Page 167 of The Initial Insult

“Do we have to do this right now?”

Lee turns in the driver’s seat. I know he’s looking back at me, can feel the weight of his gaze. But I’ve got my eyes squeezed tight, have made my body very small. It’s what I do at home—pretend I’m not there.

“No—do you have to do this right now?” Annabelle says, her voice low and growling. “When your daughter has a friend over?”

“Jesus . . .”

I crack an eyelid. Lee’s hands are tight on the steering wheel. His jaw muscles flicker.

“Just, seriously get a grip. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” Annabelle asks. She fights like Mom; repeating what Dad said but making it sound stupid.

“Annabelle—”

“Yes.” She cuts him off. “That’s my name. That’s who I am. Annabelle Montor. Your. Wife.”

I don’t know if she’s not bothering to control her volume, or if my seizure is close. Her voice breaks higher, to a level I can’t pretend to ignore. I jam my fingers in my ears, squeeze my eyes tighter. Pinwheels of color explode across black.

“First you were Annabelle Usher,” Lee says. His words are quiet, and dark. Heavy pebbles that I can tell have been thrown before. I feel her rage, radiating to fill the car.

“And I’m supposed to be endlessly grateful?” she asks. “You lifted me up, and I’m supposed to look the other way now?”

“No, that’s not—Shit, I missed her road. You made me miss the turn.”

“Of course, you made a mistake . . . but it’s my fault.”

“Can you just shut up for one goddamn second?” Lee yells for the first time, his patience exhausted.

She falls silent, and I feel the car turn. I slide across the leather back seat, the fabric of my nightgown slick and sweaty. It rolls up, and I grab it, pushing it back down to cover my knees. I think I push down, but I might have pulled up. Directions are wrong, and time is thin, and I left Tress’s house ten years ago and I’m still there. I’m slipping. I’m slipping. I’m . . .

“Lee, remember that bridge is out—”

This time Annabelle cuts herself short, and Lee slams on the brakes. I roll off the seat, land in the footwell, unable to catch myself. Warmth rushes down the side of my head, and blood trickles into my mouth, my lip already swelling where I bit it, too hard. Too much. Too fast. It’s all here now, circling, getting ready to descend.

“Lee?” Now there’s something new in Annabelle’s voice—fear. And something new in the air, too. Lights. Bright lights, bouncing off the seats, into my eyes, into my head.

“Stay in the car,” Lee says, and I hear his door open.