The Divorce

Prologue

Inside a house that reeks of scorched flesh, the narrator watches their escape window shrink with every siren wail. The police are coming, and the narrator's mind races through the darkly absurd calculus of what they will find. One dead body, after all, could be explained away. People die, circle of life, and so on. But more than one corpse invites unanswerable questions. The police would start thinking about murder. And the bodies themselves carry traces of what happened to them before they died, horrifying details with no plausible explanation. The narrator expects raised eyebrows. Possibly handcuffs.

A gust of wind drives the stench of burned flesh deeper into their nostrils. Every molecule in their body screams at them to run while there is still time. The window is small but real: get in the car, take off. The nosy neighbor who called 911 might point the police in a general direction, but nothing more. The narrator could vanish somewhere no one would ever find them, turn into a ghost. Except that true disappearance is impossible. Wherever they go, they will not be alone. None of this was done for themselves. It was done for him.

The sirens grow louder, second by second. Less than a minute remains, and the chance to slip away slips away with it. If there was ever a moment to become invisible, it has passed. Very soon, everyone will learn the unthinkable thing that happened in this house, and there will be questions to answer.

The Police Arrive

The first police car screeches to a halt, parked crookedly along the curb. An officer climbs out of the driver's seat, and the narrator raises both hands high in the air where they can be seen. There is no running now. The narrator's life is about to change forever.

Chapter 1

Naomi throws her Lexus into park in her own driveway, staring at a garage door that refuses to open. The "intelligent" door is supposed to sense her car and roll up at the exact right moment, a feature her husband Jeremy proudly showed off when they moved in, joking that it was smarter than she is. In all the years she's lived here, it has never failed. Until today. Teddy's babyish voice from the back seat asks if the door is broken. Naomi reassures him while noticing the lights are on inside, meaning Jeremy is home from work at least an hour early, which is almost as unusual as the malfunction. Her husband manages a hedge fund in the city, works harder than anyone she knows, and though he sometimes misses family dinner, he is always home every single night to put Teddy to bed. She tells Teddy that Daddy will help them figure it out, and Teddy nods, completely confident, because as far as he's concerned there is nothing his father can't do.

She climbs out of the car, tugging at her yoga pants, then contorts herself into the back seat to release five-year-old Teddy from his car seat, a safety measure she stubbornly keeps in place despite the eye rolls from other mothers at kindergarten pickup. He rewards her with a gap-toothed grin. He recently lost his first baby tooth, then a second, then two more, and was over the moon about it after enviously watching his classmates, while Naomi quietly mourned each one as a sign of her little boy growing up. Teddy grabs his SpongeBob backpack, which seems to weigh as much as he does, and they head to the front door of the house.

At the front door

The doorknob doesn't turn, and Naomi swears under her breath. Teddy gleefully announces, "You said a bad word, Mommy!" She apologizes quickly. The door is locked, but she always comes in through the garage, where the door is never locked, so she rarely uses her keys. She fumbles through her purse while Teddy demands a running narration of everything she does, and she provides one, as she usually does, since his excellent vocabulary is something his teacher praises. Finally her fingers close around her key chain and she pulls it out with a triumphant "Ta-da!" Teddy claps obligingly.

The garage door problem can wait. The afternoon has already been messy: parking at the karate school, in a strip mall shared by a dozen other shops, was out of control, and the clouds that had been hovering all afternoon broke open just as she found a spot, leaving her hair damp and her shoes squelching more than an hour later. She wants nothing more than a quiet evening with her family.

But the key doesn't turn in the lock. Naomi pulls it out, certain this is the right key, and examines the key ring: two keys, one for the house and one for her old medical practice, which she gave up to stay home with Teddy, no regrets, though she kept the spare for nostalgia. Neither key opens the door. And then she notices something else. The lock on the door is shinier than she remembers. It looks brand-new, though to her knowledge it hasn't been changed in years. That is her second clue that something is very wrong.

Her temple throbs. Tired of trying to solve the mystery, she rings the doorbell, then bangs on the door with her fist, then harder. Teddy asks why she is kicking the door, and she tells him she's just making sure Daddy hears them. Footsteps grow louder behind the door. The lock turns, and Jeremy is standing before her.

