Pretty Girls

Lydia smiled, because Claire had somehow unlocked the memories with that one question. Even decades into their marriage, Sam and Helen Carroll had acted like teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Claire said, “They went dancing and to parties and out to dinner and they had their own interests and they loved talking to each other all the time. Remember how we weren’t allowed to interrupt them? And we didn’t want to interrupt them, because they were so fascinating.” Claire smiled, too. “They read everything. They saw everything. ­People vied to spend time with them. They’d have a party and strangers would show up at the door because they’d heard the Carrolls were so much fun.”

Lydia felt it all come rushing back—­Helen spraying cheese on celery stalks and Sam singeing his eyebrows off at the grill. Games of charades. Heated political debates. Lively discussions about books and art and movies.

Claire continued, “They were always kissing each other. Like, real kissing. And we’d say it was gross, but wasn’t it nice, Pepper? Didn’t you see them and think that’s what love was all about?”

Lydia nodded. She felt intoxicated by the long-­forgotten memories.

“That first year with Paul, that’s what we didn’t have. At least, I didn’t think we had it.” Claire swallowed so hard that her throat moved. “So I rode my bike home from work that night thinking that I was just going to be honest and tell him it was over. Rip off the Band-­Aid. Don’t wait for all the Christmas parties and New Years to come and go. Just say it.” She paused. Tears rolled down her face. “But I got home, and Paul was in bed. I thought he was taking a nap, but he was covered in sweat. I could hear him wheezing. His eyelids fluttered every time he blinked. I made him get up and I took him to the hospital. He’d had a cold for weeks, but it turned into walking pneumonia. He could’ve died. He almost did.” She wiped away her tears. “But here’s the thing: I was terrified. I couldn’t think about my life without him. Hours before, I was ready to leave him, but then I realized that I couldn’t.” She shook her head vehemently, as if someone had asked her to. “He was in the hospital for almost three weeks, and I never left his side. I read to him. I slept in the bed with him. I bathed him. I had always known that Paul needed me, but I never realized until I almost lost him that I really, really needed him.”

Claire stopped to take a shallow breath. “That’s when you fall in love with somebody. The lust and fucking like rabbits and letting your life fall to shit so you can be around him—­that’s passion. It’s borderline obsession. And it always burns itself out. You know that, Liddie. That high never, ever lasts. But being in that hospital, taking care of him, I started to realize that what I had with Paul, what I thought I had, that was more than love. That was being in love. It was so tangible I could almost touch it with my hands. I could bite it with my teeth.”

Lydia would’ve never articulated it that same way, but she knew from Rick what her sister was talking about. There was so much of her self that was wrapped up in him: lover, companion, best friend, foil. All of this time she’d been focused on what it would feel like to lose Dee, but losing Rick would be devastating in so many different ways.

Claire said, “Paul knew how it felt for me to lose Julia. I told him everything. Everything. I didn’t hold back one detail. I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve ever been that honest with a man. I laid it all out—­what it was like when Mom turned into a ghost and Dad turned into Don Quixote. How much I needed you to help me get through the day.” She made sure that Lydia was looking at her. “You saved me, Pepper. You were the only thing I had to hold on to when the bottom dropped out.”

Lydia felt a lump in her throat. They had saved each other.

“That’s probably why Paul had to drive us apart, don’t you think? He knew how important you were to me. More important than Mom, even, because I trusted you to be there no matter what.”

Lydia shook her head. There was no way to tell what had been in Paul’s mind.

“He knew from me what Anna Kilpatrick’s family was going through, and he watched those horrible movies despite that. Maybe because of it, because I think that he got off on knowing that Anna wasn’t the only one in pain. There were all these other layers of pain rippling through the family, through the community, and even to us—­you, me, Mom, Grandma Ginny. He was constantly asking me about Anna Kilpatrick, or referring to the case, and gauging my reaction. He even brought it up the night he died.” She gave a dry laugh. “I thought he was asking because he cared about me, but now I can see that it was all part of his game. It’s the same kink as raping those women, then having them followed for so many years.”

Lydia didn’t disagree, but she asked, “Why do you think that?”

