Authors: Katrina Alba
“I’m always right, Lys.” She snickers. “Besides, we’re in Vegas, doll. Let’s enjoy it before we have to go back to the real world in a day and a half.” She pulls me forward, and I forget all about the incident with Keith.
We gamble and drink the rest of the night away. Grant did end up messaging me later, but he never met up with us. He simply said he was exhausted, he was going to bed, and he promised to make it up to me the next day. Sara was right—he is a shit.
I stumble drunkenly into our suite just as the sun is coming up. I’m carrying my heels when I walk through the door. I toss them and strip on my way to the bedroom. I take a detour to tinkle first and then amble out of the bathroom and through the vanity area leading to the bedroom. I stop in front of the mirror and take myself in—in my lace bra and panties. “Not too bad, minus the Alice Cooper look.” I run my hands under my eyes, removing the smudges of black mascara under them. “There.”
I notice a tiny black fabric sticking by the tissue holder. “What the heck?” I pull on it and hold up a tiny pair of black silk panties. “Whoops,” I giggle. “Guess the cleaning lady missed these when she cleared out the suite.” I toss them in the trash and continue to bed.
Grant is sleeping when I walk in the room. He is lying on his stomach with arms stretched above his head. I lick my lips looking at his tanned back. I tip-toe clumsily to the bed and climb in. For a moment, I just listen to him breathe. I hate to wake him, but I have to touch him. I run a hand down the expanse of his toned back, pausing when he moves. He rolls over and I place my hand gently back on his back. His skin is hot to the touch. I consider jumping him, but then the room starts to spin so I snuggle into him and fall into an inebriated slumber minutes later.
The rest of the trip, Grant was on me like white on rice. He was sweet, and he even took me to a romantic dinner in a private room without our friends. He more than made up for his missing out the first night in Vegas.
* * *
Three months after
Vegas, Grant seems far more stressed than he was before we left. He is gone on business more than ever, and when he is around, he is short with me. I miss the affection. I miss him. I miss us. I’m hurt, but I don’t fight for us. Instead, I do what I do best and throw myself into my work.
Somehow, my job becomes less and less satisfying every single day. Maybe it’s the baby factor. Or maybe I am just changing as I get older, but I start to resent my job. I’m using it as a crutch and I know it. Soon, it begins to feel like a crutch stabbing you in the armpit from putting too much weight on it for too long.
I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone my marriage is stressed. Hmph, stressed. More like my marriage is in shambles. From the outside, my life is perfect. I have a great career, a beautiful, successful husband, and a fabulous home. I’m empty inside, and I’m not sure how to fill it.
Alcohol seems to numb it. I start grabbing a cocktail at the bar across from the hospital once in a while on the way home from the office. Soon, it’s every single night.
“The usual?” Sam asks as I slide onto the cold, leather stool.
“Yeah.” I smile at him. “Thanks.”
I’m playing with the empty ice in the tumbler in front of me with the straw a little while later when a familiar voice startles me.
“Another drink for the lady and an amber draft for me, please,” he instructs the bartender.
“Well, hello stranger.” I turn to greet him. “What are you doing here?” The look on his face is one I don’t recognize. Keith is usually a happy go lucky sort of guy.
Keith slips onto the stool next to me. “Hey, Lys.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “I stop here on my way home from the station when I’ve had a rough day. It was the worst I’ve had on this job to date. What are you doing here?”
“Same.” I give him a simple answer and then deflect back to him. “So, tell me about your day?”
“New case I’m on. Found a girl dead today, shot twice in the back. She was pregnant,” he says solemnly.
“Oh, wow.” My blood runs cold at the information he’s just laid on me. “That’s just—oh, wow Keith.”
“It’s bad. It’s really, really bad. I’ve been doing this for a long time now. I should be used to it, but some cases just get under your skin, you know? Sometimes it feels personal.”
“Oh, I’m sure. I know it’s not the same, but I go through some of the emotional helplessness in my own profession, so I get it. Sometimes, things are just out of our control. All we can do is to try to achieve the best outcome we can with what we’re given.”
“I’m glad I ran into you. You’re one of the few people who always make me feel better when I’m down.”
“Ditto. So, how are things with Heather?”
