I’ve never blamed her for marrying me for my money. I married her because I wanted a wife and a family. She checked my boxes. I assumed that I checked hers.
I never promised her anything that I didn’t deliver. I never tried to make her believe that this is something that it’s not.
Even though I keep telling myself this over and over, my chest still burns. I rub it with my palm. It must be heartburn. It feels like I’ve held my breath too long and run out of air.
The daybed is a twin, but she seems lost in the middle of it. She’s so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I was obsessed with polo for a few years in my twenties.The boarding stable where I kept my horse was on a farm out in Terryville. Cora has always reminded me of the days I spent riding the trails on their property—the cornflowers in the fields, and the silks on the ears of corn.
The peacefulness.
She sniffles and curls tighter in on herself. She must be cold. The ceiling fan is blowing down on her, of course. Fans reduce the risk of SIDS. It’s never off.
She looks alone.
A soft snore comes from Pearl’s bedroom. I quietly duck in to check on her. She’s sprawled out on her back, surrounded by stuffed animals. She must’ve buried herself in them before she fell asleep. She’s a great sleeper. Both girls are. She looks so warm.
An idea occurs to me, and I’m drunk enough that I don’t second guess it. I gently scoop Pearl up from her stuffie pile. She doesn’t even twitch. She’s out cold.
I carry her into the other room and lay her gently next to Cora. Without opening her eyes, Pearl whines and squirms, nestling into Cora like a newborn kitten. I hold my breath. Cora uncurls to make room for Pearl and tucks her close. Soon, they’re both snoring again. I pull the quilt over them both. The flat sheet is too entangled in Cora’s legs to fix.
I watch them for a while. They’re a few feet away, but the distance feels like a chasm. I did this. I cut myself out of the picture.
What did I ask Cora?
Would you hurt yourself?
It’s an interesting question.
Would I?
Yes. For no good reason, without a single thought, I’d throw everything away.
I’d take the fragile woman who’d clung to me, shaking in my arms as she gave birth to my baby, and I’d break herfrom across a room. I’d tell the woman riding my dick to stay there because the worst thing to happen would be my kids seeing my dick.
Did I hate myself then as much as I do now? I must have. I just didn’t know it.
I blow out a breath and straighten the quilt. I’m fucking drunk. I need to crash.
Before I leave, I check on Winnie one last time and shut the door quietly behind me. I briefly consider going back downstairs for another drink. The European markets open soon. In the end, though, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. I leave my door open in case Pearl wakes up and comes looking for me.
She won’t. The few times she woke up early and ended up in our room, she was looking for Cora.
But I leave the door open anyway.
Just in case.
9
CORA
The dayafter the garbage disposal incident, I wake up with Pearl in my bed, which usually only happens when she has a nightmare. She’s dry, and she says she slept fine.
I didn’t. I slept too deeply. It takes me hours and several cups of coffee for my brain cells to start firing, and when they do, the mortification and panic sets in. I lost it. In front of Adrian. I kicked him. Probably left bruises. That’s evidence of assault.
What is he going to do?
I worry all morning. I can’t settle, can’t decide what to do with myself. The girls and I eat breakfast in the nursery, and I get everyone ready to go to the library, but then Pearl gets into a TV show about truck drivers in Canada, and I give up on the idea.
