As for what Caleb wants, she doesn’t know.
After a minute, she helps Elijah put his shirt back on. “Did you like it?” he asks.
“Like what?”
“Killing Ben.”
She laughs nervously. “No, of course not.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Elijah says. “I didn’t mean if you liked the gory part, but the look of surprise on his face. Did you like that?”
Sarah closes her eyes and remembers that moment. The delicious rawness of her fury. Another tear follows the first, trickling over her upper lip, warm and salty as Ben’s blood. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”
“The moment when you knew he couldn’t hurt you anymore.”
“Yes.” Sarah’s voice wobbles with guilt. “I wanted him to get up so I could hit him again. I wanted him to knowIkilled him, that I won and he lost.”
He nods as if she’s given the right answer.
“Do you wish you’d done the same to your dad?” The question spills out before she can stop it. But she knows he won’t be offended. She’s killed for him. They’re beyond offending each other now.
His eyes stray to the old recliner. He doesn’t have to say anything. She understands. The answer isyes,yes, andyesagain.
“I see you,” he says softly. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. It hurts to pretend, doesn’t it?”
He touches her cheek, and the knot she’s been holding inside her for so long uncoils, and suddenly she can breathe.I see you. He sees her and accepts her.
“Are you sorry?” he asks.
“No,” she says, and this time she feels no guilt or shame at the answer.Thisis what freedom really feels like. Not the anxious flight up Highway 11, or the relief at your abuser’s death, but the lack of weight on your soul. This is what Ben felt, and what Caleb must feel too, as men moving through the world without having to gauge how much space they take up.
Sarah’s face hardens with the truth. “No, I’m not. He should’ve died the first time.”
“Good.”
He gifts her his sweet, innocent smile, and for the first time in a long time, Sarah feels at peace.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elijah lends her a spare hooded sweatshirt, as hers is headed for a trash dump, hopefully never to be unearthed. Caleb returns a couple of hours later with an early dinner, and Sarah realizes they never had lunch. Who can eat, anyway, when there’s a body in the garage, waiting to be buried in the spring like a gladiolus bulb. She thinks of Jacob Vass and Stuart McGee and Joseph Singh, lost in the woods and shrouded by snow and dirt and time, their bones planted in the soil and blooming into white pines. Maybe it’s the trees that scream, not the wind, with the voices of the disappeared.
Elijah takes a seat at the kitchen table while Caleb lays out an extra-large pepperoni pizza and a Caesar salad. Sarah grabs plates and forks and sits with them. No one says anything. Caleb doesn’t even comment on how she knows where everything is in the kitchen. It seems natural, her being there. She’s family now. They share everything. If she brought the virus into their house, it’s too late, they all have it. If she brought violence, it’s made itself at home.
Sarah and Caleb sit on either side of Elijah. He takes both their hands in his. “Let us give thanks,” he says, bowing his head. Caleb coughs but says nothing.
Sarah silently thanks the woods for taking Ben, and Elijah releases them.
She bites into a slice and chews tiredly, watching the snowflakes streak past the kitchen window.
“Sarah?” Caleb says.
Both he and Elijah are staring at her. She glances down and realizes tomato sauce is dripping between her fingers, like blood. Caleb hands her a napkin. She takes it, but licks the sauce off her skin instead. There’s no need to be polite anymore. Elijah meets her eyes and nods slightly.I see you.
Elijah wolfs down the last of his salad and stands up. “I’ll be in my studio.”
“Elijah, you’re in no condition to work. Your face looks worse than the pizza, and I’d hate to see the rest of you.” Caleb turns to Sarah. “His ribs?”
Sarah shakes her head.
