“Not everyone has murder on the brain.” Jesse sniggers and rolls his eyes at me apologetically.
“Do you know the main cause of murder in most countries?” Grace asks. “Sex. It’s always sex. The French have a saying, ‘Cherchez la femme.’ Look for the woman, and you’ll find the cause. It’s sexist, of course, but it’s not entirely wrong. The ultimate cause of every murder is desire and jealousy.”
Tell that to the drug dealer shot on the corner, I think. Tell that to the kids shot in schools. But I’ve no desire to have a philosophical conversation—or any conversation at all—with this woman.
“It’s an old story. Someone has an affair, and the other party can’t take it. They do unnatural things to get revenge.”
“Ignore her,” Jesse says, with a nervous laugh. “You want to take a look?”
I hesitate.
“Sure,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend. Grace extends her arm like a restaurant hostess, and I step inside.
I regret it immediately. There’s blood everywhere, but it’s not coming from a person. On the floor of the barn is a messily butchered lamb.
“Jesus,” I say, stepping backwards, right into Grace.
She grabs me by the shoulders and whispers in my ear. “Everything you need to know about life is here, the sacred mystery of it all. If you’re brave enough to face it.”
I shake her off and stumble out into the light.
“Isn’t it something?”
“It’s disgusting,” I say, feeling my stomach roil. “I thought you were a vegan.”
“I am. But that doesn’t mean I shy away from death. I like to stare it in the face.” She watches me for a second, then bursts out laughing. “I know I sound ridiculous. But in this shallow world, everything real gets mocked. To live with any intensity, you need to be OK with that. Let them mock, these small people with their small lives. We know different, though, don’t we?”
We. I’m perversely flattered that Grace thinks we have anything in common. Though then it occurs to me that we have plenty in common. We’ve both shared a bed with Bradley. We’ve both been naked with Bradley, we’ve both touched his taut stomach and felt his breath in our ear. We’ve both heard Bradley say that he’s in love. And we’ve both believed it.
“It’s very sweet, you know, being protective of Bradley. I suspect that you think I’m cruel to him. Is that right?”
I can’t believe it. Grace wants to talk as though she didn’t intentionally lock me in the basement, as though she didn’t nearly kill me! Part of me wants to slap that knowing smile from her mouth. Not that I ever could.
“I have to go.”
“Brie! What’s wrong?”
Instead of responding, I give her my best approximation of an angry stare, the closest thing to a slap I can manage. Just doing that makes my heart race.
“It’s not the basement, is it? Is that why you’re staring at me like I’m Ted Bundy? That was an accident, I swear!” She kneads her hands like dough. If she were anyone else, I’d think she’s nervous. “Bradley mentioned you were worked up about it.”
I picture Bradley lying in bed beside Grace, dismissing my experience with a laugh.She was so worked up, poor girl.
“I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier. I was just a bit hesitant. It’s not every day that someone thinks you’re out to kill them. How did I know you weren’t plotting to get me back?”
I don’t respond, so she touches my arm above the elbow. I pull away as if she were infectious.
“You believe me, don’t you? I can’t have you think I’m really like that. I know I’m strange sometimes, but you don’t know what my work is like. I’ve spent the last five years in this house, banging my head against the wall for inspiration. Sometimes literally. And I already have a few screws loose, genetically speaking. You can’t take it soseriously.”
I can see that she won’t let up, so I nod just to get out of the situation. She reaches out again, then loops her arm through mine, like we’re part of a wedding party about to walk down the aisle.
“You need to treat me like you would a character in a play. Just observe, and know that none of it’s real.” As we approach the flower garden by the veranda, she runs her hand through the dahlias I planted to replace the dead roses. “A character in a play, or a crazy person. You can decide. I know which one Bradley thinks I am.”
“I don’t think you’re either,” I manage, and try to free my arm, but she tightens her grip. We go around the side of the house—the opposite side to the basement entrance—to the back lawn.
“Marriage is complicated, you know. I’m not the first to say this, but it is a bizarre institution. I met Bradley when I was in college. I had just moved out of home and gone across the country, about as far from Houston as I could go without leaving the country. Everything was strange to me. The weather, the trees, the people.”
A robin flies across the lawn and lands on a branch. We stop and watch as its head darts around, the movements so quick and deliberate that I picture a puppeteer hiding in the shrubs.
