Chapter 22
I don’t get a reply, not that I expected one.
Roy won’t speak to me. He won’t look at me, and he refuses to believe that his friend Phillip had behaved that way.
But he does hold my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, all the way back to our table.
Later, in the taxi, he sits with his jaw set, opening and closing his fists.
“You think you’ll get a better deal with Phil? You think he’s going to leave Emily for you? Is that it? You think he has more money than me? You think selling yourself to the highest bidder is the way to get ahead in this town? Answer me, Jodie! Is that what you think?”
I’ve already said everything I had to say on the matter, so I keep my mouth shut.
That night, we make love, which I hadn’t expected, but I go along because anything is better than this verbal assault. Until suddenly, I feel his hands around my throat, his fingers tightening.
I cry out, throw him off me, and scramble out of bed.
“What the hell?” I croak, massaging my throat. He swings his legs out of bed and rubs his hands over his face.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Like it? You tried to strangle me!”
He shrugs. “Some women like it.”
“Do they? Well, I don’t! Did you do that to her? Is that how you killed her? Is that why you shot her? Because she was already dead?”
A look of pure fury crosses his face. “What the hell did you just say?”
I catch my breath, my hand on my chest, and crawl back over the bed. “Nothing. You almost killed me.”
The next morning I go to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
I study my face. I look strange. Like I’m breaking apart.
That swelling under my right eye is even worse.
And what is this, near my top lip? Is that a…
scar? Why would I have a scar on my top lip?
Maybe it’s a wrinkle. Another one, I mean.
Maybe I am aging prematurely, which, considering the way things are going, is no surprise.
You know what you look like, Joanne? With your big blue eyes and your rosy cheeks? A creepy doll. That’s right. You could audition for the part of Chucky, if they ever make another one. Would you like that, Joanne? Would you like to be Chucky in the movies?
Focus, Jodie. Focus. I slap on moisturizer, rubbing it in so hard my cheeks glow red.
And then it dawns on me.
She was concerned about what was happening to her face.
My stomach twists. What is happening to me? It’s not a seam on the pillowcase, and it’s not a bite or wrinkle.
He’s doing it to me.
I’m really scared, Jo. He scares me.
My hand is shaking as I apply my makeup, adding extra layers of light-diffusing foundation until I’ve smothered the life out of those things, whatever they are, on my face.
I have to get out of here.
I prepare ricotta pancakes and fresh berries and honey yogurt that I made myself, and pretend nothing is wrong and he is a totally normal person, as opposed to a freak pretending to be a psychologist, some kind of mad scientist running his sick experiments on his wives.
Meanwhile, his words swirl in my head until I can’t think of anything else.
You’re all the same. Every one of you. Whores.
Later, after Roy leaves for work, I am loading up the dishwasher when Marie walks in. She leans back against the counter and studies her fingernails.
“Everything all right, Marie?”
“What? Oh, yes. Everything is fine.”
I straighten. “Thank you for yesterday, for backing me up.”
She stretches her arms over her head and yawns. “Yes, right, about that… I booked myself for a massage today.”
“Oh?” And I’m thinking, It isn’t your day off, is it? Then she puts one hand out. “At that place on Dayton Way. It’s not cheap.”
I stare at her outstretched hand, and it takes me a moment to understand. So that’s how things are going to be from now on. I have to say, I’m impressed. Under different circumstances, I think Marie and I could have been friends.
“Also, I won’t be able to make the beds or do the laundry,” she says. “But you’ve got time on your hands, right?”
I fake a sigh. I love doing the beds and the laundry.
“I’ll get my purse,” I say.
After she’s tucked the three hundred dollars I gave her into her pocket, she asks for a coffee and a piece of raisin toast and butter, which she eats propped up on the counter, her legs dangling, scrolling her phone.
I resume cleaning the kitchen.
“Did Deborah ever tell you that she was afraid of Roy?”
Something odd happens. I expect her to argue immediately, but for a moment she seems to hesitate. “Mrs. Deborah loved her husband very much. They adored each other.”
Which is a funny thing to say, considering that’s not what I asked.
I dry my hands on a tea towel. “You two were quite close, I believe. That’s what Roy says. Did she ever tell you that Roy was…” I lower my voice, even though it’s just the two of us in the house. “Doing things to her face?”
She recoils. “Why would you even ask such a thing?”
“Well, it’s just that in the last week of her life, she shut herself in and wouldn’t come out. That’s what everybody says. But you were around. You must have seen things. What was her face like?”
She shrugs. “Ask your husband.” Ask your husband? My hand, slowly and of its own accord, rises to my cheekbone. I search for the swelling with the tip of my fingers. “You know something.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything. Dr. Davies gave me some leave around that time, so I wasn’t around. You really should ask him.”
I blink. “He gave you leave?”
“Yes. For a week.”
“I thought he’d only given you the day off. The day Deborah died?”
“Then you thought wrong. Dr. Davies gave me a week off. There was nothing wrong with Mrs. Deborah when I went on leave.” She hesitates, and her eyes moisten. “She died on the last day, the day I came home.”
I think about this for a moment. It makes total sense. He was doing something to her, and he didn’t want Marie to witness it.
“Did she ever seem scared to you?”
Again, that narrowed look, and there’s a split second of recognition in her eyes before she blinks it away.
I straighten. “You do know something.”
“About her being scared of her husband? Of course not.”
She doesn’t reply. My heart is racing. “No. You do. I can tell.”
She hops off the counter and puts her empty cup near the sink. “I really don’t.”