“Would it bother you if I put music on?” Gary asked.
“No, that’s fine.” She closed her eyes and curled her body away from him. But when the first song came on, she flinched. It was Rihanna singing, “We Found Love.” That was what had been playing when Dominique first met Gary. Of course, it had been the song of that summer, and there were probably tens of thousands of couples who first caught sight of each other while that melody swirled in the background. Still, it scorched her memory and fanned her fury.
They didn’t talk on the drive, even though Dominique was only pretending to sleep. Gary followed the narrow thread of the highway up to Ulster County in the Hudson Valley. The playlist was cleverly designed to toy with her emotions. Or was he trying to show how well he knew her? That was what she suspected when Laura Izibor’s “Don’t Stay” came on, an ode to breaking up and making up.
Dominique paused it. “Do you mind?”
“I thought you liked that song.” Gary shot her a sly glance.
“I’m sick of it.” And of you, she thought, but that was more honesty than she intended.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Gary never visited the country house in the summer, when his wife refused to let him use it. Trin rarely went up herself, but the property belonged to her, didn’t it? Gary’s visits were limited to the less appealing times, before new greenery bloomed or after the leaves turned and fell from the trees, and when the ground was marshy and squished underfoot, or once it was frozen solid.
When they pulled up in front of the house, it looked distinctly desolate to Dominique. It had been months since she’d visited, thanks to her breakup with Gary, but the hazy November sky lent the property an arid chill. It was a boxy structure that was supposed to imitate a Georgian house in the English countryside, but it looked like nothing so much as a gargantuan shoebox with rectangles cut out for windows. Back in the spring, when Dominique had last seen it, the place had been badly in need of a coat of paint, and it didn’t seem that anyone had thought to take care of that. If she’d been feeling generous, she would have described it as a stately house, two stories of tasteful, expensive decoration, but there was nothing about it that ever made it feel welcoming to her.
Stepping over the threshold of the front door, Dominique noticed that the place looked different, but she couldn’t put her finger on what had changed.
“I think we should start celebrating right now,” Gary said. “I’m going to open the champagne.”
“It’s two in the afternoon!” Dominique protested. The last thing she needed was to get tipsy and ruin her plans. “You better have the fridge stocked with Diet Coke.”
Gary looked rattled. Had he already forgotten what she liked? “The fridge. Right. It’s not well-stocked right now, but that should be in there…”
“Don’t worry about it.” It’s not like she was planning to be there for long. “If you’re good, I’ll pour you a Scotch. Why don’t you get a fire going?”
“Sounds good, babe.”
Dominique made for the antique liquor cabinet, crouching to open it. “Hmm. These are all dusty. I’ll be right back.” She picked up a pair of cut-crystal Old Fashioned glasses and a bottle of single-malt Scotch and headed to the back of the house. The place was like one big icebox, but that wasn’t the only reason she was shivering. She almost dropped the bottle in the hallway. When she found the kitchen, she set everything down on the counter and retreated to the powder room on the other side of the hallway.
She shut the door and put her back against it. Her heart was skipping beats like a scratched record. You’re nothing but a useless bundle of nerves, she scolded herself, sounding like Nana. That only made the tightness in her chest worse. She heard Nana’s voice in her head every day, and it was normally a comfort. Now, it needled her, reminding her she was doing wrong. Still, Nana was a ghost now, and Dominique could shut her out if she had to. Her brother was another story. The thought of Desmond’s disappointment was painful. He was the most upstanding man she knew. Even so, if Desmond discovered how cavalierly and cruelly Gary had treated her, he would’ve beaten the man into a pulp. No matter how serene and wise he tried to sound, Desmond was like her under the skin. But he wasn’t the family screwup; she was. One day, long after this was behind her, she’d tell him what she did. She was certain he’d understand, even if he didn’t approve.
On steadier legs, she hurried back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was notably empty, which made her wonder if Gary had believed she’d ditch him at the last minute. He’d been hopeful enough to buy a couple of bottles of champagne, which were chilling in the privacy of the top shelf. Gary liked his creature comforts, but so did his wife. Champagne was a food group to that woman, and the
