Chapter Sixty-Five Maya

Chapter Sixty-Five

Maya

August 2023

The dark road sweeps by. passing headlights. and my foot presses harder on the pedal. I’m driving at breakneck speed across the countryside, all four windows rolled down and the radio blasting.

I was finally ready to tell Nate everything, but he wasn’t picking up. He texted me that AJ had picked them up and they were going to stay over at his place for the night. I didn’t want to go home without him and Dani there, so not knowing what else to do, I took Nate’s car, and I drove. And drove and drove.

My mind has been spinning with horrible thoughts. That Nate, my own husband, the person who has been by my side for the last ten years, with whom I share a last name, a home, and a child, may have killed Matthew. Yes, I wanted the man dead, but not by my husband’s hand.

This nightmare has spiraled out of control, and it’s all because of me, because I couldn’t be honest with the people closest to me.

A horn honks, and I swerve back into my lane. Shit. It’s dark, almost midnight, and I have no idea where I am. My eyelids are heavy, and I should pull over.

My phone rings with another call from Detective Gary—but I grab the phone and silence it. Throw it into the backseat. I need a break. Some time to think. All the thoughts buzzing around my skull are driving me insane. I wish I could hit pause on the world for a moment and take a long, much-needed rest. Nate and Dani are gone, and I’m a suspect in a murder investigation. I’d laugh at the absurdity of it all if it weren’t so horribly real.

—

Outside the window, a neon sign floats past that reads Surly Goat Tavern. That’ll have to do.

I pull into the gravel parking lot and take in the ramshackle building with a tired American flag next to the door, the pickup truck with the dent in the bumper and a sticker with a gun on it. This is normally not the kind of place I’d go anywhere near, but I need something, anything, to distract me from my current situation.

Heads turn when I enter, but I’m too tired to care. The bar smells of sour beer and mildew, of sweat and cigarette smoke. A jukebox plays a sad rock ballad, and a man with a long gray beard and leather jacket with an American flag on the back sits at the bar drinking a glass of dark liquor.

The bartender, a curvy woman in her thirties wearing hoop earrings, her greasy blond hair with dark roots, gives me a once-over.

When I sit down at the bar, she looks up. “Oh, honey, you look like you could use a drink.”

I sigh, barely able to lift my head, and try my best to meet her eyes without bursting into tears. “Thank you.”

“What do you drink?” she asks, filling up a beer.

I shrug, the decision too difficult right now. “Honestly, anything.”

She fills a shot glass with whiskey and sets it in front of me. I reach for it. The whiskey burns my throat. Without waiting for a response, she fills it up again.

I stare at the glass—I probably shouldn’t—but feeling reckless, I pick up the glass and gulp it down.

The bartender leans on her elbows. “I’m Missi—with an i, not a y —like Mississippi. ”

“Maya,” I say, smiling weakly. I’m suddenly not only exhausted but unbelievably thirsty. “Could I have some water, please?” I ask, and she fills me a glass. After taking a few desperate gulps, I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve and set my head on my arms. I’m finally ready to admit to everything. To everyone. Tell them that it was me. I was the one that killed Lila. A wave of exhaustion hits me.

“What are you in for?” she asks, an odd expression.

I shake my head, looking up at her. It hurts too much to think about. Her brown eyes lined in sparkly blue liner remind me of Naomi—she had one just like it. “My husband and I got in a fight. He left and took my daughter with him.” My shoulders slump. I haven’t slept in days. I need to sleep.

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head as she moves to clean up a dirty glass and pick up some singles left at the bar. “Sorry, hon, I have a two-year-old, and if her daddy ever tried to take her from me—oh boy, I’d be after him like a bat outta hell.”

She refills my glass, and I thank her. “And trying to protect me, he did something terrible, and now he’s going to end up in prison,” I tell her, the thought terrifying. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve told him the truth. I should’ve told everybody the truth.”

“Nothin’ you can do about it now.” She watches me with a gentle expression, one hand on her cross necklace.

I smile, grateful for her company. Somehow, explaining the situation to a total stranger makes it feel less heavy. She pours us both a beer, and then another, and at some point, I’m loosened up by the alcohol, and the past couple of months come pouring out of me.

“…And the whole time, I knew it was him, had to have been him…” I’m slurring, and I know it, but I had to get it out. I had to tell someone.

Missi’s shaking her head, brows furrowed in sympathy. “Let me see him. You got a photo?”

When I pull out my phone and show her a picture of Matthew and Sara, Missi’s face hardens. “I know her—she’s that actress.”

I stop.

Sara. My stomach drops as I suddenly remember what Cecily told me on the boat: Sara had accused Matthew of cheating on her. She knew he was sleeping with someone. She implied they could have been talking about Naomi.

I remember how Fiona Williams told me Sara had been involved in Matthew’s crimes. How Gary had tried to warn me— Sara’s car was seen five miles outside Princeton, and that’s why Matthew’s alibi fell through—but I’d been so focused on Matthew, I had barely listened.

