Free The Truth and Other Lies by Sascha Arango

the future. Any second now Martha would come down the stairs. Awful idea, he thought, her watching them handcuff him and read him his rights. I expect she’ll pack my toothbrush and a change of clothes. Bound to cry then. Why did you do it? she’ll ask. I’ll have to come up with a good answer, Henry thought, and he got up to open the door on the inevitable.
    Outside in the rain stood Betty.
    She was alone. She looked pale and serious. Under her raincoat she had on the tailored houndstooth suit she looked so fantastic in. She’d put up her blond hair, presumably because she knew how much he liked it that way. She looked stunningly healthy and didn’t seem the least bit upset with him.
    “Henry, your wife knows everything,” she said.
    It was a complicated feeling. On the one hand, joy. Yes, he was glad that Martha knew everything and that Betty wasn’t hurt. Not a scratch was to be seen on her immaculate skin; she hadn’t even caught a cold from the icy water, although that could still happen of course. On the other hand, he was more than a little surprised. How had Betty managed to free herself from the sinking Subaru without ruining her hairdo? She must somehow have gone home and changed. But what was she doing turning up at his house in the best of spirits rather than going to the police? A mystery. Well, there was sure to be a straightforward explanation.
    “Have you been drinking, Henry?”
    “Me? Yes.”
    “Henry, I must have rung you fifty times, but you just didn’t answer.”
    There was no tone of reproach in her voice, Henry noted. He would have bet on her at least reproaching him for what he’d done; after all, he had tried to kill her. Instead she stepped out of the rain and kissed him on the mouth. Her kiss tasted of menthol. It was the first time she’d set foot in Henry’s house. Henry could smell the lily-of-the-valley perfume he’d given her. She’d even found time for that.
    “It’s so dark here. Have you hurt yourself, my poor love?”
    “I fell over.”
    “You’re bleeding. Did you understand what I said?”
    “No. What did you say?”
    “I said: Martha came to see me earlier.”
    “Who?”
    “Your wife.” Betty spoke to him as if to a child. Henry didn’t like that, but now was not the moment for such trifles. “She already knows everything. Why have you been keeping it from me all this time?”
    Henry could hear himself breathing.
    “What does Martha know?”
    Betty gave a ringing laugh. “Don’t play dumb. She knows about us two. Everything. Has done all along.”
    He wondered whether he should go back to the cellar and see whether he’d fallen asleep smoking.
    “Did you tell her?” he asked.
    “Me? No, you told her everything.” Betty poked his chest with her index finger. Another thing he couldn’t stand.
    “She came to see me. In my apartment. It’s all a lot easier than we thought.”
    “How does she know where you live?”
    The conversation was beginning to tire Betty. She took off her raincoat. “Well, really, she can’t know that from anyone except you. She was sad, and she was very angry and very worried about you. We drank tea together and she told me about your writing crisis. Really, she understands you and she loves you. Afterward she drove to the cliffs.”
    Something cold reached into Henry’s chest. It broke through his ribs and churned everything up inside him. Betty saw him turn gray.
    ———
    Martha’s room was neat and tidy as usual. The standard lamp was on, there was a white sheet of paper in the typewriter and the wastepaper basket was empty. Her bed was untouched. A book lay open on the pillow; her swimsuit was next to the bed. She wasn’t in the bathroom either. Henry flung open the window. Martha’s white Saab was parked below in the rain. The headlights were on; the windshield wipers were moving to and fro. He called out her name, but she did not reply.
    As he was going slowly down the stairs, he saw Betty’s raincoat on the