Chapter 34
I sleep very badly. Judging from the sheets all rumpled around me, I must have thrashed all night.
I dreamed that I’d heard a noise and went down the stairs, and the back door was ajar again.
I pushed it open, and Erin was standing there, her eyes glassy and unfocused.
She was staring at me without staring at me.
“What did you do, Jodie?” she was saying. “What did you do?” And I was trying to shut the door before Roy heard her, but she was too strong, and then I woke up.
I’m alone in bed. I roll over, my fingers searching for my phone on my bedside table and check the time. Eight thirty. God. Eight thirty? Roy must have gone to work by now. I sit on the edge of the bed. I feel sick.
In the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror. My hair is sticking out on one side, and there are dark circles under my eyes. I take a shower and begin my routine.
Downstairs, everything is quiet. I try the office door and jump when I realize it’s open.
Roy is sitting in the chair, in exactly the same position that I left him. He stirs, opens his eyes, then rubs a hand over them.
“What time is it?”
“I thought you’d left for work,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were still here.” Then I add. “It’s a bit after nine thirty. I slept in.”
He opens his eyes wide and jumps out of the chair. “Nine thirty in the morning?”
“Yes, of course.” I tilt my head to the side. “Are you all right?”
He turns around once, like he’s trying to get his bearings, then slaps both hands over his face.
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, allowing myself to revel in the moment. Some love affair! Sorry I stood you up, love of my life. I was taking a nap.
“Um…” He looks around the room, then picks up his phone, a look of despair on his handsome face.
“Do you want some breakfast?” I ask, trying not to throw my head back in laughter. He raises a hand to shut me up and stabs at the screen.
I leave him to his misery. In the kitchen, I prepare breakfast, but only because I want to keep everything normal.
God knows I’m not hungry. My head hurts.
I keep seeing Erin’s vacant stare, her hair spread around her bleeding head like a halo.
And it’s not that I liked her, but I didn’t want her dead.
Why would I? I just wanted her to listen.
I wanted her to help me, help Deb, get Roy arrested. Why was that so hard to understand?
I ruminate on those matters, and it’s only when I’m washing the pan I just made scrambled eggs in that I notice.
I freeze.
My wedding ring. It’s gone.
My heart pounds in my chest. I check down the drain, but there’s no way my ring would fit through the small holes.
I run back up the stairs to the en suite bathroom and check the shower, the floor, the sink, with no success.
In the bedroom, I tear off the sheets, shake them loose, then get on my hands and knees and search every inch of the carpet.
I pull off the pillowcases and put them back again.
I look under the bed. I look everywhere, pulling at my hair, but I don’t find it.
I can’t breathe. I try to picture last night, trying to see myself actually wearing my ring on my finger, so I can work forward from that point, but it doesn’t work. I have no recollection of the last time I saw my wedding band.
I look around one last time.
If Roy’s still there, and I haven’t heard him leave yet, he’s going to ask, “Where’s your ring?
” And what am I going to say? “Remember how it was a little loose? I took it to the jeweler.” He’ll be surprised because I didn’t mention it before.
He’ll ask, “Was it loose?” And I’ll say, “Yes! Don’t you remember?
” And then he’ll ask, “When did you do that?” “Yesterday,” I’ll say.
And then, at some point, the police will find Erin and they’ll want to talk to Roy because they’ll know from her phone records that they were talking shortly, very shortly before her death.
And then, they’ll say, “We found a wedding ring,” which will raise a red flag because she wasn’t married.
“Does it look familiar to you?” they’ll ask.
And it will. Because it’s a very distinctive design.
My heart is racing. I have to go down there and serve breakfast. I touch my hair, pinch my cheeks, and straighten my clothes.
Downstairs, Roy is at his desk, his face ashen. “I made some eggs,” I say. “But they’ll be cold by now, so I’ll make some more.”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
I pretend not to hear him. I race to the kitchen, pull out a pan, splash a little butter into it, then turn on the burner.
I pull eggs out of the fridge and beat them in a bowl.
I can hear Marie dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard in the utility room.
I didn’t even know she was home. When did she get home?
Did she get home last night? Did she see Roy in his office?
Did she check on me and find the bed empty?
Of course not. Why would she do either of those things?
When the butter sizzles in the pan, I wait another few seconds. Then I close my eyes, slide the pan aside, and slap my hand down on the hot burner.