I reach for the zip, but he stops my hand.
“No,” he says, hitching up my dress while he looks at me in the mirror. “Leave it on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The next few days are among the strangest of my life. I feel like I’m a teenager again, bouncing between overwhelming feelings of joy, shame, and anxiety. Sometimes I wonder if the intensity of these competing emotions might split me open at the seams.
When I tell this to Bradley in bed Wednesday morning, four days after Grace ‘went missing’—a phrase I’m trying to memorize and repeat—he gives me a knowing smile.
“That’s life.”
“It’s too much,” I say. “I feel like I’ve spent my life in black and white. Now everything’s in color, and I’m not used to it.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to be. You’re not supposed to get used to life. It’s meant to be uncomfortable, surprising, and overwhelming. Always. Otherwise, you might as well be dead.” He puts on his I’m-quoting-a-poem voice. “‘We have not sighed deep, laughed free, starved, feasted, despaired—been happy.’”
He’s quoted that poem before. I think it’s about a life poorly lived. Wrong choices, wrong turns, regrets. As he starts getting dressed, I wonder if he’s right. My life till now has been almost entirely ordinary and routine. Even the major events in my life, like the death of my mother or moving in with Neil, feltnormal.
“I’ll be back around nine,” he says.
“Nine?” I check my phone. “It’s already eight.”
“No, nine at night.”
I sit up, feeling my chest grow tight. “You’re leaving?”
“The roads are open again. I need to visit the police station, then go to work. Classes to teach.”
“I thought you’d quit.”
“Once this is over, I will. But I need to act normal.”
My voice cracks as I protest. “So you’re leaving me here?”
“I’m sorry, darling,” he says, buttoning his shirt. “It’s the safest thing to do.”
“Take me with you.”
“No, you need to act normal, too. Today is a workday. You can’t be seen off the property.”
I try to think of an argument to make him stay, but I know he’s right. We need to be careful. If we slip up now, he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail.
I go downstairs and sit with him at breakfast. He’s unusually quiet, though I assume he’s rehearsing his lecture for the day in his head. At the door, he kisses me.
“I love you. Don’t worry. This will all be over soon.”
As I walk upstairs, I wonder if it’s true that he loves me—and if it’s true now, will it be true forever? The events of the last week mean that we’ll always be connected, but it doesn’t mean our relationship will last. He says he loves me, but what happens when he doesn’t want me every second of the day? What happens when I say no?
I place my cup down and open Grace’s wardrobe. With every passing day, I feel less guilty about taking her clothes. I’ve started using her perfume, too, and her products in the shower. I’ve even used her makeup.
I tell myself that Bradley’s right. No one is going to care. If I don’t use them, it will all go to waste. But I know that’s not why I do it. It’s because I feel like I’m another person in her clothes,a person who isn’t condemned to struggle every day of her life. I feel like a person with choices. I feelfree.
I change into a long black dress, the loosest of Grace’s collection, and walk downstairs to make a coffee. While the water boils, I run my hands over the marble countertops. This kitchen cost more than my entire education. The joinery alone would have cost more than I made as a waitress in a year. Every item in this house is exquisite and expensive.
When the water is done, I fill a French press and add two spoonfuls of coffee. Just as I’m about to press down, there’s an enormous crash, as if someone’s shot a cannon into the back of the house. A crack like a small spiderweb has formed in the central window.
“What the?—?”
I run outside to see a small robin on the deck. The poor thing must have slammed into the clear glass as it searched for its breakfast. I wait for it to move, but it’s clearly dead. I rush inside and empty a cardboard box from under the sink. I place a towel inside, then carefully lift the bird and place it in the box.
