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“Really? Where?”
“In my bedroom. It’s a small one, a .380, but it’ll do the job. You should get yourself one, honestly.”
I think about Isabelle with a gun and suddenly, I am absolutely convinced that if she owned one, she would have used it on me. “I should go.” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.
“You certainly will.” She takes my glass and my plate and takes them into the kitchen. When she returns I have my jacket on.
“And don’t worry,” she says, hugging me at the door. “Your secret—allyour secrets, I should say—are safe with me.”
Thirty-One
The fact that Isabelle is dead makes me forgive Luis. That’s how I think of it anyway, because what’s the point of holding a grudge against a ghost? It’s over. That’s the thought that keeps popping into my head.It’s over.And as far as the police are concerned, it was an accident. That’s certainly the impression I got from speaking to Detective Jones.
God, just imagine it. Thinking you were so special, it was okay for you to rip another family apart, take a father away from his children, all in the name oflove, and then poof! Neck broken. Game over.
There’s poetry in that, I think.
Still, as we lie in bed together, me spooning Luis, I do want to whisper into his ear,Don’t do it again. Ever.I can hear him sigh. Maybe he’s even crying, I’m not sure. I put my arm around his torso and caress him, console him, just I like did all those years ago after Monica died.
Shh. There, there.
“I love you so much,” I say softly. “Let’s move away, you, me and the kids. Let’s get away from this place. We could move to Martha’s Vineyard.” I talk to him like this, whispering softly. I looked it up, I say. You won’t believe the amazing art community there, and there’s a fencing club and a drama club and wait till you see the houses in Oak Bluffs and the Flying Horses carousel, the oldest carousel in the world, I say, although I’m not completely sure that’s the case. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Luis is asleep now, snoring softly in my arms.
The following morning I wake with a renewed sense of determination. I watch Luis sleep for a while, lay my hand against his cheek. He doesn’t move. I slowly push the covers away and swing my legs out of bed, all in slow motion so as not to disturb him.
I wake the children, make breakfast, prepare lunches, check homework, sign a note to say Carla can go to the theatre with the class next Saturday morning to seeThe Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, which I first read asThe Curious Incident of the Curator in the Night-Timeand I almost laugh.
“Is Dad okay?” they ask.
“He’s got a cold, that’s all. He’s fine.” I ruffle their hair. “Have a great day at school. I love you. Go, now, or you’ll miss the bus.”
I feed Roxy, put everything in the dishwasher, wipe the surfaces and put on a load of laundry. I even find a tissue in the pocket of Carla’s jeansbeforeI turn on the machine. That’s how good a day this is. It’s the way my life should be. It’s what makes me happy. I am happy when other people are happy. I was born for this role: wife, mother, homemaker.
When Luis walks into the kitchen, I wrap my arm around his neck.
“I thought you were going to sleep in. How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” He runs his hand through his hair.
“You sure?”
“Yes, of course.”
I rest my head against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“What for?” I reply. But what I’m saying, really, is,It’s fine. I love you. I would do anything for you. For us. I’m a rallier.
I steered the ship through dark and choppy waters and I’ve brought us into the light. And I know it’s crazy, but that’s how I feel. Like the sunshine has returned to our lives and swept the shadows away and, with them, everything that is scary and dark.
The day couldn’t be better. It’s crisp, clear, luminous. Then I find that June has left a caramel cupcake on my desk. It sits on a piece of paper on which she’s scribbled,Enjoy!I drop my bag on the floor, pick up the cupcake and devour it, licking my lips, catching every last crumb. It’s unbelievably delicious.
Twenty minutes later she knocks on my door.
“That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Ever,” I say, pointing to the empty yellow baking liner. “And hello, by the way.”
She laughs. “I’m glad. All part of the service.”
