Aimee
A week had passed since I’d found out the truth about Archie. I arrived home today after four days away. I’d told Archie I needed to go finalize some things with Aunt Lou’s estate. Funny how he was so agreeable whenever I mentioned anything with her estate. He brightened up like a light bulb. More money for him and his brother.
Or so he thought…
I unpacked my suitcase and put on jeans and a soft, loose sweatshirt. I glanced at the clock. Archie would be home soon. The house was filled with savory smells of the roast beef in the oven. In a minute I’d set up our dinner in the dining room but now I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Still young, still pretty, I supposed, but tired. Tired of everything life continued to throw at me. I smiled at myself in the mirror. I knew one thing though.
I was a survivor.
The candles flickered, their movement casting dancing shadows on the pale painted walls. Dinner was set for two atop a white lacy tablecloth. Etched glass goblets filled with water and red wine stood tall at each dinner place. Fancy, for a weeknight.
I sat at one end of the table in the dining room, facing the kitchen. I had been watching by the living room window for Archie’s arrival and quickly placed the food on the table. A moist roast beef swimming in rich juices with a few sprigs of bright green parsley at the side, mashed potatoes with butter melting, a bowl of precisely diced carrots, and a basket of freshly baked buttermilk biscuits. A meal fit for a king.
Maybe his last meal.
The door opened in the laundry room at the rear of the house and, a few minutes later, Archie appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled, dressed in a smart-looking forest green dress shirt. I forgot for a moment about everything going on and stared at him. He was so good looking. So kind. So supportive. He was my miracle after what went down with Dream. A man I could trust. A man that would always be there for me.
But he wasn’t.
He was playing games.
Like they all did.
I smiled and motioned for him to sit down, and he acquiesced. He sat stiffly, his body barely touching the back of the chair.
We stared at each other.
For a long time.
Archie cleared his throat. “When did you get back?”
“This afternoon,” I said. “I had plenty of time to cook dinner.”
He nodded. “I see that, everything looks great.”
“Help yourself,” I said, taking a sip of wine; a bit dripped down my chin. I wiped it away with my napkin, my gaze never leaving Archie.
He stared at the food with a disgusted look on his face. Did he think I’d poisoned the food?
Maybe I had.
“So you know everything now,” he mumbled. His gaze never wavered from mine.
“I do,” I said. “I saw your brother, Nick, today.”
“I know, he called me.” Archie pushed back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh.
“You can thank me for that,” I quipped, raising my eyebrows.
“What?” Archie snapped.
“You can thank me that your brother is still alive,” I said in a terse voice. “I could have left him in a different state.”
He gave me a seething look. “But you killed Caroline.”
I met his gaze. “Not intentionally.”
Archie jumped up and pounded his fist on the table, causing his goblets to fall over; red wine spilled onto the winter white tablecloth. “You killed my sister!” His eyes blazed with anger.
I stood and met his gaze. “Venus fell over the cliff because she was fighting with me over Dream. I didn’t want to kill him either, but he came after me! I only wanted to scare him and show your sister his true colors. But she couldn’t see how I was helping her. Just like my mother.”
Archie’s body slightly relaxed, his eyes now holding more curiosity than anger. “What do you mean?”
I looked away for a moment, wondering if he really did care, and what that might mean to me. To us.
“Aimee, tell me.”
I looked back to him. Unexpected emotions flooded through me. He did care about me, in spite of everything. My breathing slowed. Maybe we could work through this and still be a couple? We’d both hurt each other; could we manage to forgive? Move away, maybe a city this time. I didn’t think the country was for us.
“Aimee,” he repeated, impatient.
I stared at him. I took a breath. I would try.
“My dad was abusive toward my mom. He would hit her, say vile things to her, all in front of me. It’s what I remember most about my childhood.” I paused. Tears threatened to spill, but I willed them away. “That, and the day I killed him.”
Archie’s eyes widened. He kept his distance, but his voice softened. “You killed your father?”
I nodded. “Mom and I came home from shopping and found him half naked with the neighbor lady. After the lady ran away, Dad threw Mom against the wall, choking her so hard.” I stopped, my hands shaking.
