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I’m stirring the pasta sauce when I realize I haven’t heard the television in a few minutes. I carefully loosen my grip on the spoon, placing it on the stove next to the pan.
“Jeremy?” I say, hoping he’s in the living room. Hoping he’s the reason there’s no sound coming from the television anymore.
“Be down in a second!” he calls from upstairs.
I close my eyes, already feeling the quickening of my pulse. If this bitch turned off that goddamn television, I’m walking out that front door without shoes on and I’m never coming back.
I clench my fists at my sides, growing really tired of this shit. This house. And that fucking creepy-ass, psychotic woman.
I don’t tiptoe into the living room. I stomp.
The television is still on, but it’s no longer making noise. Verity is still in the same position. I walk over to the table next to her wheelchair and snatch up the remote. The television is now on mute, and I am over this. I’m over this. Televisions don’t just mute themselves!
“You’re a fucking cunt,” I mutter.
My own words shock me, but not enough to walk away. It’s as if every word I read of her manuscript fans the flames inside of me. I unmute the television and drop the remote on the couch, out of her reach. I kneel down in front of her, positioning myself so that I’m directly in her line of sight. I’m shaking, but not from fear this time. I’m shaking because I am so angry at her. Angry at the type of wife she was to Jeremy. The kind of mother she was to Harper. And I’m angry that all this weird shit keeps happening and I’m the only one who is witnessing it. I’m tired of feeling crazy!
“You don’t even deserve the body you’re trapped in,” I whisper, staring straight into her eyes. “I hope you die with a throat full of your own vomit, the same way you attempted to kill your infant daughter.”
I wait. If she’s in there…if she heard me…if she’s faking it…my words would reach her. They would make her flinch or lash out or something.
She doesn’t move. I try to think of something else to say that would make her react. Something she wouldn’t be able to keep her composure after hearing. I stand up and lean into her, bringing my mouth to her ear. “Jeremy is going to fuck me in your bed tonight.”
I wait again…for a noise…for a movement.
The only thing I notice is the smell of urine. It fills the air. My nostrils.
I look down at her pants right when Jeremy begins to descend the stairs. “Did you need me?”
I back away from her, accidentally kicking the wooden ball I tossed toward her earlier. I motion toward Verity while bending down for the ball. “She just… She needs to be changed, I think.”
Jeremy grabs the handles of her wheelchair and pushes her out of the living room, toward the elevator. I bring a hand to my face, covering my mouth and nose as I exhale.
I don’t know why I’ve never been curious about who bathes her or changes her. I assumed the nurse took care of most of that, but she obviously doesn’t do it all. That Verity is incontinent and has to wear diapers and be bathed makes me feel even sorrier for him. Jeremy is now taking her upstairs to do both of those things and it makes me angry.
Angry at Verity.
Surely her current state is a result of the terrible human she’s been to her children and to Jeremy. Now, for the rest of his life, Jeremy will have to suffer the consequences of Verity’s karma.
It isn’t right.
And even though she flinched at nothing I said, the fact that I seemed to scare her has me convinced she’s in there. Somewhere. And now she knows I’m not afraid of her.
•••
I ate dinner at the table with Crew, who played on his iPad the whole time. I wanted to wait for Jeremy, but I knew he didn’t want Crew to eat alone and it was getting past his bedtime. While Jeremy was tending to Verity, I put Crew to bed. By the time Jeremy got her showered, changed, and put to bed, the spaghetti was cold.
Jeremy finally comes downstairs as I’m washing the dishes. We haven’t talked much since our kiss. I’m not sure what the vibe will be between us, or if we’re going to be awkward and go our separate ways after he eats. I can hear him behind me, munching on garlic bread as I continue to wash the dishes.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
“What?”
“Missing dinner.”
I shrug. “You didn’t miss it. Eat.”
He takes a bowl out of the cabinet and fills it with spaghetti. He puts it in the microwave and then leans into the counter next to me. “Lowen.”
I look at him.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, Jeremy. It’s not my place.”
“It is now that you said that.”
I don’t want to have this conversation with him. It really isn’t my place. This is his life. His wife. His house. And I’m only going to be here for another two days at the most. I dry my hands on a towel just as the microwave beeps. He doesn’t move to open it because he’s too busy staring at me, attempting to coax more out of me with that look.
I lean against the island and sigh, dropping my head back. “I just…I feel bad for you.”
“Don’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You can.”
“No. I can’t.”
He opens the microwave and pulls out his bowl. He sets it on the counter to cool off and then faces me again. “This is my life, Low. And I can’t do anything about it. You feeling sorry for me doesn’t help.”
I roll my head. “But you’re wrong. You can do something about it. You don’t have to live like this, day in and day out. There are facilities, places that can take much better care of her. She’ll have more opportunity. And you and Crew won’t be tied to this house every day for the rest of your lives.”
Jeremy’s jaw hardens. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. “I appreciate that you think I deserve better. But put yourself in Verity’s shoes.”
He has no idea how far I’ve walked in Verity’s shoes over the past two weeks. “Believe me, I have been.” I make a frustrated fist and tap it on the counter, trying to find a better way to word it all. “She wouldn’t want this for you, Jeremy. You’re a prisoner in your own home. Crew is a prisoner in this home. He needs to get away from this house. Take him on vacations. Go back to work and put her in a facility where she can receive full-time care.”
Jeremy is shaking his head before I even get the sentence out. “I can’t do that to Crew. He’s lost both of his sisters. He can’t go through another loss like that. At least if she’s here, Crew can still spend time with her.”
He didn’t indicate his own desire to have her here. Only Crew’s.
“Take moments, then,” I tell him. “You can put her in a facility part time so it’s not weighing you down. Bring her home on the weekends, when Crew is out of school.” I walk over to him and take his face in my hands. I want him to see how much I worry for him. Maybe if he sees that someone actually cares about his well being, he’ll take this conversation more seriously.
“Take moments for yourself, Jeremy,” I say quietly. “Selfish moments. You deserve to live a life where you have moments that have nothing to do with her and everything to do with you and what you want.”
I feel his teeth clench beneath my palms. He pulls away from me and presses his hands into the granite, dropping his head between his shoulders. “What I want?” he says quietly.
“Yes. What do you want?”
His head falls backward and he laughs, once, like that was a stupid question. Then he says one word, like it’s the easiest question he’s ever answered.
“You.”
He pushes off the counter and marches toward me. He grips my waist with both hands and presses his forehead to mine, looking into my eyes with nothing but need. “I want you, Low.”
My relief is met with a kiss. It’s different from our first kiss. This time he’s patient as his lips move lazily against mine and his hand curves around the back of my neck. He’s savoring the taste of me, drawing up my desire with every motion of his tongue. He bends a little, lifting me, and then he wraps my legs around his waist.
We’re leaving the kitchen, but I don’t want to open my eyes until we’re alone behind a locked door. Verity isn’t ruining it for me this time.
Once we’re in the master bedroom, he releases his grip on me and I slide down him, our lips slipping apart. He leaves me standing next to my bed as he walks toward my bedroom door.
“Take off your clothes.” He says it without facing me, as he’s locking my bedroom door.
It’s a command. One I’m eager to follow now that the door is locked. We watch each other undress. He takes off his jeans as I’m taking off my shirt, and then his shirt comes off with my jeans. I remove my bra as his eyes move over me. He’s not touching me, not kissing me, just watching me.
So many emotions flood me as I remove my panties: fear, excitement, irritation, desire, trepidation. I slide my panties down my hips, over my legs, and then kick them off. When I stand up straight, I am on full display.
