"Because you're a good person," I say. "Because you trust people. That's not a flaw, Julie. That's not something to be ashamed of."
"It feels like it is."
We stay like that for a long time. Julie crying, Jamie crying, me trying to hold them both together. Eventually, Julie's sobs quiet to hiccups. She pulls away from Jamie and wipes her face with the back of her hand.
"I need—" She stands up, swaying slightly. "I need a minute."
"Okay," Jamie says. "Do you want me to?—"
"No. I need a minute alone."
She walks toward the stairs, her steps unsteady. Jamie and I watch her go. When she's out of sight, Jamie turns to me. Her face is blotchy and wet, her eyes red.
"Thank you," she says. "For everything. For being here. For helping her.”
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do." She wipes her eyes. "You didn't have to do any of this. You could've just stayed out of it. But you didn't. You?—"
A loudthudfrom upstairs cuts her off. We both freeze. Another thud. Then a dragging sound.
"What is she—" Jamie starts.
We hear footsteps. Fast, heavy footsteps. And then Julie appears at the top of the stairs. She's holding an armful of bedding from the master bedroom, sheets and a fluffy comfortertangled around her arms. She doesn't say anything. She just hurls it over the railing. It lands in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
"Julie?" Jamie calls up. "What are you?—"
Julie disappears. More thumping. More dragging. She comes back with pillows. Four of them. She throws them down one by one, each landing with a softthud.
Then she's gone again. This time when she comes back, she's holding shoes. The black heels Devon wore to dinner. Julie holds them up, one in each hand, and for a second I think she's going to say something. But she doesn't. She just throws them.
They clatter down the stairs, one bouncing off the railing, the other skidding across the hardwood floor. "I want to burn it," Julie says. Her voice is different now. Not broken. Not sad. Angry. "I want to burn all of it. Every fucking piece."
Jamie looks at me. I look at her. And then I nod. "Okay," I say. "Then we burn it."
She needs this. She needs to destroy something, to take back some kind of control, to let the rage out before it eats her alive. So Jamie and I gather up the bedding, the pillows, the shoes. Julie comes down the stairs with more—a bathrobe that smells like Asher's cologne and a framed photo from their honeymoon.
We carry it all outside to the fire pit by the lake. It's the middle of the night. If any neighbors are seeing this, they're wondering why anyone would have a bonfire at this hour. I start the fire while Jamie and Julie pile everything beside the pit.
When the flames are going strong, Julie picks up the comforter and the sheets first. She doesn't hesitate. She just throws it all in. The fire roars, consuming the fabric. Smoke billows up, thick and dark. She stands there watching, her face illuminated by the flames. Then she picks up a pillow and throws it in. Then another. Then the shoes. Each item she burns seemsto take something from her—some piece of the grief, some piece of the anger.
Jamie and I don't say anything. We just stand there with her, feeding the fire when it starts to die down, making sure it stays hot enough to burn everything to ash. At some point, Julie starts crying again. But it's different this time. Not the broken sobs from before. Just tears, streaming down her face as she watches everything burn.
"I hate him," she says quietly. "I hate him so much."
"I know," Jamie says.
"I hate that I loved him. I hate that I believed him. I hate that I—" She stops, her voice catching. "I hate that I can't go back and undo it. I can't go back andnotmeet him. I can't go back and see through the lies. I'm just stuck with this. With knowing that the last few years of my life were a fucking lie."
"They weren't all a lie," I say. "The person you were in that marriage—that was real. Your feelings were real. Yourlove was real. He's the one who was fake. Not you."
She looks at me, tears still falling. "Does that make it better or worse?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But it's the truth."
She nods and turns back to the fire. We stay out there for a long time. The fire burns hot and bright, then slowly dies down to embers. By the time it's just glowing coals, Jamie has fallen asleep on the outdoor couch, curled up under a blanket she found somewhere.
Julie is sitting on the ground beside the fire pit, her knees pulled up to her chest. I'm sitting next to her, close enough that our shoulders are touching. She's not crying anymore. She's just staring into the embers, her face blank.
