In the end, I leave the door open. I turn off the light, climbing under the covers and pressing into Elliott, letting him wrap his arms around me from behind.
As we lie there in silence, all I can think about is the blood on his shoes just outside the front door.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks after a while, as if he can sense it, as if he somehow knows.
I’m hesitant to tell him, not wanting it to come out as an accusation because I don’t know how he’ll react.
“There was blood on your shoes,” I say softly, under the cover of darkness.
“What do you mean?”
“Outside, when I dropped my keys and leaned over to pick them up, there was blood on your shoes.”
Elliott rolls me briskly over onto my back, suspended above me, though I can’t see his eyes because of how dark it is in the room. His voice is astonished, louder than it needs to be with the size of the cottage and how close we are to the kids. “What do you think, Court? ThatIkilled them?”
“Shhhh. No. Of course not,” I say. I don’t think that. Really, I don’t.
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“I... I don’t know. I guess I’m just wondering why there was blood on your shoes.”
He sighs. “It’s probably from the fucking fish, Courtney. Jeez.” He drops down onto his back, lying flat beside me, our heads on separate pillows.
We’re quiet for a minute. I breathe hard, feeling the rise and fall of my chest, feeling Elliott’s indignation beside me like heat from a fire.
After a minute, I say, “I didn’t know fish bled.” I’ve never been fishing before and I don’t know that I ever want to go. Killing something and watching it die isn’t for me.
He’s slow to respond, but when he does, I hear in his voice that he’s no longer mad, that he’s already forgiven me for the accusation. That’s the way it is with Elliott. He gets angry and then he gets over it. “You bleed them.”
“How?”
“Don’t ask. You don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know. Tell me.”
“By cutting the artery that runs through their gills.”
“Why?”
“They taste better. And die faster.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry I said something,” I say.
“It’s more humane. Honestly, Courtney. It takes seconds and then they’re gone. It’s better than suffocating to death.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant about the blood on your shoes. I know you didn’t kill them. God, of course you didn’t,” I say, rolling toward him. “My mind is all over the place. I just...” My voice cracks and I start to cry, quiet, choked-back tears, so the kids don’t hear.
“Hey now,” Elliott says, turning his body to mine.
I press into him. “I’m just so fucking scared,” I confess, whispering as he strokes my hair.
“I know. Me too,” he says, though those words are at oddswith his behavior. Elliott hasn’t once seemed scared to me, and I wonder if it’s because he’s not or if he’s trying to hold his emotion back for the kids’ and my sake. He hasn’t cried. He hasn’t broken down like me.
I weep softly into his chest, thinking about Emily and Nolan, thinking about Reese out there all alone for the second night in a row, wondering what’s happening to her, where she is and who she’s with.
“I can’t stay here,” I say to Elliott.
“I know. I can’t stay here either. Not with what’s happened.” There is a pause, and then he says, “But we can’t go home. The police won’t let us.”
