown all the way home. Somewhere along the line, maybe he would've thought to check in with me?"

"Branch saw where he was stabbed," she said. "He said it was really nasty."

"Branch would want to see that."

Libby ignored the dig, Addison obsessed with the idea that Branch was secretly gay. She loved to tell the same story at Thanksgiving about how Branch used to pretend he was the Bionic Woman when he was just five, making the bionic noises when he practiced tennis and acting like he had super hearing.

"I've been drinking since I woke up."

"Ha ha," Libby said.

"No," Addison said. "I'm serious. I had a double Bloody Mary before I took the kids to school. I thought it was bad when Dean was gone, but my nerves are totally shot since he got home. He's on the phone constantly and then leaves for a big part of the day. I have absolutely no idea where he goes and he won't tell me."

They walked up and over an old stone bridge, the faint smell of the nearby zoo in the air. Elephant shit and all that. The leaves crunched under their feet as they walked, Libby and Addison looking like twins in their black Patagonia vests, black leggings, and black baseball hats, being passed by joggers and the occasional asshole on a mountain bike. On your left!

"He's a businessman," Libby said. "He's doing business. I'm sure that horrible thing in London really set things back. Not to mention, getting new credit cards and filing reports. You know all about that. You filed one on Dean when you believed he was a missing person."

"He was a missing person," Addison said. "Just not in Memphis. In London. He was missing in London."

Addison didn't believe her own husband. Dean had nearly dragged himself back from England, had come straight to his home after being attacked, and instead of welcoming him with open arms, Addison decides to doubt every word he said. This coming from a woman who claimed a one-armed man made a turkey sandwich in her kitchen before trying to kill her. It wasn't just the drinking (although the drinking with the kids wasn't good), it was the pills, the paranoia, the constant obsession that Dean was lying to her. Dean McKellar was a good man and wonderful father and husband and Libby had absolutely no idea what Addison was trying to prove.

"He's hiding something," Addison said, looking at her watch as they walked, a lovely gold Cartier from Dean. "I'm sure of it. When I get back home, I'm going to call back Porter Hayes and ask him what he found out. Could you live like this? I can't live like this. Christ, I can barely sleep."

"Who's Porter Hayes?"

"The private investigator."

"Just some random guy?"

"He's a friend of my father."

"Oh."

"Dean said the one-armed man was just a nut ball who broke in," she said. "But he asked me about Peter Collinson."

"So?"

"Peter Collinson is the name of Dean's grandfather," she said. "On his mother's side. It didn't come to me until later, but then I knew I'd heard that name before. I'd seen some letters addressed to his grandfather on his desk. That's not a coincidence."

They passed by a young mother running with her baby in a jogging stroller. Libby looked to Addison and rolled her eyes as if saying, Yeah, that dumb bitch thinks she's gonna keep it all tight a few months after giving birth. Wait till the next one. They had shorthand like that. Always had. That telepathic connection that had only grown staticky in the last few years.

"Wouldn't you want to know?" Addison asked, pumping her arms around the next bend on the Overton trail. The leaves scattering across the path after a hard, cold wind. "If Branch was keeping something from you?"

"Honestly," she said. "I wouldn't. He and I have our own lives."

"Libby."

"It's true."

"Well," Addison said. "I'm going to find out. I'm going to find out exactly what Dean's been up to. This is too damn much."

Addison stopped, tipping back the water bottle and looking ahead at the winding trail as if it would go on forever. Libby snatched the bottle away from her and took a drink just to see if she'd been right. Yep. Addison had made goddamn mimosas for their morning walk.

"Addy."

"It's been a tough week."

"I know," Libby said. "I know. But come on."

"I'm calling Mr. Hayes," Addison said, grabbing back the bottle. "Today."

"Even if it ruins your marriage?" she asked. "And tears apart your family? Because whatever it is, Dean's keeping it a secret for a reason. Probably to protect you."

Addison didn't answer. She just turned and started walking again, Libby nearly out of breath before she caught up with her.

"Does you running into Alec Dawson the other day at Hutch have anything to do with this?" Libby asked.

"Of course not."

But Libby saw something in Addison's eyes and the slight way she bit her lip. She'd been obsessed with Alec since college—Libby was convinced Addison only married Dean because Alec had just married that uppity bitch from Texas. Now as she was starting to slowly unravel her relationship with Dean, she looked at newly divorced Alec Dawson as a fucking rock in her swirling river of shit. Alec was like Dean, only better. There had been something between them long ago, but then Alec introduced Addison to this guy he worked with—Dean.

"When is the last time you saw Dr. Larry?"

"Yesterday."

"And what does he say?"

"He used a fancier term..." Addison said, smiling for the first time in a while. They found a straightaway on the trail, a glorious fall cavern of light and falling leaves. A Hallmark card in motion. "But basically, he said I was an absolute fucking train wreck."

Branch was behind the wheel of his beloved new Land Rover, nearly identical to Dean's, darting in and out of cars on their way back to their house in Chickasaw Gardens. Their twin boys, Samuel and Ernest, were insulting and punching each other in the back seat. It was late afternoon and Libby hadn't eaten a thing since her breakfast smoothie.

"I am worried about your sister," Libby said. "She's having some kind of nervous breakdown."

"I hate to break it to you," Branch said, punching his CD player. Dave Matthews. Branch bobbed his head to "What Would You Say" as he drove. Branch had always been a huge Dave Matthews fan, nearly as big as he'd been of Hootie. "But she's always been kind of nuts."