He is wearing his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar with no tie. He turned forty about six months ago and looks the best he ever has, with sandy brown hair showing no sign of thinning, intense dark brown eyes, and white teeth. The creases around his eyes when he smiles are, to Naomi, incredibly sexy. Even after years of marriage, their chemistry is as strong as it ever was, and she has never needed excuses to avoid intimacy the way some of her friends do. Teddy hollers "Daddy!" and propels himself at Jeremy with more enthusiasm than he showed meeting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland over the holidays. Jeremy heaves him up like he weighs nothing and gives Teddy a brilliant smile. Naomi holds up her key and asks, "Did you change the lock?"

Jeremy hesitates, not answering. He lowers Teddy to the floor and asks him to go up to his room and play quietly, because he needs to talk to his mother. Teddy trots over to the stairwell and goes up without a word, obeying his father instantly in a way he never does for Naomi. Once he's gone, Jeremy closes the door and turns to face her.

"Jeremy," she says, wringing her hands. "What's going on?"

He rubs his jaw, which is just starting to show a shadow from his morning shave, and he avoids her eyes. That is her third clue, because Jeremy has no trouble making eye contact. He is the king of eye contact. And then he says the words that seal her dread. "Naomi. We need to talk."

Chapter 2

Naomi stands in the foyer with Jeremy, hovering awkwardly as he makes no move toward the living room. When she asks what he wants to talk about, he smiles that sexy smile and announces a big surprise: he has decided to redo the entire house. Paint the walls, new floors, a kitchen renovation. The works.

All the tension drains from her body. When she saw that new lock on the front door and heard those words, "we need to talk," for a split second she thought he was going to tell her something far worse. A renovation is a relief. But it also feels like a lot, and she admits the smile she gives him is a tiny bit forced. She wishes he had told her in advance. That is Jeremy all over, though. He plans all their family vacations and only tells her on a strictly need-to-know basis, once casually announcing a trip to Italy while she stood cooking dinner. It's sweet, but maddening, and sometimes she wishes he would consult her as a partner before making plans.

Their anniversary was nearly a month ago. She made him steak au poivre and bought him cuff links; he gave her a beautiful silver necklace with an amethyst crystal. Now he calls this renovation a belated anniversary gift, and asks if she can blame him for wanting to spoil his wife. She can't suppress a smile. Jeremy is a good dad, but an even better husband. She has taken a break from work to raise their son, and she has never for one moment doubted how much Jeremy loves her.

Then he drops the real news: he already packed all her things. In the living room, three leather suitcases stand stacked in a neat pile. They were her birthday gift from him four years ago, matching luggage nicer than anything she had ever owned. He gestures at the bags and explains the plan: the two of them will stay at his parents' old apartment for a few weeks while the work is done. It is only a twenty-minute drive away. His parents lived in this house he bought for them, then moved into a first-floor unit when the stairs became too much. His father passed a year later, his mother two years after that. He was a good son, just as he has been a good dad and a good husband.

Naomi asks about his and Teddy's things. Sheepishly, Jeremy says he was hoping she could head out ahead of them and get the apartment cleaned up. It's dusty, and the extra bedroom is full of boxes. So the anniversary surprise will involve a deep cleaning of his parents' old apartment. He apologizes, says he is hopeless at cleaning and would probably make it dirtier. That might be true, she thinks. She has never actually seen him attempt to clean anything in all their marriage. He might be a great husband and provider, but not much of a housekeeper. Nobody's perfect.

He promises to help Teddy pack and join her tomorrow. She worries about dinner, and he insists he is capable of cooking a meal for himself and his son. He'll order a pizza or microwave frozen chicken nuggets. She frowns, thinking of how unhealthy that is, and offers to make something before she goes. He tells her Teddy will survive one night of pizza and nuggets, and that Teddy never likes the weird stuff she makes anyway. She remembers last night: she made him a delicious acai bowl with homemade quinoa granola, and Teddy looked at her like she was feeding him poison until she gave in and made macaroni and cheese.

His voice softens. He'll handle dinner. It will be fine. She just needs to get the apartment cleaned and they'll join her tomorrow. She asks if she's supposed to sleep there. Yes, he says. All her stuff will be there, and it's just one night. In the morning, Rosita will take Teddy to school like always, and she can pick him up afterward and bring him to the apartment. Naomi's voice goes croaky when she asks about bedtime. He frowns; he always puts Teddy to bed. He's right, and he has always been the bedtime parent. But that doesn't mean she doesn't slip into Teddy's room every night to plant a kiss on his soft cheek, even after he's asleep. She's not sure she can sleep if she doesn't do that. Jeremy points out it's only one night, and asks if she'll tell Teddy why she won't be home. He shrugs. Doesn't think it'll be a big deal.

