“I’m not—” He takes a breath before speaking again. “You’ve gone through a lot. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I say. I don’t want platitudes. I want righteous anger. I want action.
“Come on. You’re saying my wife intentionally locked you in our basement. I think it’s more than reasonable for me to look for an alternative explanation. Seriously, anything is more plausible than that. Just a second ago, you thought I was part of this conspiracy.” He’s frowning slightly as he looks at me, as if searching for something in my eyes. “I’ve put you under a lot of pressure, living here with Grace.”
“I’m not crazy!” I say. I haven’t told him about the poem, the poison, the book. The trick with the roses. It’s too late now. He'll think I've lost my mind if I bring it all up.
“I found something else down there. Notebooks about Caroline Churchwell.”
“Notebooks?”
“Yes. With plans. To kill her, I think. And clippings from her disappearance. Dozens of them.” I stare at him. “You told me it was a misunderstanding. But from the looks of it, she was obsessed with Caroline. She fantasized about hurting her. And she’s doing the same to me! ”
He’s still giving me that same look, as if testing to see if I haven’t completely lost my mind.
“Brie—” he begins, and he’s lucky I don’t hit him again. Even the way he says my name is patronizing. “You’re jumping atshadows. I already told you, Caroline lived with us for a time. She left without telling us, and we notified the police. But it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Why does she have all those clippings? What’s up with that notebook?”
“She used Caroline for her first novel. Not directly, but I think it unblocked her. She gets in her own head. That stuff might seem a little strange, but it’s just research. She had terrible writer’s block. She’s had it for her entire life. Nothing ever comes easy for her. She drew on Caroline for inspiration. But none of what you read is real. ”
I stare at him in disbelief. How can he not see what she’s like? “Tell me the truth. Did Grace hurt Caroline? I’m not saying she killed her, but this is more than just research.”
He takes a deep breath, and I can already tell that he’s going to gaslight me. “You feel unsafe, and I get that. But you don’t know Grace as I do. Caroline got sick of living here one day and left without telling us. But we searched for her, and she’s alive and well. Living in Canada. Like I told you.”
I take a second to process what he’s saying. Caroline is alive—I can believe that. But then why does everything feel sooff?
“Let’s not bury the lede,” I say. “Your wife tried to kill me.”
“I see that you think that. But can you consider other explanations? The Grace I know would never do that to you. Or to anyone.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, OK? And even if you don’t trust her, trust me. I’m here, and I won’t let her hurt you, as absolutely ridiculous and unlikely as that is.”
He takes my hand and attempts to pull me closer, but I snatch it away. I’m not done.
“No. You’re gaslighting me. You’re not here all the time. I am! I know what I see!”
“I don’t know what to do, Brie. What do you want from me?” He pulls at his hair with his right hand, and it stands out to the side like it’s being manipulated by a magnet. “How can I make you feel better?”
I can’t believe he thinks he can sweet-talk me down. Typical college professor. He thinks words are all he needs. But I don’t need a goddamn sonnet. I need him to actuallydosomething.
“Divorce her! Like you said you’d do.”
“I’m working on it. But I can’t just end my marriage overnight.”
“Work harder. I don’t want to see her ever again.”
“She’s not an app on my phone, you know,” he says. “I can’t just delete her with a click. We’ve been together for over a decade. It’ll take time.”
“Fine.” I walk past him, down the hallway, to the front door. I can hear him jogging after me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. Call me a taxi.”
“You’re kidding.” He forces a laugh that makes me want to punch him again. “No taxi will come out here at this time of night.”
