I can’t help but give a dull smile.
One from Bridget:You have snack on Tuesday in Lilly’s classroom. Don’t be an asshole.
Nothing from Astrid. She’s as red as my wall, I’m sure. I’ve never seen so much rage in a person, not since my mother. I’m sure she’s through with me.
And just as I’m about to abandon my phone for the night, another email pops up as if to contest the theory.
[emailprotected]:Woven jacquard drapes in the bedroom are considered a crime in some places. The red bedspread looks about as tired as you. I did wonder, though. What is in your closet?
The world stops spinning a moment as Simone and that box that contains her private journals race through my mind. I bolt off the bed and head into my closet, leaving the dim light from the bathroom to illuminate my sweaters still heaped over the cardboard. I peer in to find the contents untouched and cover them back up again. Someone had the audacity to invite themselves upstairs, to judge my curtains, my bedding, my closet, and its contents. They were making a point.
I’m starting to think our move to Percy was a mistake. I’m starting to think that no matter where Bram and I go, we will never escape the past, never escape the bodies, finding fresh ones along the way.
Bram and those veins bulging along the sides of his neck come back to me. My husband lost in his silent rage. It seems inescapable at this point.
My heart drums into my ears all night long.
I don’t catch a wink of sleep.