“Who?” He smiles at me mischievously. “We broke up a couple weeks ago.”
I smile my first genuine smile in weeks. “Aw, that's a shame. She seemed nice.”
“Yeah, nice and crazy.” He snorts.
“A round of shots!” I bellow to the bartender.
Drinks with an old friend are nice. I make a mental note when I drive home to do it more often.
A week and a few days later, I am reading in my room, in my favorite chair, when I hear a loud knock on the front door.
I come down
the stairs with an unexplained sick feeling in my stomach. I pause halfway down and watch as Grant touches the pad to open the door.
Standing at the threshold are two uniformed officers and a plain clothed detective. “Good afternoon, officers.” Grant’s voice sounds confused. “Something I can do for you?”
“Grant Kennedy?” one of them asks.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“May we come in?”
“Sure,” he agrees. “Can I ask what this is in regards to?” I make my way down the rest of the stairs to find out what is going on.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Stephanie Jones.” One officer turns Grant to cuff his hands.
“What are you talking about? Get your hands off me. This is obviously a misunderstanding.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer continues as he clicks the second cuff on Grant’s wrist.
“Grant? What is going on here?” I look from one officer to the other.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him present with you while you are being questioned.” The officer continues to Mirandize Grant while he walks him out of the house.
“Alyssa, call the attorney!” he shouts over his shoulder.
I turn on the detective. “What the hell is going on?” I shout in his face. He just looks at me apologetically and hands me some papers.
“Ma’am, this is a warrant to search your home and the premises.”
“Search my home? For what? Grant didn’t murder anyone. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Do you have somewhere you could stay while we conduct our investigation, ma’am?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He doesn’t budge. He just stares down at me.
“Look, I’m really sorry. The best thing you can do right now is call an attorney for your husband.”
“Fine!” I’m fuming. I run up the stairs and snatch my purse to return back downstairs as fast as possible. By the time I get back, there are officers filing through the door and ripping through my home. What the hell are they looking for? This is insane! I call our attorney on the way down to the station. He informs me he is already on his way downtown and will meet me there. As it turns out, the media caught wind of the arrest. Kyle Reed, our attorney, was already on his way and assembling a team.
I speed down to the precinct, running yellows and even a few reds. I don’t care at this point. I just want to get down there and get some answers.
I’m left to wait hours in a small area with the attorney before we can see Grant. By the time we are finally ushered into a room, there is another attorney with us. Kyle says she is a shark and has never lost a case when he introduces her.
We are shown into a gray room where Grant is seated with an officer perched in the corner. He looks anxious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grant look scared.
Kyle and the other lawyer walk into the room with confidence. I follow in tow. “Grant, this is Olivia Kaspen. I called her. She’s the best attorney that all your money can buy, and from what I’ve heard already about this case, you’re going to need her.”
I sit in a chair mute and listen as they go over details of what happened. Grant swears over and over he didn’t kill her. Stephanie Jones and Grant were having an affair. She was pregnant and now she’s dead. I sink into my chair as the evidence makes him look even more than guilty. And this is just the upfront stuff. I’m sure in court there will be more damning evidence thrown at him.
The girl Grant is accused of murdering is the pregnant girl Keith mentioned at the bar. I’m almost sure of it. So why isn’t he on this case?
There are a million questions going through my head as I drive home, alone. What I do know is I believe Grant did it. I’m his wife, and I believe he did it. If I believe it, there is no way a jury will believe otherwise.
* * *
After the trial,
I go to the jail to visit Grant before he is transferred upstate to prison. I haven’t been to visit him since they took him away that first day. I was there for attorney meetings, I was there for the trial, but I couldn’t bring myself to visit him. It has been a year since I’ve privately spoken with my husband.
I have a seat on a cold metal chair. I am inspecting a small computer screen next to the large glass window when I am startled by a thunderous clang as a large metal door closes. Grant is ushered in by a guard, who is not gentle when he pushes his shoulders down to have a seat in the chair across from me.
For the first time I can remember, Grant doesn’t seem himself. He didn’t walk in confidently. His shoulders are slumped and he looks broken down, scared even. I almost feel sorry for him for about a split second, and then I remember who it is and what he did.
