Garrett was in his absolute element.
He stood at the massive, stainless-steel grill, wearing a red apron that said “Grill Master,” holding a silver spatula like a king holding a scepter. He was loudly, arrogantly joking with a group of neighborhood husbands, soaking in their admiration.
“Yeah, boys, it took a while, but the Mercer legacy is officially secured!” Garrett boasted, flipping a burger, his voice carrying over the music. “Meline’s twelve weeks along. I’m finally going to be a dad. Nothing beats family, right?”
The men cheered, clinking their beer bottles together in a toast to his virility and domestic perfection.
Sitting under the large, shaded patio umbrella, wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat and a floral summer dress, was Eleanor. My mother-in-law.
She was sipping a glass of sweet iced tea, smiling proudly at her deceitful, sociopathic son. She had greeted me earlier with a tight, fake hug, patting my still-flat stomach and cooing about how “blessed” we finally were, completely unfazed by her own monstrous complicity.
I sat perfectly still at the edge of the large wooden picnic table. I was wearing a simple, elegant navy sundress. Resting lightly on the bench beside me, its strap draped over my knee, was my heavy navy tote bag.
Colleen sat across from me, nursing a bottle of water. She didn’t look at Garrett or Eleanor. Her eyes were fixed, sharp and unblinking, on the tall wooden side gate that led from the driveway into the backyard.
“Keep your eyes glued to that gate,” Colleen whispered, barely moving her lips.
I checked my watch. It was 2:15 PM.
“She should be here any minute,” I murmured back.
Two days ago, using a burner phone app that mimicked Garrett’s number, I had sent a frantic, desperate text message to Tanya.
Tanya, I need you. I’m having a massive panic attack. I can’t do this anymore with my crazy sister. Please, come to the house at 2:15 on the 4th. I’m going to tell everyone the truth. I’m choosing you and our son. – Garrett.
It was a reckless, chaotic lie. But Tanya, a young, naive twenty-six-year-old who believed she was the star of a tragic, romantic drama where the wealthy delivery driver was going to rescue her from obscurity, took the bait flawlessly.
At 2:17 PM, Garrett’s actual cell phone, resting on the prep table next to the grill, began to vibrate aggressively.
He glanced down at the glowing screen.
The color instantly, violently drained from his face, leaving his deep summer tan looking like a sickening, grayish bruise. His charming, arrogant smile froze, instantly morphing into a mask of pure, unadulterated, paralyzing terror.
