Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I’m lying in bed on the morning of the service.
Bradley is already in his suit, reading quietly from a sheet of paper.
The eulogy. I told him it was a bad idea, but he said there was no avoiding it.
He works with words every day. Everyone will expect him to speak, and it will be strange if he doesn’t.
“I haven’t got anything to wear.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t have anything black I can wear.”
He waves, annoyed, at the wardrobe. “Take one of Grace’s. She has a million.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“Come on, Brie. They’re not haunted.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and scans another few lines of his speech. “Honestly, you don’t have to come. I don’t think you’ll be missed.”
“That’s nice.”
He takes his eyes from the paper and gives me a resigned smile. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean. But you barely knew her. I’m serious—no one will care. Just hang out here instead.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I have to go. It’s the right thing to do.”
He raises an eyebrow, then turns his attention back to his speech. I know what he’s thinking. Right and wrong. What’s that got to do with anything at this point?
But I feel compelled to pay my respects.
Grace’s death made the newspaper yesterday, but it was buried in the culture section, and today’s paper had nothing.
I’d always known her as a famous writer, but she’d only written one book, and must have already faded from public consciousness.
Part of me had expected cameras, paparazzi, crazed fans, but that one article is all there is.
I search online and find a few people mourning her death on social media, but even that seems performative.
It isn’t enough. I feel insulted on her behalf. Even if she was out to hurt me, Grace deserved more than this.
“I’ll borrow something. As long as no one knows.”
“For the love of Christ,” he mutters. “No one cares about that stuff.”
Grace clearly did, I think, as I search for the right black dress. I find one that isn’t too snug, and complete the outfit with a pair of her tights and flats. By the time I finish my makeup, it’s time to go.
The drive to the church takes over an hour. We don’t talk—we haven’t talked at all, really, since he identified the body. He spent yesterday taking phone calls from family and friends, looking harried. I cooked him lunch and dinner, but he didn’t even sit down to eat.
Once we’re close to the city, he pulls into a gas station to get a snack.
He’s being an asshole, but I can put up with it for one more day.
Tomorrow, it will all be over. Grace is officially a suicide.
Her body will be in the ground. The police will close their investigation once and for all. We can start the rest of our lives.
We just need to get through the day.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, getting back in. “You should get a cab.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to arrive together. Grace’s family will be there. I don’t want to answer their questions.”
“You gave me this ring,” I say, waving my hand in his face. “Remember? We’re together now.”
“Don’t wear the ring either. And we can’t sit together.”
“Jesus. You really don’t want me to come, do you?”
“I do,” he says. “It just can’t be as a couple. Out of respect.”
He places his hand on my knee, but I swat it away. “Respect! Well, I’m glad you want their respect. Maybe one day I’ll see some of that respect myself.”
“Please, Brie. My mom will be there. I can’t. Not yet.”
“I thought your mom was dead.”
“Why would you think that?”
“The roses. Grace said—”
“That was my grandmother.”
“But—”
“Brie. I can’t be late.”
I slam the door and march across the forecourt. Like an idiot, I assume he’ll come after me and make me feel better, but by the time I turn around, he’s already driving away.
I grab a coffee from the gas station and drink it out front.
Maybe I should do the same. Just leave without saying goodbye.
But as I calm down, I try to put myself in Bradley’s shoes.
He was married for years and committed an insane act of violence on my behalf.
Now, he has to face the reality of what he’s done, and do it in front of Grace’s siblings and cousins. In front of God, too.
I order a taxi from the app and wait.
It takes approximately ten minutes to realize what a mistake I’ve made. The church is full, and because I loitered outside before coming in, there are no seats available. I have to stand at the back. Almost as soon as I’m inside, the pastor begins to speak.
“Grace Frost was born in Houston thirty-nine years ago to Robert and Jane Frost. Siblings Margaret and David would soon follow. Her family and friends describe Grace as a quiet but mischievous child who was obsessed with her younger siblings, especially Margaret. She enjoyed an ideal childhood playing in their backyard, running through the suburban streets, surrounded by family.”
As the door opens in the back of the church to let in another latecomer, the hinges squeak, and a handful of people turn around. After they take in the newcomer, I feel some of their eyes drift to me.
The pastor continues.
“Unfortunately, tragedy struck this family when Grace was fourteen. She lost her sister in a plane crash and spent the rest of her teenage years at Queen Anne’s Boarding School while her parents tried to recover their lives.”
As he speaks, I feel my heart begin to race. We killed her. If they turn around, will they see that written on my face?
How could they not?
“Grace made many friends at Queen Anne’s, including Tina and Sarah, who travelled from the East Coast to be with us here today. Welcome.”
We killed her.
“After graduating high school summa cum laude, Grace made the surprise decision to attend the university in Washington. She quickly stood out as a remarkably talented young writer.”
We killed her.
I can see the rock crack into her skull.
Her body falls.
“Professors at the time described her as a generational talent. One of her TAs in particular, Bradley Little, championed Grace. He would go on to marry Grace three years later.”
Why can’t they see it written on his face? Why can’t they feel the presence of evil in the room?
I have to go before he starts talking about God. I can’t bear it anymore. I don’t want to know about her successful novel, their happy life in the woods, their friends. I want to forget that I ever heard the name Grace Frost.
Just then, the door opens, and people turn around. I try to ignore them, but one stands out. The one person I didn’t want to see.
Jesse. He’s sitting near the back, and when he turns to look at me, I see that his eyes are red. But he doesn’t look sad. Not entirely, anyway.
To me, the primary emotion on his face is fury.
I turn, stride towards the back door, and push into the sunlight. I can’t be around these people. I’m reaching for my phone to order a taxi when I hear an angry voice behind me.
“You ghoul!”
Jesse is pointing at me, his voice loud and clear. I wonder if they can hear him inside the church.
“You’re wearing her dress!”
“I’m not.”
“I know that dress! I know all her clothes. I know everything about her.” He’s close now. The skin beneath his beard is red and blotchy. He’s falling apart.
“I suspect Dior made more than one of these dresses.”
“Bullshit.” He fumbles in his pockets and, with shaking hands, takes out a cigarette.
He tries to light it, but can’t keep his hands still, and after a few tries, he tosses the cigarette into the grass and turns his attention back to me.
“Bull. Shit. And I know she didn’t commit suicide either.
She wouldn’t just walk into the fires. That’s a lie! ”
“What do you mean?” I can barely speak. My legs are about to give way.
“She wouldn’t do that. She was making progress on another book, you know. She was so proud of herself.” He turns away from me and yells out. “Suicide! She would never.”
“Bradley said—” I begin, about to explain the medications.
“I don’t give a shit what Bradley said. He killed her. I know it. I know it. And he’s sleeping with you, too.” He’s calmer now, though no less frightening. “Maybe he’s using you, or maybe you did it together. I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
Before I can say another word, he presses his index finger into my sternum and gives me a push.
“And when I do, I won’t call the police. That’s too good for our Bradley. I’ll make him suffer, and then I’ll kill him. And if I find out you were involved, I’ll kill you too.”