For a long while, Grant doesn’t look up at me. We just sit in silence. When he finally peers up, he still doesn’t speak. He just sits there looking destroyed.
“I will take your silence as an admission of guilt.” I finally break the silence.
What I see in his expression next I wasn’t expecting. His entire demeanor changes in a split second to pure rage. If there weren’t bulletproof glass between us, I would be afraid for my safety.
“Are you kidding me? You
think I killed her, too?” he spits out, seething. He looks down shaking his head and I can tell he is trying to reign in his temper. “I know I haven’t always been the best husband.”
“Understatement of the year,” I cut him off.
He looks up at me with anger again and I shut up. “I know I wasn’t perfect. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.” He pauses and looks me straight in the eye as if trying to will me to believe him when he says, “But, baby, I swear to you—I didn’t kill anyone.”
He seems so sincere, I almost believe him. Almost.
“Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare baby me! If you didn’t kill her, then who did, Grant? She was pregnant with your child! Do you have any idea how bad that looks? Why should I believe anything you have to say when everything you’ve ever told me was a lie?”
“Alyssa, I suck, okay? I’m a big, giant asshole. I’ve done many terrible things that hurt you, but I do love you. I always have and I always will.”
One big gasp of laughter explodes from me. “Do you even know what love means? If you loved me, you wouldn’t fuck other women! You wouldn’t lie to me nonstop! If you loved me, you would have let me go instead of threatening to ruin me! You don’t know what love is. You loved the idea of me maybe, but the truth is, you love yourself way too much to ever truly love someone else, Grant. So, no, I don’t believe you.”
“Alyssa, baby, please,” he pleads as if I could help him if I wanted to. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a murderer. You know me.”
“No, I don’t think I ever really did. Or—maybe I do, and that’s the problem.” I place both hands on the table in front of me before pushing myself up to stand. I am nose to nose with the glass. “Grant,
baby
, take a good look at this face. Commit it to memory. Hell, you can even imagine it while Bubba in prison is pummeling your pretty ass. But I promise you this—you will never, ever be seeing it again.” I stand up straight and run my hands down my pencil skirt smoothing it out. I push the chair in and turn to walk away but turn back to him. “Oh, and Grant? I think you’re right where you belong. Orange looks good on you,” I say before turning and walking away from Grant Kennedy forever.
PART II
Inside the Fairy Tale
“The Truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
~Oscar Wilde
I thought I
planned my life out very carefully. I wanted a successful career, the end. I’m a simple girl. I never imagined a prince charming and the fairy tale ending. I was lucky enough to get everything I ever wanted. Scratch that. I worked hard and made everything I wanted happen. Prince charming and the castle were just a bonus. I met and married
the one.
He walked into my life with the ease that is Grant Kennedy.
Unfortunately, the job, the prince, the castle—it all turned out to be French fries. You enjoy them while they’re hot and fresh, but after a while, they get cold and then they’re just soggy and unsatisfying. Meanwhile, the ones you devoured while they were hot stick to your thighs as a reminder you should never have had them in the first place.
Much like someone with a big butt from too many fries, it’s entirely my own fault. I am the villain of my own story. I can blame others for my choices, but the truth of the matter is, at the end of the day, a girl is dead, and it’s my fault. Did I pull the trigger? That’s truly inconsequential because, the bottom line is, a girl’s life ended and no one is innocent—not even her.
From the very beginning, our whirlwind romance was one of epic proportion. I had never believed in love at first sight, but with Grant, it was. Our love snuck up fast and with the intensity of a tornado. Before we knew what had happened, we were swept up in it, leaving behind only its path of destruction as evidence it ever actually existed. Grant was like a character right out of a romance novel. He was perfect. The thing about perfect though is if you stick around long enough, you learn
no one
is perfect.
The beginning of our marriage came natural. It was all new and fun. We weren’t just newlyweds. We were still a new couple overall. It’s always easy when things are new and still hot and heavy. It’s when the flame dies down the real test of a relationship begins.
When we were first married, we were young in our careers. Grant and I were both just happy to have lucrative jobs that made us happy. We never considered the toll those careers could take on a marriage. I couldn’t travel with Grant on his many business trips because I couldn’t just pick up and frequently leave. The practice demanded most of my time. Regrettably, it meant even when Grant was in town, I was often called away from our time together. In many ways, it hurt us, but I always liked to think our time together was more special because it was quality time.
