My Husband's April Fool's Joke Came True novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: April Fool's Dinner
Sunday dinner at Ernest and Joan's; Prescott's photo of himself and Taryn (red dress) lands on her phone; he confesses "three years, our daughter is two, I'll fake my death and move overseas with them," she goes white, he laughs "April Fool's!", then adds the baby part is true; the in-laws heard it all and say nothing real; Joan: "Don't take it to heart"; Ernest in the kitchen: her mother's bed at Brightwater is paid by
My phone buzzed beside my plate while Joan was passing the green beans.
It was a photo from my husband, who was sitting across the table from me.
In the picture Prescott had his arm around his secretary, Taryn Beauregard.
She wore a red dress, and she was kissing his jaw.
His tie was loose, and his hand was low on her hip.
I looked up.
Prescott was cutting his pot roast and smiling at his plate.
"Did you open it?" he asked.
"I opened it," I said.
"Good." He set down his knife.
"Because I've actually been with Taryn for three years."
Ernest Nordquist stopped chewing at the head of the table.
"We have a daughter," Prescott went on, easy as a weather report.
"She's two years old."
"I'm going to fake my death in a car accident and move overseas with both of them."
The dining room clock ticked over the quiet.
I felt my face go cold, and my hands go colder.
Prescott looked at me for three full seconds, and then he burst out laughing.
"Got you!" He slapped the table so the glasses jumped.
"It's April Fool's Day, Kristen. You didn't actually believe that?"
I breathed out.
I couldn't help it.
"Oh, you should see your face," he said, wiping his eye.
Then he picked his fork back up and added, in the same cheerful voice, "The part about Taryn and the baby is true, though."
He winked at me and took a bite.
I said nothing.
I looked at his grin, the pleased, careless grin of a man who has never once been told no in this house.
He had no idea what he had just done.
Since I was nine years old, whenever someone sincerely told me a lie, that lie came true.
It never failed, and it never stopped for anyone I asked it to.
A girl at school swore she hadn't taken my lunch money, and by the next morning the money was gone from my own pocket too.
A boy swore he hadn't touched my bike, and by the next morning the bent wheel was straight.
The lie had to be meant.
A joke I knew was a joke did nothing.
But Prescott had wanted me to believe him, for three whole seconds, and I had.
He had never planned to fake anything, so every word of that plan was a lie, and he had told it to be believed.
The car accident would come true.
The "fake" part would not.
It would come true in three days.
"Prescott." Ernest's big hand came down on Prescott's arm.
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
"Who jokes with his wife like that?"
Prescott rubbed the spot and grinned.
"It's April first, Dad."
Joan reached across the beans and patted the back of my hand.
Her pearls swung forward.
"Kristen, honey, don't take it to heart," she said softly.
"It's a holiday, and Prescott has no sense."
I smiled at her and nodded.
"I know, Mom," I said.
"Prescott isn't that kind of person."
All four of us at that table knew he was.
It wasn't the first woman, and it wasn't the first lie.
Ernest had known about Taryn for a long time.
I could tell, because he did not look at me when I carried plates into the kitchen after dinner.
He followed me in and shut the swinging door.
"You'll let it go," he said, in the voice he used on drivers who came in late.
"That girl is handled, and the child will never come near this house."
"Your mother's bed at Brightwater is paid on the first of every month."
"You know who signs for it."
I stacked the plates on the counter.
My mother had been in that clinic for five years.
Her heart was failing, and the care cost nine thousand dollars a month that I did not have.
Prescott paid it.
Prescott reminded me of that on every bad night of our marriage.
"I know who signs for it," I said.
"Good girl," said Ernest, and went back out.
I stood at the sink with my hands under the hot tap until they stopped shaking.
In the car, Prescott hummed along to the radio and tapped the wheel.
He drove with one hand and checked his phone with the other.
I watched his thumb type a heart.
The dashboard clock said 9:12, April first.
"Drive carefully," I said.
"Always do," said Prescott.
I turned my face to the window so he wouldn't see me counting.
Three days.
I had been a good, quiet wife for five years, and I was done being one.
I decided I would spend the first of those days ending my marriage.
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