“It wasn’t the trunk.It was a trailer.”
“Marin.”
“I know.”The words come out I quieter than I mean them to.“I know I don’t have an endgame.I know this isn’t sustainable.I know that every day I keep him there is a day closer to something going wrong.”I take a sip of wine.“But letting him go isn’t an option.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’ll go to the police.Because he’ll tell everyone what I did.Because I’ll lose everything.”
“You’ve already lost everything.”
That lands.I don’t show it but it lands.
“I haven’t lost everything,” I say.“I have the house.I have a meeting in New York on Tuesday.I have?—”
“A meeting in New York?”
“With a former client.He wants to hear a pitch.It could be the start of getting my career back.”
Luke turns his glass on the table.Slowly.
“How long would you be gone?”
“Two days.Maybe three.”
The question sits there.Between the bread basket and the candle.Between two people who both know what comes next but neither wants to say it first.
I say it first.Because that’s what I do.
“I need someone at the house while I’m gone.”
Luke looks at me.Takes a sip of bourbon.Sets it down.
“You need a babysitter.”
“That’s not?—”
“You need someone to feed him, water him, give him his pills, and make sure he doesn’t scream loud enough for Mrs.Mather to call the police.That’s babysitting, Marin.”
“I was going to say house-sitting.”
“You were going to say whatever made it sound like you weren’t asking me to keep your hostage alive while you fly to New York in heels and pitch yourself back into your old life.”
I open my mouth.Close it.He’s right and we both know it and the worst part is he looks like he’s been waiting for me to ask and the only surprise is that it took this long.
“Will you do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Just like that?”
“Someone has to be there.Can’t let him go two days without water.”He finishes his bourbon.Doesn’t order another.“And God forbid Mrs.Mather shows up and no one’s home to sell her the dying husband story.”
He’s right.He’s right and he’s offering and I should feel relieved.Instead I feel something else—the vertigo of handing someone a key to the thing you’ve been holding together alone.
“There are rules,” I say.
His jaw twitches.“I’d expect nothing less.”