“Because it’s about control. He controlled me for years by making me think I had everything I wanted. He controlled you by isolating you away from the family. He controlled Mom by making her think he was the perfect son-­in-­law. He controlled those women in his files by knowing exactly where they were. Hell, he even controlled Grandma Ginny, because she would’ve been in a state nursing home without his money. For all her noble, impoverished-­widow bullshit, she loves having a private apartment and weekly maid ser­vice. One way or another, we were all under his thumb.”

Lydia gripped her hands together on the table. Why had Claire never seen any of this when Paul was alive? Was he really that good at hiding his darker nature?

Claire said, “God only knows what this Lexie Fuller woman is going through. Maybe he never asked me to do anything weird because he was doing it with her.” She laughed again. “Actually, part of me hopes that he did, because that would mean that I wasn’t completely crazy, because he was so goddamn normal. I know you saw through him, but you were the only person in his entire life who thought that something was wrong with him. Even Dad was fooled. I told you I read his journals. The worst thing he ever said about Paul is that he loves me too much.”

Lydia doubted her father had paid much attention to Paul. Claire was just getting serious about him when Sam Carroll took his life. Lydia had always assumed the tragedy had escalated their relationship.

Claire told her, “Paul chose to show you that bad side of himself. He worked his ass off to keep it from everybody else, but he showed it to you because he knew that it would split us apart.”

“You let him play you.” Lydia didn’t realize how angry she still was until she said the words. Why did Claire just get to pick up where they left off? She was confiding in Lydia like the last eighteen years hadn’t happened, like she hadn’t been the sole reason Lydia had been shoved out into the cold. She told her sister, “You chose a boy over me.”

Claire held Lydia’s gaze. “You’re right. I did. And I don’t know that we’ll ever get past it, because it’s truly unforgivable.”

Lydia was the first one to look away. She had to remind herself who the real villain was. Paul had dedicated his life to manipulating ­people. Claire had been a naïve and vulnerable teenager when they’d met in college. Helen was still a mess. Sam was on the verge of suicide. Lydia was in and out of jail. Was it any wonder that Paul was able to sink his teeth into her?

And yet, Lydia still could not find within herself the ability to forgive.

Claire asked, “Do you think I should call Captain Mayhew?”

“For what?” Lydia couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice. The abrupt change in subject slapped her like a cold wind. “He lied to you about the movies. He said they were fake.”

“Maybe he lied because he didn’t want me to leak them to the press?”

“No, he would’ve filed an injunction. Or arrested you for interfering with an active investigation. Or just told you to keep quiet.”

“I’m not going to take this to Agent Nolan,” Claire said. “Who else is left? Huckleberry?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the sheriff’s office. “He did a bang-­up job with Julia. I’m sure he’d get right on top of this.”

Lydia felt like they were letting their imaginations get the best of them. “What do we actually know, Claire? That Paul watched the movies. That’s it.”

“The movies are real.”

“We think they’re real.” Lydia tried to play devil’s advocate again. “We think that girl looked like Anna Kilpatrick. We think that she was mutilated in the same way, based on what her mother said and did during a press conference. But are we one hundred percent certain? Or are we just talking ourselves into it?”

“Confirmation bias.” Claire scowled at her own words. “What’s the downside of calling Mayhew?”

“Because he lied to you about the movies. Because he’s supposed to be working the biggest case in the city right now and he stopped everything to go to your house and investigate an attempted burglary. Because he’s a cop and if you piss him off, he can make your life a living hell.”

“What is my life now?” Claire held out her hand. “Give me the burner phone.”

Lydia studied her sister. There was something different about her. She had stopped sounding like a confused bystander and started acting like the person in charge.

Lydia asked, “What are you going to say to him?”

“That he needs to be straight with me. That he needs to explain to me again why the movie isn’t real when, according to Eleanor Kilpatrick, her daughter was abused in the same way as the girl in the movie.”

“That’s a fantastic idea, Sweetpea.” Lydia layered on the sarcasm. “You believe that a high-­ranking police officer might possibly be covering up a murder, or maybe is somehow involved in it, or filming it, or distributing images of it, or maybe all of the above, and you’re just going to call him up and say, ‘Hey, man, what’s the what up?’ ”