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Back We Were Killers Once Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

They had playful pet names for each other, like ours. Only theirs were esoteric literary allusions. And a date that showed how the young unlined Jane would always live in his memories, while I had brought more of a sixtyish body into our relationship.

Had he chosen this novel to read because I’d awakened his memories of Jane with my questions?

I closed the book and went into Carlo’s library, just to see if there were any more of Anthony Trollope’s novels. They were easy to find because there were so many of them. Like almost two dozen lined up on a shelf at eye level. I pulled just one out and found a message from Lady Carbury to Mr. Broune.

That wasn’t all. Next to the Trollope novels was a book called Wiping the Slate Clean: Reducing Recidivism Through Prison Literacy Programs. By Jane DiForenza.

She was not only a better person than I was.

She was more intellectual, on Carlo’s level. They didn’t just read together, they wrote together.

She didn’t just bake things and have poor taste in decorating.

She was probably strong.

And Carlo never told me any of this, why? Because he didn’t want me to compare myself to Jane and feel that I was lacking?

Things you think have been put to rest, resolved, snuck back into your mind when you least expected, catching you off guard. You have to do battle with these obsessions again and again, even if you’re one tough broad who doesn’t take shit from anyone.

Self-worth: my right to occupy a spot in the universe no taller than five foot three inches.

How tall was Jane? Such a trivial thing, but those are the things that break us. The camel’s straw. The nail in the tire. The wicked mustard seed that grows inside our mind, and encroaches on our delicate mental balance. Is this what happens to everyone three years past the initial infatuation, or just to me?

The security screen door is heavy and banged shut when Carlo returned with the pugs. I moved quickly away from the books (I did not run) and out of the room because how often and with what reason did I ever go in there? Luckily the computer in my office was still on, and I sat there with my hands poised over the keyboard, heart beating hard enough to notice.

“I’m in here, honey! Just doing something I forgot!” With both exclamation points at full throttle.

He replied, something in a softer tone that I couldn’t hear, one of those things that’s not necessary to hear. I thought of how easy it becomes to lie.

Fourteen