It took me more than four years to realize I was completely wrong about us, about Grant, and mostly, about myself. Have you ever had one of those moments of clarity in life where it makes you see every event leading up to that moment differently? A moment where one single piece of information shreds your heart into an unrecognizable pulp, effectively removing your soul right from your body?
* * *
After trying, to
no avail, to have a baby, Grant and I took a trip with friends to Vegas to relax and rejuvenate. His career snuck in for a moment, but overall, the trip was a success. It was nice to enjoy ourselves and have fun with our friends. We went to shows, gambled and lay drunkenly by the poolside. We had a romantic dinner, we made love, but like all good things, it came to an end all too soon.
I told myself I had given up on becoming pregnant. I wanted to believe, if it never happened, I’d be okay with it. I tried to expunge the thoughts of babies from my head, but I couldn’t. I was almost certain we had conceived while we were on our mini-getaway. When we returned, I had an extra spring in my step.
A couple days after returning home from our Vegas trip, I met Whitney for lunch at a bistro close to my office. She is the one person who I try to always make time for, so we have a standing lunch date once a month. Most of our communication is through text, but we talk as often as we can. It isn’t much, but it’s as much effort as my life seems to allow.
I haven’t even spoken to my parents since I told them I married Grant. I received the exact indifferent reaction from them as I expected. Intent on making a great life for myself, I finally was able to leave behind the garbage of my childhood. I haven’t spoken to them since. It’s uncommon for them to even cross my mind, but today for some reason, I’m thinking about them when I see Whit come around the corner. She’s always been my pseudo-family. I’m so grateful to have had her and Liam all these years. I’m not sure where I’d be if it weren’t for them.
I stand up when I see her walking toward my table. She is smiling brightly when she wraps me in a giant hug and kisses my cheek. “Well, hello there, doll face,” she greets me.
“Someone’s getting some regularly,” I tease her. “That is some smile you have there, must be good. I’m starving. Let’s order so you can tell me all about Ralph.” Two doctors and we’re still just as crude as ever when we’re together. Whitney took longer to do it, but she’s a practicing psychiatrist.
We have a seat and as I’m looking over the menu, Whit slips her left hand over the top of my menu. I’m nearly blinded by the sparkle of the giant ring on her finger.
“Oh, my God!” I squeal, throwing my menu down on the table. “Who cares about the sex when you have bling? When? How? Oh, my God! You’re getting married! Oh, my God! Ralph, you’re marrying Ralph, the kid who gave you worms and spit gum in your hair? The geek who grew into the swan and put a big, fat rock on your finger! This is like the best story ever. One day, you can tell your grandkids how much you hated their grandfather before you fell in love! Ah, my little Whitney is getting married!” I can’t help but gush. This news just made my day.
Whitney just sits there nodding and smiling. “Answers! How did he propose? When are we planning a wedding? What’s the date?”
“I’m not sure. It just happened last night. We went for a walk after dinner along the beach, like we have a gazillion times before, and then, out of nowhere, he just gets down on one knee. I stood there looking around, confused, wondering what the heck he was doing?” She shrugs with a laugh before continuing. “When I looked back at him, he had a box with this ring in his hands.”
“What did he say? Did he just ask you straight out? Or was there a speech? Oh, I love a romantic declaration of love.”
“Well, as you know, Ralph isn’t a man of many words, but it was so sweet. He said, ‘Whitney Goldstein, I’ve loved you since I was five years old, and I’ll love you until I die. Will you marry me?’ I just stood there in shock for a minute.”
“Aw, that is the sweetest! See, I told you, even when he was a rotten little bugger, he was in love with you! Did you cry?”
“Actually, no. I said yes, we kissed and then we… more than kissed on the beach. I haven’t told anyone else yet. I wanted to let it sink in and I had to tell you first.”
“Whit, I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait to plan this wedding.”
“You’ll be my matron of honor, right? I don’t think I can do this without you.”
“Duh! We’re a team for life. This is so exciting, both of us having such exciting news. Today is a great day.”
