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He looks down at where I’m holding onto him, my hands curled like claws around his bicep. He faces me, tugging both of my hands behind me, forcing my chest to jut up and into his.
“I don’t hurt children.”
“What about women?” I ask.
He stops at that. “Have I hurt you?”
I falter.
“I could have. Maybe I should have.” He walks me back to the bed. “But have I hurt you, Isabelle?”
I shake my head.
He nods as if my answer means something. He pulls me to his side, draws the blankets back. “Get in bed.”
His phone buzzes and he releases me to read the message. I sit again. Draw my knees up to my chest. When he looks up from his phone his expression has changed, a crease of worry between his eyebrows.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s been a long night,” he says and tucks the blankets over me.
“What are you going to do?” I ask when he moves away.
He turns, studies me. “Not visit your cousin if that will help you sleep.”
I exhale in relief.
He sees it and I can tell it irritates him. He comes back to me, touches my cheek with the knuckles of one hand, then cups the back of my head. His fingers intertwine with my hair and he rubs my skull. He could do it to hurt but he’s not. He’s taking care.
Kid gloves. It’s what Julia had said.
“You just worry about one thing, Isabelle. Just one thing.” I swallow and he brings his mouth to my cheek, kisses it, then whispers: “Whatever you do, do not betray me.”
I can’t sleep. I’m not sure if it’s my conversations with both Jericho and Julia or the fact that with the anniversary coming, I’m anxious about the dream. I don’t have it often, just a few times a year. The last time was in bed with Jericho and I don’t want a repeat. But I know the pattern. My mind seems to ramp up the frequency in the weeks leading up to that night.
Jericho left over an hour ago. He took his little sports car. I wish I could get ahold of Julia, although I believe him when he says he’s not going to see her. I don’t know why but I do. Still, I should warn her that he knows she was there. I go into my bathroom, open the drawer where I’d dropped the pills. If he knew what she gave me, what would he do to her? He would hurt her. I’m sure of it.
I should flush them now. Get rid of them. Keep her safe. I have no intention of using them. But for some reason I don’t. Instead, I tuck them into a zipped pocket in my violin case and head back to the bedroom. I dress in a pair of jeans, a warm wool sweater, and sneakers. I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen where I open the drawer I’ve seen a flashlight in. I take it out, check the batteries, then leave through the kitchen door.
If I wasn’t pregnant, would Jericho feel as possessive when it comes to me? Would he be so careful?
I think of his non-answer when I asked him if he’d take the baby from me. Or maybe that silence is the answer.
Once I’ve cleared the patio and the pool area and am almost in the woods, I switch on the flashlight. A cool wind blows tonight, and the sky is clear for a change. I draw the sleeves of my sweater down to my hands and hurry toward the chapel. I’m grateful for the sneakers on my feet. I know what to expect in these woods.
It’s not Jericho’s actions that have me out here on this midnight stroll. It’s Julia’s words. You should read their history. Your future is written in it.
I will read them tonight. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. I’d forgotten about the book on the altar of the small chapel.
The air is still and cold when I reach the graveyard. I glance around. Part of me wants to go back to the house. Get back into his bed. Feel safe even if that safety is false at worst, temporary at best.
I open the creaky gate and walk through, my gaze moving toward the grave of Nellie Bishop. I see the discarded whiskey bottle still in the ground, dug into the muddy earth from the rains over the last few weeks. I think it’s the one Jericho had left here the night I accused him of being a terrible father to Angelique. The night he lost his mind when he saw how I’d cleared and decorated Nellie’s grave.
I walk toward the grave. It’s overgrown again. I should tend to it. I will tomorrow. Tonight, I have other work to do.
I take a few steps before noticing the cigarette butts on the ground. Three of them. I squat down to get a closer look. They haven’t been here long or they’d have deteriorated further with the rain. I wonder who smokes. A groundskeeper maybe.
