Dear Debbie, page 21
“Oh?”
I take a deep breath, watching her expression. “He’s…he’s married.”
“Oh.” She puts her hand on her chest. “Separated?”
“No, he’s still with his wife.”
“Oh!” she says again, this time with a hint of judgment in her voice. “Well, that’s not good.”
“But it’s barely a marriage.” I still have my eyes on her face, watching for signs of recognition. “They don’t even sleep together anymore. They barely talk.” Sound familiar, Debbie? “He says he would have left her years ago, but she’s, you know, emotionally fragile.”
If Debbie recognizes that I’m talking about her marriage, she doesn’t show it.
“He could be lying,” she says diplomatically.
“I don’t think he is.”
“Men lie.” She drums her fingernails on the kitchen counter. “Men do terrible things.”
There’s an ominous look in her eyes, and for a moment, I think maybe she does know. Maybe she knows everything, and maybe she’s known for a long time.
Slowly, I move the knife I was using to chop the salad out of the way. I swallow a lump in my throat and attempt to smile, but my lips feel rubbery. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe confronting Debra Mullen with her cheating husband was not such a great idea.
But then the doorbell rings, and it’s too late to turn back.
“That must be him,” I say in what sounds like an abnormally high-pitched voice.
I push past Debbie, walking in the direction of the front door. She follows at my heels, and as my heart speeds up, all my reservations vanish. This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for. One way or another, we are going to rip off this Band-Aid.
When I pull open the door, Cooper is standing there in the doorway. He’s wearing a dress shirt from work that day, although he has sweat dotting the collar slightly, which makes me think he came directly from the gym. But that’s okay—I love him all hot and sweaty.
“Hi, Cooper,” I say in a husky voice that makes it clear what our relationship is.
He starts to reply, but then his gaze moves past me, over my shoulder, and falls on Debbie. All the blood drains from his face, and he takes a step back.
“What are you doing here?” he gasps.
A smile touches Debbie’s lips, although she still has that dark look in her eyes that sends a chill down my spine.
“Hello, Jesse,” she says.
65
COOPER
I’ve got to find Debbie.
I have run out of ideas to find her, and I’ve been blowing up her phone with text messages and voicemails for hours now. So I’m driving to the final place I can think of to look.
Except I don’t actually know where I’m going. There was one address on the list of places Debbie had been in the last week that wasn’t familiar to me. It’s an address in Rockland. I don’t know anybody who lives in Rockland. I have no idea what this place is, but it’s the only clue I have left.
So I’m going.
The sun has dropped precipitously in the sky, and the streets are growing dark. I’m following the GPS as the roads curve and turn. And as I follow the directions from my phone, I think about what I’m going to say to Debbie if and when I find her.
First, I’m going to tell her how much I love her. Because I do. Even after all this, I still love her. She’s the only woman I have ever loved or will ever love.
So there’s that. And hopefully that’s worth something.
My phone starts ringing, and it’s the worst possible timing. It’s her again. I am in no state to deal with this right now, but I need to take the call, at least to let her know I’m not showing up tonight.
The voice on the other end of the line pipes out of the speakers in my car: “Cooper?”
“Cherese,” I say. “Hey.”
“Everything okay?” Her voice is scratchy from forty years of smoking. “You sound…off.”
No kidding. “I’m fine.”
“Have you been drinking?”
I flinch, hating that she had to ask. But it’s her job—she’s my sponsor. “No.”
“Cooper…”
“I swear. I haven’t been drinking.”
Does she believe me? I hope so. I’ve been lying to Debbie for the duration of our marriage, but I try not to lie to Cherese. It’s the only way I can hope to get better.
“Are you going to the meeting tonight?” she asks me.
“I can’t. I’m busy.” That’s an understatement. “I… I’ll go tomorrow.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” As long as I’m not in jail tomorrow. “I have to go now.”
Cherese sounds like she’s not sure if she believes me, but there’s no way I’m going to tell her about the day I’ve had today. Not now—not ever. She accepts that I’m not about to get toasted at this moment and allows me to end the call, although she’ll surely call back later. She’s not the first sponsor I’ve had, but she might be the most attentive. She has been calling me constantly since I fell off the wagon to make sure I’m not tempted to start drinking again. And I’m glad she hasn’t leaned on me too hard to tell Debbie the truth.
So yeah, I’m a shit. How could I fail to tell the woman I love that I’ve been an alcoholic since before we even met? How could I conceal such an important part of who I am?
I was ashamed. And I swear, I thought I had it conquered, and Debbie never needed to know. But that was no excuse.
I found out about my problem when I was in college. All my friends used to drink, but I realized it was different for me. I never knew when to stop. I started drinking every night, even before I was twenty-one and could get it legally. I had a fake ID, and when it was confiscated, I got another fake ID. I got fired from my job flipping burgers when I showed up to work drunk, but I still didn’t take it seriously. It wasn’t until I ended up with a DUI that I realized I had a problem.
