Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“We need a story.”
I’m sitting in the living room with a cappuccino made on Bradley’s coffee machine, looking at Grace’s mementoes of serial killers.
“I’m going to call the police tomorrow,” he continues. “We have to be on the same page.”
I picture the scene. Two detectives, one smoking a cigarette, rephrasing their questions until I contradict myself.
“Why don’t I just leave? Pretend I wasn’t here? ”
“The roads are still closed from the fires. Anyway, you’ll need an alibi. Where did you sleep last night? Will any security cameras confirm your story? Did anyone see you? And there’ll be witnesses to you leaving today. Cameras on the highway.”
“OK, OK. I get it.”
“You’ll be fine. Just say you stayed at the cottage all night. Tell them everything else, including all the threats. Everything strange she did. I’ll take care of the rest. She’s off her medication, and suicide isn’t outside the realm of possible outcomes.”
“What about us?”
“Leave that out. If they think we’re together, they’ll have a motive. They’re already going to sniff around because of the money.”
Of course. Grace’s trust. It will all go into Bradley’s name. He’ll soon be rich.
“I’m not very good at lying,” I say.
“Then lie as little as possible.” He goes up to a picture of a sailing ship tossed in a storm. “After this is over, how about we sail around the world?”
“I’ve never been on a boat before.”
“What? You studied seabirds, and you’ve never been on a boat?”
“We never had boat money.”
“Now you do. We can sail to Fiji. New Zealand. Vietnam.” He walks towards me, his eyes wide with excitement. “The entire Pacific Rim. You can spend the year in a bikini. And we’ll tell our bosses to go to hell.”
I think about Grace’s monologue before she died. She warned me about Bradley. She said he was a selfish boy with insatiable desires. Was it this that she saw in him, this callousness? This ability to hurt someone and feel no remorse?
“I don’t own a bikini. And you’re my boss.”
“We’ll buy you whatever you need. And you can tell your boss to go to hell.” He pauses, then lifts his coffee as though he were giving a toast. “Grace is already there, of course.”
“Bradley!”
“Sorry, that was in poor taste. But fifteen years we spent together, and so much of it was torture. Grace cheated on me and wanted to kill you. I’m not sorry about what happened. I hate her for it. I’m glad we won.”
“She’s still a person,” I say quietly.
“And you’re an angel to feel anything for that woman after what she did to you.” He leans down to kiss me. “I know this is messed up. But just remember the story. We’ll have our whole lives to process it.”
I finish my coffee and take my cup to the kitchen.
Bradley is treating Grace’s death like he’s already over it, but she filled the greater part of his adult life.
To me, death isn’t something you get over.
It’s a permanent, unforgettable fact; it changes everything, from the color of the trees to the taste of coffee. My mother’s death was like that.
When Bradley touches my shoulder, I instinctively move away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m being callous. I wish there could have been another way.”
“No,” I reply, when I finally regain my composure. “It’s not your fault.”
“But you’re upset with me.” His voice reminds me of a resentful child complaining about unfair treatment. “You hold it against me.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Maybe. But I’m mostly angry at myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted her dead, too.” I pause, trying out the words in my mind before I say them. I’m not sure if they’re true, but it’s what he wants to hear. “And I’m glad you did it.”