I think back to Naomi’s funeral. How Sara had come after me when I’d run off. She was trying to stop me from looking into Matthew. Protecting him, I’d thought.

But she hadn’t been protecting him, had she? She’d been protecting herself .

The haze that’s been clouding my thoughts finally parts, and it’s like I’ve opened my eyes for the first time. The last piece I’d been missing was right in front of me: Sara wasn’t home with Matthew the night my sister died because she’d been with Naomi.

“Sorry, one second,” I say to Missi while I pull out my phone. I have to tell Daisy.

I dial Daisy, but the call goes to voicemail, so I hang up and text her instead: Urgent. Please call. I dial her again. Daisy, please pick up. But the call goes to voicemail yet again.

When I call Nate, he doesn’t pick up either.

I try calling Cecily. Please. Please.

She answers on the second ring. “Maya? Is everything okay?” And relief floods my system.

“Cecily.” I try to concentrate, to make sure I’m not slurring, but the shock of this realization has temporarily sobered me, and I’m shaking instead. “I—I think I know who killed Naomi.”

“Who?” she asks, sounding as alarmed as I feel.

“Sara. Matthew’s fiancée.” I’m breathing fast as I wait for her to respond.

“How do you know?”

“You said it yourself, she thought Naomi was sleeping with him. I know it sounds crazy…”

“Hold on. I can’t—you’re breaking up.”

“Cecily, listen.” So much adrenaline is pumping through my system, I can hardly think straight. “We have to go to the police. Now.”

“It’s after midnight, but okay. I’ll go with you. Which station should I meet you at?”

The thought of Cecily helping immediately calms me, but then the reality of my situation sinks in. “I—I can’t drive,” I admit. “I had a few drinks.”

“I’ll come pick you up. Where are you?”

“Thank you.” Relief rushes through me. The detectives will take Cecily seriously. “I’m at the Surly Goat Tavern. I’ll send you my location.”

—

“Do you really think it’s too late to call Detective Simmons? Go to the station?” I ask Cecily once we’re on the road. It must be almost one a.m. now, but I have to tell them about Sara. I’m still stunned by this new revelation and my head feels like it’s filled with a hundred tiny bees crawling around in cotton.

“Yes,” she says, then looks at me and frowns. “We’ll tell them, but not with you like this. You’ve obviously been drinking, and leaving after the detectives said to stay put didn’t look good. I think we need to get you showered and a good night’s sleep. We’ll call your lawyer first thing tomorrow morning. We want you to look as credible as possible so they stop focusing on you.”

She’s right. I can’t go in like this. They’re probably home for the night. And it’s true I’d been ignoring Detective Gary’s calls. If I came in, who knows how they’d respond.

I sink back in the seat. “You’re right.”

Closing my eyes, I take a long, deep breath, suddenly exhausted. The vibration of the road calms my nerves, and I’m reminded of the way Dani always falls asleep on long road trips. So tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll deal with it. Tonight, I can rest. All I want is to see Dani, kiss her good night, and fall asleep in my own bed…though I know that’s impossible right now.

I think of Nate, how angry he’d been with me. The fight we’d had. The bar. The whiskey. I look at my reflection in the mirror, wipe at the smeared mascara under my eye. “Oh god.”

She looks over at me, concerned. “What is it?”

“Nate and Dani are staying at his friend’s place. They’ll be back tomorrow morning. But I can’t let him see me like this. I need to go back and get his car.”

“You can stay in my guest room. Theo’s still in London. I’ll tell Nate you needed some space. I’ll drive you to pick up your car tomorrow.”

I think of Cecily’s condo on the Upper East Side: the guest bedroom with the down bedding like a luxury hotel, the smell of her expensive detergent, and the pillows, so many pillows ! And imagine my head sinking into them as if they were clouds.

Cecily is still talking, and her voice, her rational thinking, eases my nerves. She always gets what she wants. Everything is going to be fine.

It all makes sense now: Sara thought Naomi was sleeping with Matthew. She’d hurt my sister, and after the wedding, she’d gone after Matthew too. Maybe she’d simply snapped, gotten tired of his lies.

I feel my neck flush with shame. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it…”

I remember running after Sara into the subway. Thinking she’d help. How she’d ignored me. Accused me of assault. What was I thinking? Was I really that stupid ? Sara Vail is an actress. It’s literally her job to lie.

“I knew there was something off about her,” Cecily says. “Water?” She hands me a Perrier, which I eagerly accept.

The lemon-flavored sparkling water is cool on my tongue, sliding down my throat, and I drink it down in long gulps. But it’s not enough to get rid of the bitter alcohol taste in my mouth. I take another sip to try to chase it away, but it’s still there, along with the pounding headache. This is why I don’t drink whiskey.

“I feel like an idiot,” I say, reaching up to massage my temples.

“Don’t say that.” Cecily places a reassuring hand over mine. “There was no way you could have known.”