I got it under control though. I started going to AA meetings, and I gave up alcohol entirely. I was proud of myself, and when I met Debbie, I truly thought I had left it all behind me. I didn’t think I needed to lay that piece of baggage on her when it was firmly in the past.
Except it wasn’t actually in the past. During our marriage, I have fallen off the wagon three times. And each time, I have come very close to telling her, but I didn’t. I would call my sponsor to confess my sins, turn off location sharing, sneak off to the AA meetings, and get myself back under control all on my own.
I know. It’s ridiculous. I obviously should have told her. But before we were married, I was scared that if I told her, she would lose respect for me and dump me. And then after we were married, I realized it was too late, and she would be furious with me for lying to her.
A few weeks ago, I fell off the wagon again. It was the stress of knowing that I was going to be asking for the partnership and knowing in my heart that he would say no. I didn’t realize he’d let me quit, but when that happened, the financial stress only made things worse. I wanted to talk to Debbie and confess everything, but she’d become so strangely distant over the last six months. When I polished off the white wine above our refrigerator and replaced it with tap water until I could grab another bottle, I knew I had to start going to meetings again. I couldn’t even resist the random six-pack of beer I found in the kitchen.
I should’ve just told her from the start. I should have been honest, and maybe if I had, she would’ve been honest with me.
Now, as I drive to Rockland, my foot pressing as hard on the gas as I dare, I make a promise to myself that the moment I see her, I’m going to tell her everything. No more secrets. Whatever she’s done, we’re going to figure it out.
Christ, I hope it’s not too late.
66
DEBBIE
Harley looks stunned. It’s fun to watch.
She thought that she was going to shock me by bringing my husband here and revealing that she was his lover. But it didn’t go quite as she expected.
I have to hand it to Jesse—telling Harley that his name was Cooper Mullen was a smart move. Cooper was already in the system at the gym because he used it too. Also, as a technophobe, he didn’t have any social media presence online. Any search she did would fail to turn up a photo or any information. It kept Jesse’s wife—actually quite a nice woman who doesn’t deserve any of this—from discovering what her husband was up to. I have no doubt this was not his first rodeo.
Cooper hasn’t been entirely honest with me, but one thing he would never do is cheat on me. He has many faults, but he does love me, and he is very, very loyal.
I hope he doesn’t find out what I will be doing here tonight.
“Jesse?” Harley repeats in confusion. Her eyes, heavily lined with mascara, are huge. “Who’s Jesse?”
Jesse squirms. Harley has likely seen my Cooper when he’s been working out at the gym, and I’m sure she finds Jesse more attractive than my husband, but I’ve always found Jesse’s looks to be slimy. I could be biased though.
“Look, Harley,” he stammers. “There are a few things that…that I might not have been entirely honest with you about.”
I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. It’s entertaining watching him try to squirm his way out of this one.
Jesse shoots me a look, then he turns back to Harley. He’s desperate to explain himself, but not because he wants to continue things with Harley. I’m fairly certain he came here to end things with her tonight. But now that she knows his name, he doesn’t want her approaching his wife.
“Your name isn’t Cooper Mullen?” Harley asks incredulously.
He shakes his head slowly as he takes a step toward her. “No. I’m sorry. Cooper is… He’s that other guy that I come to the gym with all the time. He and I… We work together.”
“Oh my God.” Harley shoves him hard enough that he stumbles backward. “Here I thought that you loved me and you might want to spend your life with me, and all along, you didn’t even tell me your real name, you piece of shit.”
Jesse opens his mouth to protest, but then he sways on his feet. He presses his fingertips against his temple and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I think I need to sit down.”
“You need to get out,” Harley retorts.
But Jesse isn’t listening to her. He pushes past her in the direction of the sofa, and he collapses onto it. He doesn’t look like he can get up again.
He must have been chugging from his water bottle the whole way home from the gym. The opium that I mixed into that water is working nicely.
Jesse’s eyelids are starting to sag. The adrenaline of the encounter may have helped a little bit, but it’s wearing off.
“Don’t close your eyes!” Harley shrieks at him as she shakes his shoulder. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time! How could you do that to me?”
I can’t believe I ever thought Harley was cool. The pink streak in her hair misled me. Or maybe it was the way she genuinely seemed interested in what I had to say, although now I realize she was just picking my brain for details about my husband. I didn’t start to put it all together until I found that T-shirt at her house. When I smelled it, I knew immediately who it belonged to.
Then I went to the gym and talked to Cindy, who was extremely eager to share information about her philandering coworker. She was very, very helpful. After that, I knew everything I needed to know.
“Cooper!” Harley snaps. “Or…Jesse. Or whatever your name is. Are you listening to me?”
He’s looking at her, but he’s not seeing her. The drugs in his system have taken hold, and I’d say in another few minutes, he’ll be unconscious. This conversation will seem like a dream later, if he remembers it at all.
Now is the time to make my move.
I reach into the purse slung over my shoulder and first take out my pair of leather gloves. After I pull them onto my hands, I take out the Glock I’ve been carrying. I shot it once when I put a bullet between Ken Bryant’s eyes. Now I’m going to use it a second time.
