Page 34 of The Delivery

It’s a puddle of a rabbit, skinned cleanly as if in a single go.

Her vision sparkles with static and she is still drifting forward as if in a dream and she comes around Mr. Man’s sawing elbow and sees the butcher knife and the fascia-sheathed meat, the skeins of vessel and fiber. Her stomach lurches and she shoulders him aside and vomits three times, neatly, into the sink.

Running the faucet, the disposal, she arms sweat-pasted hair off her forehead. “What did you do?” she asks dumbly. “What did you do?”

He looks up, the knife in his hand edged with a rippled stripe of crimson. “You said fresh and healthy. It was the only item in the kitchen that resembles real food.”

Her voice comes as a hoarse whisper, the back of her throat scorched with stomach acid: “Not food. A pet. A beloved pet.”

His eyes flare, a simulation of empathy. “Oh. I am sorry.”

She nods, tries to speak, fails.

“I will update my understanding.”

A breath screeches inward. “My God. What am I gonna tell Maddy? What am I gonna . . . ?”

Mr. Man sets down the knife and moves toward her comfortingly. “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She recoils. “Just—go. Please go.”

He steps away from her. Starts out of the kitchen.

The colorful mess on the counter stabs at her peripheral vision. “Wait. Clean this up. Clean this up, and then . . .” Her flat palm is up, facing out, a stop sign between them.

Mr. Man gets to work, bundling what is left of Bao-Bao into a trash bag. Then he wipes the counter and cleans the knife, setting it out to dry.

He walks out of the house, trash bag dangling from his fist.

The instant Rebecca hears the front door close, she races up the hall, flying into Maddy’s bedroom. Maddy is happily asleep, snuggled between Mr. Fox and Mr. Elephant.

Rebecca stands in the dark of the bedroom, breathing hard, stars from Sleeptime Pillow Pet projected across the walls, the ceiling, her body.

Withdrawing, she strides down the hall.

Mr. Man is not in the nursery.

He is not in the kitchen.

He is not in the backyard.

The front door is still unlocked. From the porch, she can see the too-full trash bins at the curb, the edge of Bao-Bao’s burial trash bag peeking from beneath the cover.

Mark. She has to call Mark.

He picks up right away, but she doesn’t wait for him to say anything, her words rushing out of her: “Mark, Mark—get home now.”

Chapter 27

Mark’s hands are shaking so hard he can’t set down his umpteenth cup of coffee on his desk without spilling. He hates hearing Rebecca’s voice like that, when it spikes into rawness. Stuffing his laptop into his briefcase, he shoves out of his office into the corridor.

At the end of the hall, Derek’s light is still on. Through the interior window Mark sees Derek with his head lowered, speaking into the phone, lifting his jacket from the back of his Aeron.

Mark’s breath snags in his throat.

He withdraws into his office, closes the door, sits back down at his desk, pretending to review papers.

Hiding like a child.