The constant hum of improvised sound effects had erupted into howls from the back seat. Samuel had punched Ernest in the arm and now Ernest was hammering his brother's leg with a closed fist. The boys, who just turned eight in June, were having a hell of a time. Samuel called Ernest a booger-eating asshole.

"Hey," Libby said. "Hey. Stop it. Just stop it."

Branch was home early for a change, and they'd decided to get a babysitter later and meet a few friends at the Grove. She'd asked about inviting Addison and Dean, maybe an act of good faith to help out, but Branch said absolutely not. He seemed to know something that Libby didn't and was holding back. But then again, she knew more about the situation than he could ever know. She felt like Addison was set on getting a divorce.

"You went walking with Addy today?" he asked.

"I did."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What the hell did you guys talk about?" Branch said.

"Oh, you know," she said. "The usual. She believes Dean might be an international assassin. Crap like that."

"Was she drinking?" Branch asked.

"Who?"

"Who are we talking about?" he said. "Shit, my sister."

"What would you like for dinner?" Libby had already said too much. She'd been friends with Addison since Ole Miss, much longer than she'd been married to Branch. They'd been legends for a time in Oxford, dancing on bar tables together and smuggling Ziploc bags of bourbon in their bras on game days, dressed to the goddamn nines.

"Libby," he said, glancing over as he stopped at a traffic light. "Was she drinking?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe a little."

After a long moment, the light turned green and he was off, heading down past the library and turning into Chickasaw Gardens, where they had a simple yet ridiculously expensive two-story brick colonial. They were so far in debt on the house and the new Land Rover and her G-Wagen that she hated to even think about it.

"I may have seen some pills in her purse," she said. "Damn it. I hate this. But Addison is losing it. She told me that a federal agent was after her in the Fresh Market."

Dean came over that night.

The kids were already in bed and Libby was upstairs, fast asleep from trying to read The Help for book club (she couldn't get through a chapter without dozing off), when she was awakened by their yellow lab—Buddy—going batshit crazy at the door. She slipped on a cardigan over her tank top and Christmas pajama bottoms and headed down the steps to hear Branch and Dean in the living room. Their voices were muffled and hard to hear over SportsCenter blaring from the TV. But she could make out Branch's voice as he laughed at something Dean said and then added, "So sorry, man. My sister has always made shit up."

Libby waited a beat, just out of sight. Her left hand rested against the doorjamb, the massive diamond on her finger twinkling under the hall light. She heard Branch uncork something, some type of super rare bourbon, as they began to discuss Addison's many mental and addiction issues.

She could see Branch in profile but only the back of Dean's perfectly coiffed head as he sat in a leather armchair facing the fire. Her decorator said it was a perfect place to read, as if Branch would reach up onto their color-coordinated shelf of antique books and find a copy of Dickens to enjoy with a pipe. The only reading Branch did was on the toilet. The same book all the time, The 500 World's Greatest Golf Holes. Every time she tried to banish it from the bathroom, he complained. He once confided in her that it relaxed him while he sat on the toilet, thinking about the gorgeous holes of the world.

"Libby and I are committed to helping you and the kids."

"Appreciate that, Branch."

"This has been a long time coming," Branch said. "The smallest thing could've set her off."

"You know I got home as soon as I could."

"I know," Branch said. "You're not the one who's been making a fool out of herself. Libby told me tonight she'd found a goddamn pharmacy in Addy's purse."

Son of a bitch.That was supposed to stay between her and Branch. Branch couldn't see her, looking straight at Dean as he nodded along with something Dean was saying, most of it being drowned out by some asshole dissecting every fucking detail of last week's Alabama game.

"How much do you think she's been drinking?"

"Put it this way," Branch said. "While you were gone, she drank down half a bottle of gin while checking on Dad. I know, because no one else touches the Hendrick's but Addison."

"And she had the kids with her?"

"She had Preston," Branch said. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry about this. This whole thing just sucks."

The men didn't speak for a while. Branch turned to the ridiculously large new flat-screen TV mounted over the fireplace. His decision, not hers. She'd bought a lovely oil landscape that the Geek Squad from Best Buy removed for that massive eyesore.

"Did Addison say anything else?"

"What's that?"

"Did Addison say anything else to Libby?"

Libby wanted to march right into her living room and pull Branch's sorry ass off her Restoration Hardware couch by his ear. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, knowing there wasn't a fucking secret that Branch could keep from his idol Dean.

"Not much," Branch said. "Only that Libby said Addison thinks you're some kind of international man of mystery. And that she's being followed around East Memphis by a federal agent."

Dean laughed. It wasn't a good laugh. It sounded hollow and forced. "A what?"

"She told Libby that she's going to go back to that Black detective," Branch said. "She says he has something incriminating on you. God knows what he'll come back with. People like that are always looking to extort money from people like us."

Dean stood up, and Libby shrank back behind the door. When she peered back into the living room, Dean had the remote in hand and turned off the television. "Tell me everything she said about this detective."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Branch said, rattling the ice in his whiskey glass, and looking up at Dean, who was now standing. "Just a bunch of crazy talk. Even Libby thinks she's nuts."

Dean moved over to the front window and glanced out to the street. His back was turned to Branch, who looked a little rattled as he gulped down half the bourbon on ice.

"There's a nice place right outside Oxford," Dean said. "Good doctors who offer a highly recommended treatment. I'll need your help talking her into it. But it's the best thing."

"You're a good father."

"Appreciate that, buddy."

"Hey, Dean?" Branch asked. "Those are some nice gloves you've got on. What are they? Calfskin?"