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Kindle Notes & Highlights
For hiunuihikhjjjkj;’/Ljk////////////////////ffgf (Sorry, my cat walked across my keyboard so many times, I finally decided to let her write the dedication)
i thought the audiobook was having a stroke wtf
There is no possible way you could know the truth. There’s no way you could ever guess that the killer is actually Steve. Wait. Oh, crap. Ugh. Well, nobody reads the prologue anyway.
One woman is paying with a check. A check? Really? Who pays with a check in this century? She may as well be trading with gold trinkets.
It was definitely not my husband standing in the middle of the drugstore and watching me while I chose shampoo and browsed sunglasses. It couldn’t have been. Because my husband has been dead for two weeks.
My refrigerator is only one rectangular pan away from being a solid mass of noodles and cream of mushroom soup.
“The Boyfriend… Is this any good?” “Oh, yes—I love it. But I’m on page two, and I’m pretty sure I already know what the twist is going to be.” I take another tentative sip of tea. “Have you ever heard of the author, Freida McFadden?” “Nope.” “She writes psychological thrillers. The kind with short chapters and lots of twists that are shocking but also kind of completely out of nowhere.”
haven’t ventured even once up to the attic, which contains a single room that locks from the outside. Grant says the room is used as storage for items that belonged to his late wife, Rebertha, who lived here before me and died in a tragic accident long before we met. I don’t even have the key.
The only way I could have seen him is if he were a ghost, and I would be so mad if that happened, because it would seriously be a super-cheap twist.
He would have trusted him even less if he’d known the truth about our houseman’s dark past.
And we buried him in a normal cemetery. We didn’t bury him in some special pet cemetery where he would come back to life after a week or two, carrying a terrible curse. Grant was buried in a regular cemetery where nobody comes back to life. Which means he’s dead and in the ground. I’m one hundred percent sure. Well, okay, I guess not one hundred percent.
“My name is Marnie.” She looks me straight in the eyes. “And I am Grant Lockwood’s wife.”
“I… I wasn’t his legal wife,” Marnie says. “But we lived together as man and wife for many years.” This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Grant could not possibly have been living an entirely separate secret life with this other woman, who happens to look a lot like me. Who has time for something like that?
I’m at a loss for words. I accepted that there was a tiny possibility my husband could have had a child or two with this woman. But there are enough children in this room to become a pop band of siblings that tours around the country in a psychedelic school bus. How could these children all be the spawn of my late husband?
Because I’m the one who killed him. And if he were still alive, he would be pissed.
The director of the psychiatric ward is my father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former college roommate.
“Do you mean… IUDs?” “What’s an IUD?” “An intrauterine device. A doctor inserts it into your uterus, and it is used to prevent pregnancy.” Wow, that makes so much more sense than the lights. Stupid Google search.
“Tell me.” he says. “What color is this dress?” My stomach sinks. I stare at the photo, noticing now that there is a torn dress lying across the back seat of the car. “What?” I manage. Mancini smiles sheepishly. “I found this photo in your husband’s file, taken from the scene of the accident. And me and the guys at the department can’t stop arguing over it. I assume the dress was yours. What color is it? Is it blue and black, or is it gold and white?” My mouth is too dry to even speak. I part my lips, but no words come out. “We were just curious,” he says.
My husband is standing before me. The one who died in a fiery car wreck only two weeks ago. And now here he is, still alive. I stare at him, the blood rushing in my ears. “Grant?” Those familiar eyes meet mine. “No,” he says. “I’m not Grant.” As much as I would love to believe that my husband didn’t somehow come back to life, there is nobody who can tell me the man standing in front of me isn’t Grant Lockwood. I was married to him, after all. I know what he looks like. And I know this is Grant. But the next words out of his mouth change everything. “I’m Brant. Grant’s identical twin.”
“She…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “She doesn’t like Nickelback. And I…” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I love them. There—I said it. Nickelback is my absolute favorite band of all time, and my own wife can’t stand them.”
“Brant, I love Nickelback.” He gives me a wary look. “You can’t possibly mean that. You’re just messing with me.” “No, I do! I love Nickelback! They have such a good vibe, their lyrics are so profound, and their tunes are a perfect mix of pop and grunge. They’re my favorite band.” A slow smile spreads across his lips. “I… I thought I was the only one.” “I thought I was the only one!”
How could I have gotten LED and IUD mixed up? Honestly, they should put some sort of warning on the box of LED lights: These lights will not prevent pregnancy.
