Chương 11
The seat belt lay across my belly wrong until I adjusted it beneath.
Dana’s instructions echoed in my head.
Alex thanked Marcus three separate times.
“Dude,” Marcus said, smiling.
“You’re good.”
Alex drove out of the hospital lot like he was transporting nitroglycerin.
Ten miles under the speed limit.
Both hands at ten and two.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“You drive like Mom.”
“That is deeply insulting.”
“Right now you do.”
He loosened his grip on the wheel by maybe half an inch.
My body hurt more now that the immediate fear had receded.
My cheek pulsed.
My arm burned.
My thigh felt swollen beneath the fabric of the hospital pants they had given me because my robe was ruined.
I leaned my head against the seat.
“You have food?”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
“Define food.”
“Something that didn’t come frozen with instructions.”
He glanced at me.
“I have eggs.”
I closed my eyes.
He realized what he had said.
“Oh.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then he said, “I also have cereal.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Cereal.”
“Great.”
His apartment was on the second floor of a converted brick building above a dentist’s office.
There was no elevator.
I stared at the stairs.
Alex stared at the stairs.
“Okay,” he said.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re thinking about carrying me.”
“I’m evaluating.”
“You are not carrying me.”
“You can’t climb those.”
“I can.”
“You almost passed out getting into the truck.”
“I did not.”
He looked at me.
“Fine.”
I hated the stairs before I reached the third one.
By the eighth, sweat had formed along my hairline.
Alex stayed one step below me without touching.
Halfway up, I stopped.
“I hate you.”
“That seems unfair.”
“You chose this apartment.”
“Six years ago.”
“Still your fault.”
“Want me to carry you?”
“No.”
We reached the landing.
I stood there panting while he unlocked the door.
His apartment smelled like coffee, laundry detergent, and the cedar blocks he kept in his closet because he had inherited our father’s paranoia about moths.
Nothing had changed since my last visit except a new lamp beside the couch.
A stack of mail sat crooked on the counter.
His work boots were lined up under a chair.
A blue bowl held keys, screws, coins, and one tiny plastic dinosaur.
I picked it up.
“What is this?”
Alex looked over.
“Oh.”
“Why do you own a dinosaur?”
“I found it in the parking lot.”
“So you brought it home.”
“Apparently.”
I set it back.
Ordinary.
The apartment was aggressively ordinary.
No one was shouting.
No one was monitoring how quickly I moved.
No one cared whether breakfast existed.
The silence became almost painful.
Alex locked the door behind us.
Then the deadbolt.
Then the chain.
I noticed.
So did he.
“Temporary,” he said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked at the chain.”
“I look at things.”
“You narrate with your face.”
I lowered myself onto the couch.
A framed photograph sat on the bookshelf opposite me.
Mom at the lake.
Alex sunburned.
Me holding a paper plate with a hot dog on it.
Victor had taken that picture.
I stared at the edge of the frame.
“Take that down.”
Alex followed my gaze.
He walked over and removed it immediately.
I wished he had hesitated.
His willingness made the loss feel more final.
“Not throw it away.”
“I wasn’t.”
He placed it face down inside a drawer.
“Just not today.”
“Okay.”
He went into the kitchen.
Cabinet doors opened.
A refrigerator hummed.
I heard him mutter something about expired milk.
My body finally gave up pretending.
I began to shake.
Not crying.
Shaking.
It started in my hands and moved through my arms until my teeth clicked once.
Alex came around the kitchen corner carrying a glass of water.
He stopped.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
He set the water down.
“Blanket?”
“I’m not cold.”
“I know.”
“Then why would I need a blanket?”
“I don’t know.”
His helplessness made me angry.
“Stop asking me.”
“Okay.”
“And stop saying okay.”
He closed his mouth.
I pressed my palms against my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“We’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“You apologizing because I offered a blanket badly.”
I dropped my hands.
“You’re irritating.”
“That’s allowed.”
A laugh and a sob collided in my throat.
He sat on the floor across from me.
Not beside me.
Giving me space without announcing that he was giving me space.
After a while, the shaking eased.
My stomach tightened once, then relaxed.
I waited for another.
None came.
Alex handed me the water.
I drank half of it.
My phone should have been in my hand.
The absence felt physical.
“What time is it?”
“Ten forty-three.”
“That’s all?”
He understood.
“Yeah.”
The morning felt three days old.
He made toast because the milk was bad and because neither of us wanted eggs.
I ate one slice slowly.
The baby moved again.
I rested my palm over the movement.
Alex pretended not to watch.
“She kicking?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Every muscle in my body locked.
Alex stood instantly.
Another knock.
Three firm taps.
He motioned for me to stay.
I hated the gesture.
I hated that I obeyed it.
He approached the door without opening it.
“Who is it?”
“Police.”
Alex looked through the peephole.
Then he opened the door with the chain still attached.
Officer Ramirez stood outside with another officer I had not seen before.
“Claire here?”
Ramirez asked.
“Yes.”
Alex looked at me.
I nodded.
He closed the door, removed the chain, and let them in.
Ramirez noticed the locked apartment, the blanket, the hospital pants, the untouched toast.
She noticed everything.
“This won’t take long.”
I gestured toward the chair.
“What happened?”
She remained standing.
“We recovered the handgun.”
“Nora told me.”
“I figured she might.”
“Was it Helena’s suitcase?”
“Yes.”
May you like
My fingers tightened around the water glass.
“Did she put it there?”