Is he joking? Has he ever met their son? When she recently bought a new purse, Teddy asked roughly twenty billion questions about why she bought it, what was wrong with the old one, what did she do with it, and could he have it. They have to tell him something. Jeremy holds up his hands. Once those hands were rough and calloused from working his way through college at a construction company, but that was long ago. Now he has hedge fund hands. He agrees to explain the renovation.

She glances at the luggage stacked on the floor and asks how long this will take. A week, maybe two. The kitchen will take the longest, but they can move back in before it's done. The idea exhausts her. She doesn't want this renovation, but she knows one thing about Jeremy: he is extremely stubborn. Once an idea gets into his head, it won't get out, and he is used to getting his way. If he has decided their relatively new house needs a renovation, it's going to happen. Except a voice in the back of her head is screaming that something is not right.

As if sensing her discomfort, Jeremy reaches for her hand. He tells her he's so excited about this, that it's going to be like living in a whole new house together. She lets him grasp her hand, and his palm feels warm and solid. At five eleven, he's exactly six inches taller than she is, the perfect height for her to gaze up at him and feel loved and protected. She remembers their meeting: she forgot her wallet at Starbucks, and he paid for her coffee. She looked at him in his sharp Italian suit and power tie and knew instantly he was the man she would spend her life with. It made her want to be the sort of woman he'd want to spend his life with.

She asks if he will call and let her say good night to Teddy. Of course. She sighs, thinking of the long night of cleaning ahead, and agrees. Jeremy's shoulders visibly relax. He thanks her, then grabs one of the giant pieces of luggage. She wants to check the upstairs closet to make sure he didn't forget anything. He assures her he's pretty sure he got everything. She asks about her orgone crystal, the orgonite pyramid on her nightstand that she keeps as a positive energy generator. Got it. She asks about bras. He laughs. Give me a little credit, he says. Everything is in there.

Except she can't help wondering why he packed so much if they're only going to be gone a couple of weeks. And then she asks the question that has been nagging at her: why did he change the locks? Jeremy looks up in surprise. He had to. You don't want all the painters and contractors to have the key to your house, do you? That does sound reasonable. Except the logic doesn't hold. If they're worried about the workers having a key, shouldn't they change the locks after the renovation is complete, not before? But Jeremy is already struggling to get the bags through the front door, and she knows if she grills him, he'll have a perfectly reasonable explanation that makes her feel silly for asking.

He lugs two of her bags out to the trunk of her silver Lexus while she follows with the third, just as big and heavy as the others. Several of the things he has done are not consistent with his story. And there is one other thing she knows about Jeremy: he is an excellent liar. She has watched him lie on the phone to colleagues, to friends, to his parents, even to Teddy. As far as she knows, he has never lied to her. The cornerstone of every good marriage is trust. She has to believe he is telling the truth about this, because if she doesn't trust him, they are finished.

He slams the trunk shut and thanks her for getting the apartment ready. He digs into the pocket of his dress pants and pulls out a single key on a ring, the key to the front door. She takes it, their fingers never touching. She tells him she'll see him tomorrow. He looks her straight in the eyes. See you tomorrow, Naomi. And her final clue that everything Jeremy has told her is a lie is that he doesn't kiss her before she gets into her car and drives away from the home where she has lived for the past four years.

Chapter 3

The narrator drives to the two-bedroom apartment where Jeremy's parents lived until their deaths, repeating a mantra to herself: this is not a big deal, just a quick renovation, then everything returns to normal. The drive takes twenty minutes, though it only took Jeremy fifteen. He never quite believed in the speed limit. Pulling into the driveway, she imagines what Jeremy and Teddy might be doing right now. Jeremy claimed he could handle dinner, but she has never once seen him cook anything in their entire relationship, not even in the microwave. All he makes is coffee. She spirals, imagining Jeremy failing to microwave frozen chicken nuggets, Teddy sitting at the table with a rumbling belly, noticing she's gone, becoming inconsolable. She forces herself to breathe. Jeremy is a successful investment banker; clearly he can feed their child for one night. It's nice, she decides, that they're having a boys' night for a change.

She climbs out of the car and pops the trunk. The three suitcases Jeremy packed are waiting for her, but this time there is nobody to help. She picks up the first one and gasps at its weight, nearly throwing out her back. The second is no lighter. The third is heaviest of all. What did he pack? Rocks? Luckily they all have wheels, so she rolls them one by one down the walkway. Jeremy bought the garden unit for his parents, but it has sat empty in the year since his mother died. He cleaned it out right after, but she is not sure anyone has set foot inside since.