“Harley,” I say.
Harley interrupts her tirade against Jesse and turns to look at me. When she sees the gun in my hand, she inhales sharply.
“Debbie?” she says. “What are you doing?”
In a way, Harley is innocent. She never did anything to me directly. She did think she was sleeping with my husband, but she wasn’t. I have no beef with her.
But she’s a terrible person. She used me. And she has destroyed countless marriages without any remorse. I hate to use her as a pawn, but she would do the same to me. It’s no big loss.
“Sorry, Harley,” I say.
Then I point the gun at her forehead and pull the trigger.
The gunshot kills her instantly. Her body drops to the floor, and a pool of blood forms around the back of her head. Her eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. I’m glad she let me know that her upstairs neighbors were out of town, because I would be worried about the noise. But as it is, we’re all alone out here on this dead-end street.
I look over at Jesse, whose head is lolling on the sofa. He is now unconscious, and even the report of the gunshot wasn’t enough to bring him back. I had thought I might need to give him another shot of opium, which I’ve got handy in my purse, but he drank enough that it wasn’t needed.
It’s better he’s asleep. He almost certainly won’t remember a thing from what went on in this apartment, and it’s safer for me that way.
But I wish he could know. I wish he knew that it was his gun that I used to shoot Harley. The one I took from his house a few days ago. (The key was under the doormat, if you can believe that. Barely even a challenge.) I was smart enough to turn off my location sharing for that little heist. I didn’t want there to be any clues that I was the one who took that gun.
Especially when the police match the bullet from this gun with the one that killed Ken Bryant. Although I’m not too worried. The paper trail between Jesse and that offshore bank account with all the money that’s been stolen from the company will provide ample motive for the murder. I even sent him that text message from Ken’s phone, asking him to water the plants so he would be caught on the door cam. That camera at Ken’s door proved very useful, especially since I was able to delete the footage of my own arrival at his door. It took me less than sixty seconds to eliminate any evidence of my guilt.
Nobody will suspect me. Jesse and I hardly know each other. Why would I frame a virtual stranger for murder? Why would I kill his girlfriend right in front of him?
“You deserve this,” I whisper to the sleeping man on the sofa. “Hutch.”
For a split second, Jesse’s eyelids flicker. Did he hear me? Part of me hopes he did. Even though it would incriminate me, part of me wants him to know who I am and why I’m doing this. Of course, he hasn’t recognized me yet. It was a long time ago, and we both look a lot different. Plus, I am damn near positive that I was not his only victim. I was just one in a long line of faceless, nameless coeds.
But I had no trouble recognizing him. The second I laid eyes on Jesse when Cooper arranged that double date with him and his wife, I immediately recognized that face. And that cologne—the same one he wore in college, the same one that was clinging to that T-shirt. It still haunts me. Those olfactory associations are so powerful.
He held out his hand to me, a grin playing on his lips. It’s so nice to meet you, Debbie. Cooper talks about you all the time.
I took his hand because it would have given me away if I didn’t. His skin felt like it was scalding me. When I finally pulled away, my palm was damp. I had to excuse myself to run to the bathroom at the restaurant, where I breathed through the worst panic attack I’d had since college.
Pull yourself together, Debbie, I told myself. You can’t let him know it’s you.
I pulled myself together. I came out of the bathroom, smiled up at the man who wrecked my future, and pretended I was having a great time, although after the second time my shaky hands knocked over my drink and had to be cleaned up, I thought the waitress and I were going to have words. That night, I went home and screamed into my pillow until my throat was hoarse.
The next day, I dug into the slush pile of emailed letters addressed to Dear Debbie. For once, I decided to tell people the real way to solve their problems. Everyone knows you don’t get your family to sit down for breakfast by asking “pretty please.” Of course, Garrett never would have printed those replies, so I saved all of them in a file on my desktop.
That was about eight months ago, and in that time, I’ve composed dozens of emails to women who had been taking abuse for far too long, just like I have. But I’m not a hypocrite. I couldn’t send any of those messages until I paid back the man who ruined my life.
Please stop!
Don’t worry. This will be over in a minute.
I couldn’t burn down Zeta Pi. I grabbed my purse from where I left it in the bedroom, then I went downstairs and left the frat with the cigarette and matches still in my purse. In my head, it had seemed like a good idea, but once I was there and talking to that nice kid, I couldn’t go through with it. Besides, it wasn’t their fault what happened all those years ago. It wasn’t fair to blame them.
There was only one person who was to blame for that night.
Jesse Hutchinson’s eyes flutter shut. There is more than enough evidence to tie him to Ken Bryant’s murder and now to the murder/suicide that will soon be discovered at this apartment when I call the police and ask them to check on my friend whose jealous boyfriend was threatening her. When Jesse is gone, I will finally be able to move past this. I will finally be at peace.
Don’t worry. This will be over in a minute.
67
COOPER
The address is not exact, which means that I’m basically driving around a small area in Rockland, keeping my eye out for Debbie’s car. This is getting more and more challenging as the sun drops in the sky.
