“Maybe burial at sea? Maybe instead of being a widow, I can be the wife of a man who went on a business trip and disappeared…That’s kind ofmysterious. Although I would like to collect life insurance, so maybe we should make it look like an accident.”
“Jesus Christ. Listen—”
“No, you listen. I’ve lost the only job I love—the job that lets me staysane—trying to make sure he’s somebody worth killing. I all but convinced myself he’s not—” I look blankly at the wall for a long moment, again trying to imagine it—Brian, doing thosethings. The man who sits and drinks coffee with me most mornings, who is infinitely supportive. Of course, we all have two sides. “But he is. How did I not see it?”
I blink at Ian as though he will answer the question for me.
Ian’s usual sardonic humor has evaporated. His eyes are filled with nothing but focus, nodding along, stepping closer, like he might do something wild likehugme.
“I know, Nadia, I know.”
“God damn it.” I actually stamp my foot—not unlike how Evie does when she’s mad Eliza took the last cookie. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. How was I so stupid?”
That’s when I realize I’m not even mad at Brian—I’m mad at myself. Maybe if I’d paid better attention or asked the right questions or done a background check or—
The possibilities are endless.
“This is not your fault, Nadia. Most people are not like us.”
“But he apparentlyis. And the worst version too. And I somehow missed it!”
Ian seems to think for a moment, then snatches up his jacket, and mine too. “Okay, well, we can’t kill him tonight. But that doesn’t mean we have to just sit here. Let’s do something. You’ll go stir-crazy sitting in this hotel room. We’ll go for a walk on the beach or get drinks or—whatever.”
I wrinkle my nose, suddenly feeling very much like my older sister. Petulant. I want to say no. Or demandhecall John and get another job. Can’t I just kill somebody, already?
But after two days of following my husband around, going out does sound good. Brian needed protecting. Now I’d almost invite someone else to off him—almost. Except I want to do it myself. Maybe I’ll watch the realization in his gaze right before I pull the trigger. Or maybe I’ll take a page from my favorite fictional assassin, Villanelle, and slip a knife into his chest over and over while I hold him intimately close.
The idea leaves a trace of a smile across my face. I could sacrifice the life insurance money for that.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
—
We walk alongthe beach, shoes clutched in our fingers, bare feet skimming the sand, the salty water lapping over our toes as it rolls in and out. Ian brought the whiskey, and we take turns, passing it back and forth. Well, more like he occasionally wrestles it from my grasp and gets a sip.
“My first job was the best, though,” he says, “the moment I knew I was going to be okay. It was a moment of clarity, when I realized why I couldn’t have a normal career. Or normal relationships.”
I nod along, knowing exactly what he means. And while my first kill was not a job—it was Piper’s boyfriend—I felt the same way. The relief in that moment, theease, the first time anything had felt close to ordinary. Even if it wasn’t anyone else’s ordinary.
“Do you ever wish you were like everyone else?” I ask.
Ian shrugs. Digs his toes into the sand. Stops to peer out at a light somewhere across the water—a boat, perhaps? “Maybe when I was a kid. When people looked at me like there was something wrong with me.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Classmates staring at you like you’ve said something weird or scary, but you don’t know why.” And it wasn’t just kids I went to school with—it was my family too. How I acted earned me concerned looks from my mother sometimes, but Piper and Graham never got them. It was just one more sign I was different. My mother loved me regardless. We have a reasonable relationship now, exchanging a text every few days, and I pepper her with cute photos of the girls. We see each other once or twice a month at family dinners, and we’re civil. Wehug. But, like Piper, she’s always known I’m a little off, and we’ve never been close the way some mothers and daughters are. We aren’t BFFs, we don’t go shopping together while sipping lattes, and I never call her to ask advice. This line of thinking inevitably leads me to remembering my early days with Brian, how our relationship had become a refuge—a way of hiding in plain sight.
And soon, that will be gone. Hell, it basically already is.
I deflate a little. The effects of the booze, the ocean, Ian’s company, all fade.
“Hey. It’ll be okay. You don’t need him.”
I force a smile, but inside, I’m unconvinced. I mean, what am I going to do when he’s gone? Invite Piper to move in? And what if I can’t control myself without our day-to-day life together? Notonly did I not ask Brian what he wants done with his body after he’s dead, but we never sorted out a properwho gets custody of our kids if something happens to both of usplan. What ifIdie?
Graham. They’d have to go to my brother. I won’t force Piper to give up her dream of being a single cat lady, even if she never gets herself a cat.
“Would it help if I stuck around for a while? In San Antonio? Until you sort things out?” Ian’s words come out in a soft voice, but I can hear him just fine, and I realize he’s right beside me. We stand in the sand, gazing out across the water.
“You would do that?” I ask. It’s not that I think he’d make a great uncle to the girls—though maybe he would, if he’s all but a Girl Scout troop leader—but he might be able to help me learn to control her. The monster. That would be helpful.
