The Arrangement

“Who was I if not a husband, father, and architect? The truth was, I had no idea. So much of my identity was tied up in who they were, who I was to them.”

Peter’s existential crisis reveals the hollow core beneath his carefully constructed personas, foreshadowing the revelation of his true identity as a killer. The rhetorical question emphasizes his performative existence where authentic selfhood has been replaced by roles. This moment of apparent vulnerability establishes Peter as sympathetic while subtly hinting that his inability to exist outside prescribed roles enables his compartmentalization of murder, reinforcing the theme of The Performance of Domestic Normalcy as Survival.

“Sorry, honey. Rules are rules.”

The brevity of Ainsley’s note functions as a power play disguised as playful adherence to their agreement. The casual “honey” juxtaposed with the authoritative “Rules are rules” establishes the control dynamics that define their relationship. This early demonstration of Ainsley’s strategic thinking and psychological manipulation foreshadows her later revelation as the orchestrator of Stefan’s murder, showing how she uses the appearance of following rules to enforce her own agenda, connecting to the motif of rules and agreements.

“There were no happy footsteps rushing to greet me, to show me their latest masterpieces or tell me about their days. There were days when they were young when I begged for a minute of peace, a minute to breathe, or shower, or think…but this was worse.”

Ainsley’s nostalgic reflection juxtaposes past chaos and present silence to explore loss within domestic life. The ellipsis creates a pause that mirrors her emotional processing, while “this was worse” delivers judgment with understated finality. This moment establishes Ainsley’s motivation for extreme measures—her fear of emptiness drives her orchestration of violence as a binding agent, illustrating how Control and Manipulation Disguised as Love operates in their relationship.

“I think we should let the people we’re seeing know up front that it’s a physical, casual thing.”

Ainsley’s new rule reveals her growing guilt while simultaneously demonstrating her pattern of control through regulation. The clinical language—“physical, casual thing”—attempts to strip emotion from inherently intimate acts, reflecting both characters’ inability to confront their genuine feelings. This moment of apparent consideration for others masks Ainsley’s deeper manipulation, as she creates rules that appear protective but ultimately serve her agenda of emotional control.

“Like my life had fallen out of posture and I was waiting for Mrs. Feffermen to smack my knuckles and get me back into shape.”

Peter’s piano-teacher metaphor reveals his deep psychological need for external correction in the absence of an internal moral compass. The imagery of physical punishment for poor posture parallels his desire for consequences that never come for his murders. This seemingly innocent childhood memory exposes Peter’s fundamental passivity—he commits atrocities while waiting for an authority figure to stop him, making him both a perpetrator and a victim of his own moral absence.

“My husband was perpetually shy and calculating. He liked to plan and think things through. To put thought into his next move. He was the type to spend months reading reviews before buying a new coffee pot or obsess over and try on multiple coats from multiple stores before deciding on which he preferred.”

Ainsley’s clinical assessment of Peter’s methodical nature becomes deeply ironic given his impulsive murder of Stefan. The repetitive sentence structure emphasizes Peter’s obsessive tendencies, while the characterization “perpetually shy and calculating” hints at hidden depths. This passage establishes Peter as someone who overthinks minor decisions, making his later violent spontaneity all the more shocking.

“Like a murderer, I wandered through my life, waiting to be caught. Every phone call, every text made me jumpy.”

Peter’s simile comparing himself to a murderer while reflecting on his infidelities becomes darkly prophetic. The author employs irony here, as Peter becomes what he only metaphorically imagined himself to be (and he later reveals that he has been a murderer all along). The paranoid tone established through “jumpy” and “waiting to be caught” foreshadows the actual guilt and fear that he’ll experience after Stefan’s death, connecting to The Erosion of Truth in Intimate Relationships.

“I was disgusted with who I was becoming. I thought there was no way I’d get away with it a second time. I thought she’d surely find out about it this time. But she didn’t.”

