In Her Eyes by Sarah Alderson (ebook reader for pc and android TXT) 📕

‘Gene was with you the night of the break-in, wasn’t he?’

Dave startles again, his hands gripping the wheel. ‘Yes,’ he finally mumbles.

How and when did Dave and Gene become such good friends? There’s a twenty-year age gap between them.

‘Is Gene smoking?’ I ask him, figuring if they’re such good friends perhaps he knows what’s going on.

‘Just occasionally,’ he says.

‘He told us he quit.’

‘Shit,’ Dave mutters. ‘I don’t want to drop him in it. He’s a good kid.’

‘He’s not a kid,’ I hiss back. I’m so angry at how I’ve been duped. Gene and his overnight reformation . . . what a fool I’ve been to believe his promises that he’d turned over a new leaf.

‘It’s just some weed, Ava,’ he says. ‘Come on, didn’t you ever smoke, at college even?’

‘No.’ I’ve never smoked a joint in my life. I always worried about losing control.

Dave falls silent and I sit there, musing and fuming. ‘Is it just that he’s doing?’ I ask. ‘Nothing more serious?’

Dave looks at me oddly, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Is he on meth?’

Dave almost swerves into oncoming traffic again. ‘What? No! I mean, well, I don’t think so. Why would you think that?’

‘Because he’s acting all wired and strung out.’

Dave pulls a face. ‘He’s just stressed.’

I chew on my lip and look out the window. Would Gene admit it if he were on meth?

‘What were you doing the other night?’

‘What night?’

‘The night of the break-in. I saw you. You picked Gene up and drove off somewhere.’

Dave swallows. ‘We just went for a drive, smoked.’

I narrow my eyes at him. His face has gone the color of a strawberry and his Adam’s apple is bouncing around like a live animal as he swallows repeatedly.

Dave’s a terrible liar. I glare at him and he shrinks beneath my gaze like a turtle retreating inside its shell. I won’t get anything more from him. I need to confront Gene.

Chapter 28

I stand in the hallway, looking at the stairs. Fingerprint smudges dirty the bannister, and a trail of blood snakes down the steps – mine or June’s?

I guess Robert never got around to cleaning up the house and the idea of cleaning has never occurred to Gene before, so why would he start now? Hannah hasn’t been back since that first visit. Alone, I stand there and think through what’s happened, forcing myself to go back over that night. My brain tries to resist it but I know if I’m to get to the bottom of this I need to face it. I need to walk through the events of that night and see if I’ve forgotten something important, something that could help shed light on the truth.

I came in through the garage door, following June. I walk into the cold kitchen and try to picture it. June had left the milk out on the side. I put it away in the fridge. Then I poured myself some wine. Or did I do that after I went to see Robert? After, I think.

I walk out of the kitchen and, shoes echoing on the floor, I cross through the house to Robert’s study. The door was closed. I knocked. It was locked. He answered it. How did he seem? Alarmed? Nervous? He was anxious that June was home, I remember that. Is that because he knew what was about to happen and wanted her out of the house so she wouldn’t get hurt? God, I don’t know. It could be that, or I could be misreading the situation entirely. Maybe he was just worried that she was sick. Which is it? My memory is Swiss cheese. I feel like I have blind spots at the edge of my vision and I’m not seeing the whole picture properly.

Leaning against the door to Robert’s study, I close my eyes and try to picture the expression on his face. He was so distracted, desperate to get me out of the room so he could go back to whatever he was doing. And what was he doing? Was he working? Watching porn? Readying himself for the imminent break-in he had himself plotted and planned? Did my arrival throw a spanner in the works? But no, how could it? He had planned for us to be out at dinner that night anyway. None of us were meant to be home.

I bang my hand against the door, frustrated. It doesn’t make sense. How can I believe Robert masterminded an insurance fraud or that he was plotting to kill me? That’s not who he is. He’s a good man. It’s why I chose him. He’s a kind man. One of the best men I’ve ever known. I remember saying that to my father when I told him I was quitting school to get married and have a baby.

I cast my mind back. When I first met Robert he was a post-grad at NYU, studying computer science. I liked how nerdy he was, how serious and decent, but also how his shyness gave way to passionate discourse about politics and history and books. I loved how I could talk to him about art and literature, whereas whenever I talked about those things to Nate he’d glazed over. I liked how when we made love it was less about conquering and more about sharing. He was gentle, sweet, skilled. When I told him I was pregnant Robert offered to marry me straight away. I often wondered if he regretted it but the few times I asked he always reassured me no. I don’t think he was lying. Robert always tells the truth. I find it infuriating at times. I asked him not long ago if my crows’ feet were visible and he said yes. He didn’t seem to understand why the truth wasn’t what I was looking for.

And yet, he lied to me about our finances. Not outright, but by omission. Was I wrong to think of him as honest? What if he’s lied to me all along about other things