When Neil comes home late that night, he’s drunk.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, kissing me. “We should have a baby.”
The next day,I check my emails and find a message from Lucy Davos with the subject line “The Mackenzie Wildlife Restoration Project.”
I open it and find that Lucy is an associate at a law firm in the city.
Dear Ms. Mackenzie,
I’m writing on behalf of my client, Grace Frost, concerning plans to purchase five thousand acres to act as a protected habitat for endangered birds in the north-east region.
Before we can conclude our transaction, we need you to sign off on the use of your name for the property and any associated promotional and educational materials.
I’ve attached a contract for you to read. I recommend consulting with your lawyer. I’ve also attached the current project prospectus, and of course, I am happy to answer any questions you might have.
Sincerely,
Lucy Davos
I open the prospectus, which turns out to be a 200-page PDF outlining the full plan to acquire an enormous tract of land 200 miles north of Pine Ridge. It goes into detail about infrastructure required, land use, predator protection,buildings, and accessways. At the end, it lists the endangered birds that will use the land as a habitat.
It’s an overwhelming document, and I have a million questions. But it’s not the lawyer I want to answer them.
It’s Grace.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“How long?”
The driver squints at the phone on his dashboard. Outside, all I can see are trees. Though I lived here for an entire summer, I still don’t recognize the roads leading to Pine Ridge.
“Five minutes.”
It’s just after 7 a.m. He’ll be awake before noon.
The meter clicks over to $100 as he pulls into the driveway. The place is transformed. The driveway has been resealed, and the trees pruned back. I pull out my cash and count it on the seat before handing him the fare. I couldn’t risk using the app, because it would leave a record in my bank account for Neil to find.
“Can you come back here at ten?” I ask.
I can’t be late.
I can’t let him find out.
Last night,Neil came home and said he had been promoted again. I insisted we celebrate with drinks. I made him cocktails, but kept the alcohol out of mine. A trick I learned from Grace.
Neil talked incessantly about his plans for our lives. I wouldn’t need to work another day in my life.
“How many kids do you want?” he kept asking. “I want three, at least. We have time if we act fast.”
I could tell he wanted to start that night, so I kept making the drinks stronger and stronger.
We brainstormed names for children, then moved on to pets. Neil wanted two dogs and a cat. He said he would build a playhouse in the garden.
It was a strange fantasy. Deep down, surely he must have known it would never happen. There were only two ways this could end.
In the early hours, I dissolved four sleeping pills in a glass of water and forced him to drink. I said it would help with his hangover. He tried to pull me into bed, but by this point, it was easy to fend him off.
As soon as he was asleep, I began making plans.