Peter’s reflection on his pattern of infidelity reveals the cyclical nature of transgression and guilt that defines his character. The repetition of “I thought” emphasizes his consistent self-deception, while the short, stark “But she didn’t” demonstrates how lack of consequences enables escalating violations. This passage illuminates how smaller betrayals create the psychological framework for larger crimes, supporting the theme of the erosion of truth in intimate relationships.

“Have a great weekend, Ainsley. I sucked in a sharp breath, my arms lined with goose bumps as the question rang out in my head: Why had he used my real name?”

This moment of recognition triggers a visceral physical response, with “sucked in a sharp breath” and “goose bumps” conveying Ainsley’s immediate terror. The italicized internal question emphasizes the violation of her carefully constructed boundaries. This pivotal moment marks the collapse of the arrangement’s supposed safety, demonstrating how illusions of control can shatter with a single word.

“Over Ainsley’s cries, I heard the sickening sound of the metal bat connecting with his thick skull. It was a crunch I was sure I’d never forget.”

The author layers auditory imagery to create a hierarchy of horror: Ainsley’s human cries are overshadowed by the “sickening sound” of violence. The onomatopoeia of “crunch” forces readers to experience the murder viscerally, while “I was sure I’d never forget” establishes this as Peter’s defining trauma. The clinical precision of “metal bat connecting with his thick skull” contrasts with the emotional weight of the moment, highlighting the baseball bat as a symbol of Peter and Ainsley’s violent bond.

“Once he had the body under the porch, I’d taken Stefan’s cell phone, loaded up into his truck, and driven across town while my phone remained at home.”

The matter-of-fact tone here chronicles criminal methodology with disturbing efficiency, demonstrating Ainsley’s transformation into the “fixer” she claims to be. The house’s porch, established as a symbol of domestic facade, literally becomes the foundation for their crime. The parallel structure of actions (“taken,” “loaded,” “driven”) emphasizes the calculated nature of the cover-up, contrasting with the murder’s spontaneity and reinforcing the house and porch as central symbols.

“No. No. No. No. 

The parking lot had two police cars in it, parked directly in front of the door, lights flashing.”

The four-fold repetition of “No” mimics Ainsley’s mental spiral as consequences potentially arrive. The specificity of “two police cars” and “lights flashing” creates visual urgency that contrasts with her internal denial. This cliffhanger moment exploits the gap between Ainsley’s attempted control and the chaotic reality of their situation, suggesting that no amount of careful planning can fully contain the aftermath of violence.

“Everywhere I looked, there were specks of blood. Evidence. Proof of the horrible crime I’d committed.”

The fragmented syntax mirrors Peter’s fragmenting psyche as he confronts physical evidence of the murder. The progression from “blood” to “[e]vidence” to “[p]roof” demonstrates an escalating awareness of culpability, with each sentence becoming more legally damning. The blood functions as both literal evidence and a symbol of guilt that cannot be completely erased, suggesting the permanence of their Peter and Ainsley’s despite obsessive cleaning efforts, connecting to the motif of blood and cleaning.

“I approached the officers standing outside the branch the way you’d approach a deranged man with a gun. Every step was cautious as I tried to keep my face still, no sudden movements.”

Ainsley’s simile comparing police officers to armed threats reveals her psychological state while inverting typical power dynamics—she sees law enforcement as a source of danger rather than protection. The controlled physical description (“Every step was cautious,” “face still,” “no sudden movements”) demonstrates her ability to perform innocence through bodily discipline and contributes to the theme of the performance of domestic normalcy as survival. This calculated self-surveillance contrasts with Peter’s emotional volatility, establishing her as the more capable criminal and reinforcing the performance and acting motif.

“The body was no longer a he, but an it. We’d made that transition.

Were there five steps to processing the fact that you’d committed a murder like there were for grief?”

The dehumanization from “he” to “it” marks a crucial psychological shift that enables the couple to continue functioning. Ainsley’s dark parallel between murder processing and Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s stages of grief, established in On Death and Dying, creates bitter irony—they’re grieving their innocence while denying their victim’s humanity. The clinical tone and rhetorical question structure reveal how Ainsley intellectualizes trauma as a coping mechanism, transforming horror into a manageable psychological framework.

