“If he thought I buried a body in the backyard, why would he have told me to have the septic tank dug up?”

“He says he thought you had it in a storage unit.”

I know. What you keep. In there. That storage unit. I know.

I know you know what I did, Jewelann. You have to forgive me. If you forgive me, if you support me, I promise you, I’ll be better. I’ll never do it again. I swear to you.

I’d thought he’d been talking about another woman. I’d promised, and I’d kept my promise, but Ken had not. Another bout of hissing laughter rips out of me.

“I have a storage unit, that’s true. But it’s full of stuff I bought,” I tell her. “I have kind of a shopping problem. But there aren’t any bodies in there. You can look, if you want.”

“I’ll have to do that,” she says, apologetically, just in case, but I’m not worried about it, because I know what I told her is true. She won’t find any bodies in my storage unit.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know that has to feel like a real betrayal to hear. But don’t worry. We’ve got him, we’re going to keep him, and we’re going to convict him. You and your son are going to be all right.”

She tells me more, but the words honestly go in one ear, right out the other, and I retain next to nothing. She squeezes my shoulders as she says goodbye, promising to check in with me. Asks me to let her know where we’ll be staying, so she can be sure to keep in touch, let me know of any updates. She warns me again about trusting anyone trying to get information out of me.

When I close the front door behind her, I lock it. I have to sit on the steps and put my head between my knees. I keep laughing, laughing, until I choke again on a sob.

I feel betrayed for many things my husband has done, but not by him blaming me for burying that child in the garden.

After all, I am the one who did it.

CHAPTER
38

NOBODY ADMITS OUT loud how hard it can be to stay at home with your kid. Yeah, there were mommy groups, but none of those women had been my friends in high school. Why would I want to spend time with any of them simply because we had kids the same age? They were all still cliquey. I didn’t fit in. I didn’t really want to.

I tried the crunchy thing. Reading storybooks instead of plopping the kid in front of the television. All meals made from scratch, nothing from a box or pouch or, heaven forbid, a fast-food place. I made my own laundry detergent. I hung my sheets out to dry.

Being a housewife had never been in my life’s plan, but there I was, on call twenty-four-seven. That was my career. That was my life. Being someone’s everything was all so much. Too much.