The key fits into the lock but will not turn. Panic flashes: has he locked her out of yet another home? She jiggles the key, and finally the lock turns. The door sticks, but she pushes her way inside.

The Dusty Apartment

When Marti Roth lived here, the space seemed bright and airy. A lot has changed in the year since her death. All the shades are drawn and coated in dust. Marti's flower-printed sofa used to be white, and now it's sort of gray, as is the lampshade beside it. The place is so dusty that a deep breath triggers a coughing fit. When she finally stops hacking, she is fairly certain she hears the scurrying of little furry footsteps. Jeremy wasn't kidding: this place needs to be cleaned out.

She is seized by the urge to dig out her phone and beg Jeremy to let her stay at a hotel, or at least hire a professional cleaning service. Her hand is in her purse, fingers closing around the phone, when she rethinks the whole thing. Jeremy has been such a great provider and asks so little of her. If he wants her to clean out this apartment, then by golly, she is going to do it. She'll treat it like a mini vacation away from her family, and apparently also a vacation from breathing clean air.

The apartment has two bedrooms. One is so small it resembles a large closet with a twin bed, stuffed with dusty boxes Jeremy never got around to sorting through after his parents died. She will have to throw them out if this room is to serve as Teddy's during the renovation. The other bedroom is more promising. It holds a double bed that was made up about a year ago but is now covered in dust like everything else. When she sits down, particles fly into the air and she starts sneezing violently. She hopes Jeremy packed clean sheets.

She returns to the living room, drags her suitcases to the master bedroom, leaving dusty track marks in the carpet, and starts going through her bags. Jeremy packed very thoroughly. The orgone crystal is there, as promised, along with a bunch of bras. He included tons of clothing, toiletries, towels, bedding, and even her medical textbooks. Seeing the textbooks tugs at her. Though being a stay-at-home mom has been the best job she can imagine, there are days she misses her old patients. She loved being a doctor, healing people of their ailments. Nothing was more fulfilling until she discovered motherhood. Now that Teddy is in kindergarten, she should think about opening her practice again here on the island.

The Winter Coat

At the bottom of the second suitcase, unease sets in. Jeremy packed quite a lot. Why would he pack her winter coat in April? She only wears it during the coldest months. Why would he think she would need it if they are only staying a couple of weeks? Unless he thinks they'll be here for a lot more than a week.

She sinks down onto the mattress, which has grown stiff in the past year, with barely any give. Something is not right about all this. Judging by the contents of these bags, Jeremy does not seem to think they are moving back into the house anytime soon. Are they in financial trouble? Is he selling the house and too ashamed to tell her? They do not live above their means. When they met, Jeremy was already the very successful manager of a hedge fund, successful enough to insist on a prenup when they married. The idea that he somehow spent all their money and they're so broke they need to sell their home seems preposterous. Still, she reaches for her phone. This time she doesn't let go. Before she can stop herself, she texts her husband: Is there something you're not telling me?

She sits on her dead mother-in-law's bed, staring at the screen, waiting for a response. A rustling noise from outside makes her head jerk up. It sounds like someone right outside. She rises, approaching the window, her heart thudding harder with each step. She reminds herself this is a decent neighborhood. Jeremy would never have bought his parents an apartment somewhere dangerous. As she peers through the dark window overlooking the side of the house, the rustling grows louder. Then she sees a flash of something behind the glass. Was that a human silhouette?

She grips her phone, wondering if she should call Jeremy or simply get back in the car and drive straight home. Her husband won't want her to stay in an apartment that isn't safe. Except she has already unpacked what looks like half her belongings, and if the renovations really are starting tomorrow, she must make this place livable by the time Teddy finishes school. She cannot allow her son to inhale all these dust particles and get cancer. There is so much to do before she can let him stay here.

She takes another step closer to the window. This time she hears a noise that disturbs her even more: a slow scraping along the windowpane. That's it. She cannot stay another minute. She doesn't care if she has to wrangle the three monstrous suitcases back into the trunk on her own. She is not about to let herself get murdered during the night by some guy with a hook for a hand. Jeremy will understand.

Just as she turns to flee the bedroom, she lifts her gaze slightly and catches sight of the tree branch. It is pressed against the upper part of the window, and with each passing breeze, the wood scrapes against the glass. Her shoulders sag. There isn't a hook-handed vagrant outside after all. It was just a tree. Jeremy always says she jumps to conclusions too quickly, and in this case, he would be absolutely right.

Sighing, she heads to the kitchen to find the cleaning supplies.