“But…just because he cheated…it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

Glennon’s halting defense of infidelity, marked by the ellipses showing her struggle to articulate the thought, ironically foreshadows the revelation of Peter’s affair with Seth. The statement’s abstract hypothetical nature (“he cheated”) gains retroactive irony once it is revealed that she’s speaking from experience as the betrayed party. Her attempt to separate love from fidelity reflects the novel’s larger theme of how people rationalize destructive behaviors within relationships.

“‘My husband was a cop, Mrs. Greenburg. Do you think we didn’t look into the women he was seeing? Made sure they seemed normal? Sane?’ She studied my expression. ‘I know all about you.’”

Illiana’s rhetorical questions function as veiled threats while revealing the surveillance that predated Stefan’s death. The parallel structure of “normal” and “[s]ane” suggests qualities that Ainsley arguably does not possess. The chilling final declaration, “I know all about you,” demonstrates how the dating app’s premise of anonymity is illusory—everyone leaves digital footprints that make true secrets impossible in modern relationships, connecting to the dating app as a symbol.

“What would you have me do, Peter? Kill her?”

Ainsley’s rhetorical question cuts through Peter’s panic with shocking directness, forcing him to confront the logical endpoint of their cover-up. The casual tone with which she proposes murder reveals her moral deterioration—what should be unthinkable has become merely tactical. This moment of black humor also establishes Ainsley as the dominant partner who controls their criminal enterprise through her willingness to voice what Peter cannot, illustrating control and manipulation disguised as love.

“People like to pretend they have no control over the way their life turns out, but the truth is that they just refuse to deal with the hard stuff because it’s too painful and messy. You know what’s even more painful and sticky? Prolonging bad situations for your own comfort.”

Gina’s blunt assessment functions as the novel’s thesis about personal responsibility while ironically foreshadowing the extreme measures that both protagonists will take to “deal with the hard stuff.” The repetition of “painful” links to emotional and physical violence, while “sticky” literally anticipates the blood that will coat their hands. Her advice to take control becomes darkly prophetic, as Peter uses it to justify murder.

“I ignored him. I felt awful for leading him on.”

Ainsley’s passive construction—“I ignored” rather than describing active rejection—reveals her calculated victimhood performance. The juxtaposition of “ignored” with “felt awful” creates false empathy while maintaining plausible deniability. This linguistic manipulation demonstrates how she controls the narrative through selective truth telling, a microcosm of her larger orchestration.

“‘I’ve been cheating on you,’ I said, a grimace on my face as I lifted my head from my hands. 

‘With Seth.’”

The paragraph break before “With Seth” creates maximum shock value, mirroring Ainsley’s disorientation. Peter’s “grimace” suggests performance even in confession—he’s aware of his revelation’s theatrical impact. The deliberate pacing reveals how even truth telling becomes another form of manipulation in their toxic dynamic, reinforcing the theme of the erosion of truth in intimate relationships.

“I wanted you to hurt. I wanted you to have no choice but to stay with me. I told you when we got married, I’d never let you go.”

Ainsley reframes possessiveness as devotion, revealing how the theme of control and manipulation disguised as love operates through twisted logic. The repetition of “wanted” emphasizes premeditation, while “no choice” exposes her fundamental denial of Peter’s agency. Her callback to their wedding vows perverts sacred promises into threats.

“I ran the pearls between my fingers as I walked to the far corner of the room. It was dimly lit, practically unnoticeable, but it held my most prized possession.”

The tactile detail of pearls—symbols of purity formed through irritation—provides bitter irony as Peter handles his murder trophies. The progression from “dimly lit” to “practically unnoticeable” to “most prized” mirrors how secrets have hidden in plain sight throughout their marriage. His tender handling of victims’ jewelry contrasts grotesquely with the violence required to obtain it, connecting to the motif of secrets.