Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Four days go by. After Bradley rescued me in the basement, I decided that I was sick of pretending to be friends, sick of not taking what I want. So we spent a Sunday together in bed—in his bed, in Grace’s bed. On Monday, he drove into the city to talk to his divorce lawyers.
I haven’t seen him since.
He said he’d visit me, but each night I wait until the early hours, and each night he doesn’t come.
I rage at him, and then I rage at myself.
I tell myself I’m pathetic, that I’m just a basic bitch, that I’m setting back feminism a thousand years.
I make plans to leave. On the second night, I even pack my bags.
But then in the morning, I tell myself I can wait another day. Then the night comes again, and there’s no Bradley, and I lie in the dark cursing his name, cursing Grace’s name, and finally cursing myself for being such an idiot.
If only Grace weren’t here. If only she would just leave and let me take her place. She’s having an affair, and her marriage is over. Anyone who knew the truth would see that.
So the cycle goes. After four days, I still haven’t seen Bradley. I tell myself there’s probably a good reason. I tell myself that I’m not an idiot. He loves me, and I’m happy to see where it goes.
But that’s not the only reason I stay. I stay because I don’t see Grace, either.
Although I know she returned to Pine Ridge on Monday afternoon, we never cross paths.
As the only two humans on the property—and given that I still spend half my time working in the garden outside the house—this is only really possible if she’s avoiding me.
When I realize this, I feel a surge of confidence.
Good, I think, with false bravado. She should be avoiding me.
If it stays like this, I might even be able to last the summer.
I work quickly, hoping that will make time go faster. I weed the flower beds in front of the veranda, even though it barely needs it; I remove the blackberry vines from the side of the house; I plant fruit trees in their back lawn, just as Grace requested.
When I’m done, I’m about to pack up the gardening gear when I see a man emerge from a trail at the bottom of the garden. He doesn’t acknowledge me until I speak to him. I think if I hadn't said anything, he would have ignored me completely.
“Don. Hi.”
He stares at me for a moment, then gives a barely perceptible nod.
“What can I do for you?”
“Wildfires.” He spits out the word like it’s an insult.
“What?”
“It’s fire season. I wanted to tell Grace to prepare the land. This—” he sweeps his hand across the forest. “It’s like pure gasoline. They need to take care of their property. It’s irresponsible.”
“I’ll tell them,” I say. He nods again, and just as he turns to leave, I blurt out, “What happened to Caroline?”
“I don’t know any Caroline,” he says, after a pause.
“Yes, you do. You told me not to be like the other one. Something like that. It was a warning. Why?”
He stares at me, and I feel like I’ve been transported into a Western and we’re both about to draw our weapons. Amazingly, he blinks first.
“She wasn’t happy here. That’s all I know.”
“Was she murdered? Did they kill her?”
“I don’t know about a murder,” he says, turning to walk away.
“Why did you warn me, then?” I call out after him, but he doesn’t respond. I think about chasing after him, but I can already tell it’s a miracle he said what he did. He’s not telling me something, but I’m not sure what it is.
I pick up the gardening gear and carry it back to the old barn. As I approach, I hear a strange, inhuman cry of protest. I hold my breath as I approach the barn and peer at the door. But before I can make anything out, someone taps me on the shoulder.
“It’s rude to spy, you know.”
I turn to find Grace.
And she’s covered in blood.