“News? What news do you have?”
“Well, officially? None. I just sort of have this feeling that maybe—the trip worked. I mean, it’s way too soon to tell but I think it finally took—I think I’m pregnant.” I speak it in a whisper like if I say it aloud, it might jinx it.
“Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that. That would be exciting news. Why do you think so? Do you feel different?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, I just have a feeling. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping again. Maybe I can will it to be true if I want it bad enough.”
“No one wishes more than I do for you to, in fact, be pregnant, Lys. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up only to be crushed again. Try not to put too much into this until you can take a test.” Whit is speaking softly, sympathetically. I know she is just looking out for me from all the times she’s witnessed my disappointment.
“I know. You’re right. I was a mess after months and months of not getting pregnant. I’m telling you, though... there is something different, I can’t explain it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I really think this time is it.”
She reaches over and places her hand over mine. “I hope so, Lys. I really, truly hope so.”
“Enough. Let’s talk wedding! This is your day!”
We spend the rest of lunch chattering on about ideas of where and when for her wedding. Whitney and Ralph are getting married—who would have thought?
The rest of my workday flies by, and I’m feeling excited to go home and cook dinner. I gave the maid the night off so I could relax and cook in my own kitchen. I don’t often get to play chef with the chaos of my schedule, so when I do, I actually enjoy it. I pour myself a glass of red wine and pull out everything I’ll need. I’m chopping basil when I get an idea. I grab my phone out of my purse and message Grant to find out what time he’ll be home. After I toss the basil on top of the tomato and fresh mozzarella salad, I stir the citrus sauce for the chicken on the stovetop. Keeping an eye on my phone for a response from Grant, I finish making dinner and leave it to simmer while I get the house ready.
Walking through the living room and dining room, I light candles. I even relocate a few near our front entryway and light them. I must be feeling romantic after hearing of Whitney’s proposal. I want the feelings I had in Vegas to continue. It had been so long since I felt so connected to Grant, I want to keep it going.
When all the candles are lit, I return to the kitchen to plate up our food. Grant hasn’t responded to my message yet, but he is usually home around this time for dinner if he doesn’t have a trip and he’s home this week. I run upstairs to change into something more comfortable before he gets home.
Standing in my closet, I look at all the slinky nightgowns I own. I go with a lacy number in Grant’s favorite color—red, and since I’m feeling saucy. I come back into the room and throw my clothes off on top of the duvet covering our bed. I stop dead still to listen, thinking I heard something, but hear only silence. I’m losing it. I slip my arms through the red teddy and slide the silk material down my body when I hear it again. There is a clear vibrating noise coming from somewhere in the bedroom. Searching through my clothes on the bed, I find nothing. Sure enough, when I walk around the bed, I see Grant’s phone lying on the ground.
“Whoops, he must have dropped it this morning. And now I’m talking to myself.” I pick up his phone and slink down the steps back to the dining room. Halfway down the steps, the phone goes off again. It’s a text message. I have a seat at the table and swipe to unlock the home screen hoping to get a clue as to where my husband is. The phone asks for a number code. Crap. What the heck does he need a lock code on his phone for? Four numbers, huh? I try our address, denied. I input combinations of our birthdays, denied.
I sit back exasperated and shrug into my chair. Looking out the window, I get the wind back in my sails. Finally, I type in one-nine-six-seven, bingo! The year of his favorite car, really? Rolling my eyes, I check his message.
The most recent missed message is from someone named Steph Jones in his phone.
Steph Jones: Are you coming over tonight? I miss you.
Sitting at the dining room table I read the message over and over—and over. After maybe the tenth read through, my brain finally registers the words in front of me. Suddenly, the fog over my mind is lifted.
Mere moments ago, I was standing in my luxurious closet trying to decide what color expensive nightgown to wear for my husband tonight. The past hour I was happily cooking a romantic dinner for two. Only now, I want to crawl out of my own skin. I’ve been living in denial for years and seeing what I see right now puts it all into perspective.
I had been trying to believe everything was great. I have a handsome husband, a flourishing career, a beautiful home, but the truth is—it’s all smoke and mirrors. It’s all shallow and I never realized it until now—until the moment I saw with my own eyes who Grant Kennedy really was.