“I don’t own a bikini. And you’re my boss.”
“We’ll buy you whatever you need. And you can tell your boss to go to hell.” He pauses, then lifts his coffee as though he were giving a toast. “Grace is already there, of course.”
“Bradley!”
“Sorry, that was in poor taste. But fifteen years we spent together, and so much of it was torture. Grace cheated on me and wanted to kill you. I’m not sorry about what happened. I hate her for it. I’m glad we won.”
“She’s still a person,” I say quietly.
“And you’re an angel to feel anything for that woman after what she did to you.” He leans down to kiss me. “I know this ismessed up. But just remember the story. We’ll have our whole lives to process it.”
I finish my coffee and take my cup to the kitchen. Bradley is treating Grace’s death like he’s already over it, but she filled the greater part of his adult life. To me, death isn’t something you get over. It’s a permanent, unforgettable fact; it changes everything, from the color of the trees to the taste of coffee. My mother’s death was like that.
When Bradley touches my shoulder, I instinctively move away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m being callous. I wish there could have been another way.”
“No,” I reply, when I finally regain my composure. “It’s not your fault.”
“But you’re upset with me.” His voice reminds me of a resentful child complaining about unfair treatment. “You hold it against me.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Maybe. But I’m mostly angry at myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted her dead, too.” I pause, trying out the words in my mind before I say them. I’m not sure if they’re true, but it’s what he wants to hear. “And I’m glad you did it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We stay awake the rest of the night and most of the following day watching news of the fires on Bradley’s phone. Over 100,000 acres burned, hundreds of people evacuated, two dozen homes destroyed. By nightfall, the fires are under control, but the roads are still closed. It will take a few days to put out for good.
The news anchor reports that it caused fire devils, tornadoes of fire that shoot up into the air.
“It’s biblical,” I tell Bradley. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s good news for us. Search and rescue won’t be able to look for days.”
I flinch at the suggestion that this is anything but a tragedy, but I know that he’s right. I picture Grace’s body slamming from rock to rock like driftwood, floating down the river for miles and miles. Would she continue like that, all the way to the ocean? Or would she wash up on some riverbank and begin to decompose?
“Sorry,” he says, noticing my expression.
“It’s OK. It will just take some time.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I let it sit there for a moment before telling him I need to have a shower.
“We both do,” he says. “You first. Use the ensuite. It has fresh towels.”
I go upstairs and undress in his bedroom, trying to ignore the thousand little reminders of Grace. Her glasses and paperbacks on the nightstand. Next to them, her earplugs, loose, used. A dress, tossed into the corner of the room.
In the ensuite, it’s even worse. There’s her toothbrush, her creams, dozens of expensive little items. As I run the shower, I see that even here I’m not free. There are her soaps and shampoos, a razor, and a small pumice stone like the one my mother once used.
I hesitate before taking a bottle of body wash and squirting it into a loofa. Just yesterday, Grace used this on her body, and now I’m using it on mine, and she’s dead. I use her shampoo and conditioner, too, and then I wash myself again, and again. It’s only when I’m about to wash myself a fourth time that I snap out of it.
I turn my face to the water and try to enjoy it. This is the first hot indoor shower I’ve had since coming to Pine Ridge. But I can’t detach the pleasure from the fact that I’m only here, feeling this way, because Grace is gone. I close my eyes against the water, and I see her again. The life leaving her eyes as she falls over the edge.
When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel, then go to the landing and call out.
“Hey, where’d you put my stuff?”
“In the bedroom.”
