Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I wake the next morning with a headache. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
And of course, I have. And that truck’s name is Grace.
She poisoned me, but why? To make me look like a child in front of Bradley? If that were true, it didn’t seem to work very well. He called me beautiful, after all. Breathtaking.
I close my eyes, then remember the kiss.
It didn’t last long. I watched, transfixed, as his left hand moved to her breast. Then he pulled away and led her up the driveway.
Was it just a kiss? Or did they do more once they reached his car?
I wonder how Grace would describe it. His member throbbed. My body tensed. His tongue probed.
I wish I could scrub it from my mind. I’m standing next to a stick of dynamite, and its fuse is slowly burning down, and I’m unable to move.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I whisper.
I go to the sink and drain three mugs of water. While I boil water for my coffee, I hear my mother's voice. She had been a devout Christian and a schoolteacher, and had always raised me to do the right thing. To be in the service of others. To be kind. To listen to my conscience.
And what is conscience telling me? I need to tell him the truth, obviously. But what would happen then?
I’d have to leave.
I make my coffee and take it outside. My hungover thoughts keep colliding and combusting like particles in a science experiment.
I calculate how much they owe me for the week, and it isn’t much. It will get me a tank of gas and maybe a few nights at a campsite or extremely cheap motel. But not enough to make a fresh start in a new town, let alone a new country.
If I leave now, I’ll be sleeping in my car again, or back with Neil, before I know it.
I can’t let that happen. I need to ignore my conscience and keep my head down for the rest of the summer.
Do my job and avoid any more awkward situations.
When I have enough money saved, I’ll buy my plane ticket and start a new life.
As I walk down the path towards the house, the humiliation of last night replays again in my mind. My head in the vase.
Correction: The antique vase.
Correction: The incredibly creepy antique vase.
“How’s the head?”
I turn to find Bradley jogging towards me. I instinctively cringe, though I hope this isn’t too visible.
“Fine. Mostly. Just a bit tired.”
“Shocker.” When he smiles, his lips open just a fraction, and I’m surprised by how much I want to touch them. Whatever I felt last night has clearly stayed in my body, mutating like a virus. “I’m a wreck.”
“You didn’t look very drunk.”
“I’m good at hiding it.”
“So you went running this morning?”
“Cleans out the toxins,” he says. “Or maybe it’s penance. Too much Calvinism in my blood. But I needed to have a few drinks. Helps me forget what happened.”
“Forget?” I panic, wondering if he’s trying to forget what I did. But then I remember why he had been drinking. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”
“It’s fine.” He looks up at the house. “I’m over it. But I’d better go shower.”
“Wait, before you go.” At that moment, I feel a drop of rain land on my shoulder. I look up. The sky is grey and threatening. “Can I borrow some gas for my car? I’m empty.”
“Like, a container of gas? I’m afraid not, actually. Our cars are electric. But can I give you a ride?”
“Yes, please. And my phone? Grace took it.”
“What do you mean she took it?”
“She said something about radiation.”
He swears and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. My wife is obviously a highly original woman. But she’s also a massive kook. Come inside, and I’ll have a look for you.”
I follow him into the house, staying a careful three steps behind. The living room looks immaculate, as if last night had never happened, though I notice the vase is missing.
“Wait here,” Bradley says, heading for the stairs. “I’ll check her study first.”
As he disappears, I stand awkwardly in the center of the room, afraid to disturb anything. I check the clock on the wall and do a double-take. Three-fifteen? That can’t be right. Did I really sleep away most of the day?
I hear Bradley’s footsteps on the stairs before I see him. He shakes his head as he comes into view.
“No luck. I checked her desk, her cupboard, everywhere I could think of.”
“Can’t you just ask her?”
“She’s not here,” he says. “She left a note saying she went to New York to meet with her publishers. Apparently, she needs to sweet-talk them into another extension.”
“Call her?”
“She’s not really into phones, as you gathered.”
“When will she be back?”
“A few days at least.” He runs a hand through his damp hair. “Listen, if you’re set on leaving, I can give you a ride.”
I glance outside. The drizzle has already intensified to a steady downpour.
“The place looks amazing,” I say, gesturing around. “Did you clean up after we left?”
“God, no. We have a cleaner who comes early. She’s a saint.” He trails off, his expression darkening. “Not that we can afford her, with the tenure decision—”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what else to offer. I find it hard to have much sympathy for Bradley’s situation, given the size of his house and the massive amount of land it sits on. I’d do anything to live in a place like this.
“I don’t believe it’s your fault,” he replies with a forced smile. “Unless you were secretly lobbying the tenure committee.”
“I need to grab a few things from the cottage.”
“Right.” He checks his watch. “Be quick, OK? This storm is no joke. I heard on the radio they’re concerned about flooding on some of the lower roads.”
Outside, the rain soaks through my clothes within seconds. I try to sprint, but the path has already become treacherous with mud, forcing me to slow down. By the time I reach the cottage, I’m drenched.
I get changed and pack my bag. Afterwards, I take a final look around, feeling a strange connection to the place. It’s odd to admit, but this is my first time living alone. There was Mom, then my roommates briefly during college, then Neil.
This is the first place that’s really mine.
When I go out the front door, I see a figure in a black coat running through the mud.
“Bad news,” Bradley says, shaking his umbrella and climbing the stairs. “I got a call from Don.”
“The hermit?”
“The very same. He says a massive tree has fallen across the main road, blocking access in and out. It could be hours before they clear it.”
“What about the other way?”
“That route floods easily. It’s probably already underwater.”
“Damn it.” I feel immediately claustrophobic at the thought of being stuck here all weekend.
“We’ll have to find a way to pass the time.” He reaches into a black bag and holds up a bottle of red wine. “Hair of the dog?”
I hesitate. I’m still tired from last night. But mostly, I’m terrified by what I felt for Bradley when I lay on his bed.
“Go on. Don’t make me go back to the house. I’m in mourning, remember?”
“Mourning?”
“For my deceased career. Don’t make me drink alone.”
“That’s some very intense peer pressure,” I say finally. It’s not as if I have much of a choice. He’s here, and I can’t force him to go back into the rain. “Just one glass. And I’m getting a ride first thing tomorrow. Promise?”
Bradley nods, already pulling the cork from the bottle. “Promise.”