41. Chapter 41 #2
I see the moment the mask falls. Her mouth shrinks in displeasure and disappointment, her eyes become pits of boiling pitch. She’s nothing more than an angry old woman.
“He’s been planning to take you for years, Graciously—and just look at you now! A few weeks with him and I hardly recognise you! Threatening your own mother and—”
“What the fuck did you do?” I demand, my voice subarctic, the pan still scalding my hand.
“I SUBMITTED EVIDENCE AGAINST HIM!” she screams. “Do you think I’m going to let him take you back after I’ve finally got you away from—”
“What evidence?” I interrupt, cutting off her rant. “You said in your notes that there’s enough suspicious documentation for the cops to call foul play.”
“The man had clear intentions to marry his brother’s wife while that brother was still alive!”
“Based on what? An application for a marriage license that was never filed?” I shake my head. “A few changes to insurance contracts and a rewrite of a last will and testament? Circumstantial, maybe. But nothing even close to murder.”
“That man wanted Nick dead!”
“NO!” I finally match her scream with one of my own.
“NO, HE FUCKING DIDN’T! Nate wanted me, and he made arrangements to get me away from you, but he never wanted Nick dead!
He wanted me well, which is something neither you nor Nick ever wanted!
” I sneer at her, allowing the full weight of my anger to coalesce on my face.
“You know what plans Nate actually had in store for me? Helping me finish my Architecture degree—that’s what he planned!
And finally getting me a proper diagnosis.
More than anything else, Nate planned to keep me safe from you.
That meant changing the insurance and adjusting the will and getting me to marry him.
You want to talk about documentation? I have plenty showing that Nate saved me!
This entire fucked up situation incriminates you, not him! ”
Mother falls back a step, the knife trembling in her hand. “Graciously, how can you—”
I press on, refusing to let her wriggle out of this. “How did you get your hands on that license application, Mother? Or the insurance documents? Or any of the other stuff you sent me?” I shake my head. “How much of it did you alter to look bad enough to warrant police attention?”
She drops the knife onto the table, her hand flying to her chest again. “You accuse me of—of fraud?”
“And abuse. And attempted murder. And everything else you’d lay at the feet of the only person I’ve ever met who’s known how to deal with a bitch like you!”
“And what kind of man are you so suddenly happy to be with? Do you think Nick was unaware of his disgusting proclivities? I have some idea of the things he’ll have been doing to you all this time, Graciously!”
From my mother, I might have felt shame at this last, pathetic attack. From this recrudescent crone, I feel nothing but icy mirth. I let it out, laughing as I drop the pan onto the table. It makes a final, hollow sound.
“Will that be the next line of accusation when the first one fails? Nate is a husband who loves his wife in fucked up ways?” I let my laughter trail off, snatching my bag from its spot on the back of the chair.
“Go ahead and call the cops. Tell them all about it. Because guess what? I have loved every goddamn, filthy fucking thing Nate has done to me.”
I turn, heading towards the door.
“You—you can’t just leave!” she whines from behind me.
I glance back, double checking that the knife is where she left it on the table.
“I’m going home,” I say, using my key to unlock the door. I slam it shut behind me, heading down the front steps.
“GRACIOUSLY!” she yells, the door thumping open. “Graciously, don’t go! I—I’ll call everything off if you just stay here, all right?”
I stop at the bottom of the front stairs. “Call off what?”
“That constable, that older one—”
“Tim?” I prompt, staring up at her.
“Yes, Tim. He… he sent a team to intercept Nate at the airport. They’ve got him now. If you just calm down, lovey, and agree to stay with me a bit longer, I’ll call and have them let him go.”
It’s the final piece, sliding into place. I check my phone. It wasn’t Nate who called last—it was Tim. I open the voicemail he left. In terse tones, he asks me to come to the station to discuss the circumstances of my marriage.
“No need for you to call them,” I say, turning away without bothering to look at the pleading woman again. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
I walk away. Her cries echo down the street behind me as I pass the oval of lush green grass where an old playground used to stand. I call for a car, then I check the texts Nate sent me when he arrived in Dunedin. I read them while I wait:
Tim had me taken to the station, Grace. I’m stuck for now, but my lawyer will have me out soon.
Don't be afraid of your mother, little heart.
You'll handle her.
I love you.
I close my eyes, savouring Nate’s words for a long minute.
Then I text Mihi, asking if Shep is all right (he is).
I text Eileen, thanking her for my health (I’m welcome).
And, although I know he doesn’t have access to his phone, I answer each of Nate’s messages with the same three words, fully safe now.
The taxi pulls up, and I’m on my way.