Outside, it’s started to rain. My eyes drift to the road, glassy wet pavement winding like a black river. Soon the drizzling rain and the rhythm of the yellow lines lulls me into a trance.

Tick tick tick.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake up, I don’t recognize where we are. All around us is gray nothingness, fog swallowing the car, the faint outline of evergreen trees. And it’s quiet, so we can’t be in the city. What time is it?

I squint at the clock. It’s out of focus, the numbers sliding and breaking. I must be exhausted. Or more drunk than I thought. When I pull my phone from my pocket, the numbers are clearer: 1:26 a.m.

A message from Daisy lights the screen, and when I open it, I stop.

Stay away from Cecily.

My heart falters. I text her back: ?

Daisy responds right away: Cecily and Matthew. It all makes sense now. It was her!

Time seems to slow as all the blood leaves my face and slides down into my stomach. My hands grow cold, sweaty. I glance over at Cecily, but her eyes are focused on the road.

Careful not to react, I respond to Daisy: What was her???

Before I fell asleep, I’d grown used to the passing New Jersey factories and gas stations, but now, there are tall evergreen trees on either side, the road winding, twisting up, up. My eardrums pop. Where are we going?

My eyes slide over to Cecily, dread sitting in my stomach. Her eyes are focused on the road, and she’s driving fast. Too fast.

Daisy is typing…and typing…and my chest is growing tighter with every passing second. It can’t be…not Cecily…

Daisy: Naomi got the video. Cecily helped Matthew silence Lila. Cecily and Matthew were together then…And I think this entire time!

“Who is it?” Cecily asks, glancing over at me. Her voice is casual,but I sense a note of tension underneath. The top half of her face is in shadow, and her eyes, which were once blue, are now a steel gray.

I swallow, quickly tucking my phone by my side. I have to pretend everything’s fine. I can’t let her know what I’m thinking. Or what Daisy’s told me. A metallic taste fills the back of my throat. Bitter and sharp like blood. I swallow, hard. “Just Nate.”

“Nate?” Cecily repeats. “I knew he wouldn’t stay upset forever.” But she’s looking at me with an unreadable expression.

My pulse quickens and I try to calm myself, force myself to smile. Maybe if I tell her Nate knows I’m with her, she’ll take me home. She’ll have to.

“Yeah,” I lie. “He was…” But there’s something wrong with my throat. And my head is fuzzy and slow. It’s like searching for the words at the bottom of a murky lake, each slipping from my hands like fish. I swallow and try again. “He was…worried. I told…I told him…I was…you…with you.” I try to smile, but find it exceedingly difficult. I feel sick.

Cecily turns her attention back to the road and I exhale the breath I’d been holding. She believed me…for now.

But I need to know what Daisy found.

Suddenly, in a burst of clarity, I remember what Detective Simmons told me one of the first times we met: Your sister’s phone pinged a tower in Manhattan. A tower in Manhattan—Cecily lives in Manhattan. They’d learned Naomi was sleeping at her friend’s place downtown, but the tower had been uptown. Where Cecily lives.

I respond to Daisy’s text: HELP. I’m with her.

What I really want to know is: How? Why?

But I don’t have time. I need to get out of here.

If only I could call the police. Leave the phone on while I signal for help—isn’t that something people do? Pulling my phone up to my face, I concentrate hard on the screen until it becomes clear—one bar of service. Shit. The last message hasn’t sent, and my phone is almost dead. A horrible sinking: we’re in the middle of nowhere. She’s taking me somewhere remote—I shudder.

Cecily looks over again, and I try to smile, but it feels like I’m drifting, strong anesthesia haze pulling me under, the sides of my mouth stretched by an invisible string. It reminds me of a time when a nurse dispensed a strong sedative into my IV. Something is wrong. Something is very—

Stop. Think. There has to be another way. I concentrate on the road in front of me, trying not to lose myself in the winding pavement, the falling rain. Dizzy, I reach for the water, finishing the rest in a few gulps.

“More?” Cecily asks, offering me another bottle. I grab it from her and unscrew the cap, but the cap doesn’t click.

It’s already been opened.

I freeze, and my heart goes crazy. No, oh no, oh god.

“You okay?” Cecily asks, eyeing me. My neck is too hot. Sweat beads my forehead, the back of my neck. The glass bottle feels heavy, like a five-pound weight, in my hand.

I try to respond, to assure her nothing’s wrong, but my tongue is awkward and thick.

“I’m fine,” I try to say, but it comes out mumbled—something’s seriously wrong. She’s drugged me.

Cecily reaches over to grab the bottle as it slips from my grasp and spills onto my lap. “Oh no. Poor thing. Looks like someone drank a little too much tonight. You were always a bit of a lightweight.”

I lean toward the window, and my body crumples into it, head lolling to my chest. My breath grows shallow, fogging the window. Everything is wrong.

What the hell did she do to me?

I’m exhausted, my head heavy, so heavy, my eyelids tipping shut, and just before I feel it all slip away, one final thought lingers at the edge of my consciousness— How am I going to get out of this?