Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The news anchor reports that it caused fire devils, tornadoes of fire that shoot up into the air.
“It’s biblical,” I tell Bradley. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s good news for us. Search and rescue won’t be able to look for days.”
I flinch at the suggestion that this is anything but a tragedy, but I know that he’s right.
I picture Grace’s body slamming from rock to rock like driftwood, floating down the river for miles and miles.
Would she continue like that, all the way to the ocean?
Or would she wash up on some riverbank and begin to decompose?
“Sorry,” he says, noticing my expression.
“It’s OK. It will just take some time.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I let it sit there for a moment before telling him I need to have a shower.
“We both do,” he says. “You first. Use the ensuite. It has fresh towels.”
I go upstairs and undress in his bedroom, trying to ignore the thousand little reminders of Grace. Her glasses and paperbacks on the nightstand. Next to them, her earplugs, loose, used. A dress, tossed into the corner of the room.
In the ensuite, it’s even worse. There’s her toothbrush, her creams, dozens of expensive little items. As I run the shower, I see that even here I’m not free. There are her soaps and shampoos, a razor, and a small pumice stone like the one my mother once used.
I hesitate before taking a bottle of body wash and squirting it into a loofa.
Just yesterday, Grace used this on her body, and now I’m using it on mine, and she’s dead.
I use her shampoo and conditioner, too, and then I wash myself again, and again.
It’s only when I’m about to wash myself a fourth time that I snap out of it.
I turn my face to the water and try to enjoy it.
This is the first hot indoor shower I’ve had since coming to Pine Ridge.
But I can’t detach the pleasure from the fact that I’m only here, feeling this way, because Grace is gone.
I close my eyes against the water, and I see her again.
The life leaving her eyes as she falls over the edge.
When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel, then go to the landing and call out.
“Hey, where’d you put my stuff?”
“In the bedroom.”
I turn back and see that he’s put my pack in the corner of the room, where Grace’s dress had been. I’m about to rummage through it when I feel Bradley’s hands on my hips from behind. He presses against me and kisses the side of my neck.
“I’m getting déjà vu,” he whispers.
“Why’s my stuff in here?” I ask, stepping away. “I can’t sleep here.”
“I want you to,” he says. “I don’t want to be alone. Do you?”
I look over to the bed, their marital bed, the bed they shared for fifteen years. I don’t want to sleep alone, either.
“Just don’t get any ideas,” I say. “It’s not right.”
“Looking at you, I get nothing but ideas,” he says. “But OK. You’re right. No funny business.”
I kneel, awkwardly trying to keep the towel in place, and start to empty my pack.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Looking for pajamas.”
“Wear this.” I arch my neck and see that he’s holding a silky black nightdress. “It’s hot tonight.”
“Where did you get that?” I stand up and take it from him. It feels soft, expensive. “Did you buy it?”
“Of course not.” He nods to the wardrobe. “Where do you think?”
I toss it back at him like it’s burning my hands. “Bradley! How could you possibly think that’s a good idea?”
“Fine. Too soon.” He balls up the nightdress in his hand and moves to the door. “But this is all yours now, Brie. The house, the grounds, the clothes. I want to share it all with you. It doesn’t make you a bad person if you enjoy it.”
When he’s gone, I get changed into my old unwashed pajamas and try to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Because I know this feeling, and it isn’t just nausea or disgust, though I am disgusted at Bradley.
Part of me hates him for what he’s done.
Someone might say that his wife had mental health problems and he killed her for it.
I don’t think that’s the truth, though. What Grace was, her strange and intense mind, can’t be explained away that easily. I didn’t see her as ill. She didn’t see herself that way, either.
So what is this feeling? I can hardly admit it, because in the eyes of someone like my mother, it makes me a terrible person.
But still, I feel it.
I’m excited.