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‘It’s okay, Eric,’ I say. ‘Chris won’t hurt us.’
I look at Chris now, fixing him with an intense look that he’s probably never seen me give before. It’s a look that says ‘Don’t try anything’. It’s a look that says, ‘Back off, buddy’.
I try to keep a clear head, wondering whether I should shout out for Finn or if that’ll make Chris madder. Perhaps I should hear him out first. Try to reason with him while he’s calm.
Still, I can’t help thinking about Finn’s gun collection, in a locked cabinet in the living room. Would it be possible to get the key out from its hiding place on the bookshelf, open the cabinet, and get a gun out, with Chris breathing down my neck? Unlikely. Pretty much impossible, actually.
If only Finn had given me that revolver to take back with me.
Not that I’d evershootChris, of course. He might have gone off the rails, but he’s still a human being. A human being that’s part of my history, whether I like it or not.
‘Join me,’ says Chris, slamming down his bottle on the counter, right next to poor Mr. Squishy. ‘Care for a beer? Think I saw another in the fridge. You know, you really should tell that husband of yours to lock his cabin door. That little rodent there got the shock of his life when I walked in and started playing Goldilocks in his home.’
I look down at Eric. He’s stopped growing, at least, but is standing at my feet, watching me like a hawk. I think he’s trying to protect me. Finn might have just been joking, but there’s some truth in it. Eric is a guard dog in the making. Probably the tiniest guard dog on record.
‘Amazing that your new husband doesn’t have a problem with your… lifestyle choices. Maybe you haven’t told him yet. Maybe you’re planning on slowly changing him.’ He looks down at Mr. Squishy, as if noticing him for the first time.
I smile, sweetly. ‘Actually, Chris, he’s a Daddy. He’s super into it.’ I know it’s a cruel thing to say, but I just can’t help myself. I shouldn’t be antagonizing him, but the way he’s broken in here, the way he’s tracked me down — it’s made me pretty angry.
He’s trying to seem calm, but I see his eye twitch with rage.
I breathe deeply, then decide to go and join Chris at the counter. Perhaps, if we can sit down like adults and talk this thing over, I can make him see sense.
‘Oh, silly me,’ says Chris, raising a finger to his lips and smiling. ‘I just called Mr. Wilder your husband. But he can’t be, can he? Because he’s already married.’
I frown. ‘No, he’s not.’
Chris laughs. It’s an empty, hollow laugh, like a stone rattling around in a tin can.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Little princess,’ he says. He reaches down onto the floor and lifts a dark green army rucksack onto the kitchen counter, swiping Mr. Squishy down onto the floor. Chris was never in the military. Looks completely out of place, him owning a bag like that. Almost disrespectful. He pulls out a beige folder, like he’s a freaking spy or something, about to show me his dossier. It’s going to be some kind of made-up nonsense bullshit, I can just tell. He pulls out a sheet of paper and shows it to me.
‘Marriage Certificate’, it reads at the top.
It’s dated five years ago, issued by the Fremont Wedding Chapel.
Sure enough, I can see Finn’s name, and some woman called Bonnie Hancock. I’ve never heard of her.
‘You could have just Photoshopped this,’ I say, handing it back to Chris. ‘Can’t fool me that easily, Chris.’
Chris reaches into the folder, and pulls something else now. It’s a photograph.
‘Pulled this off the gallery on the wedding chapel’s website. Think I faked this one too?’
Oh my god. It’s a photograph of Finn, standing in the chapel, a giant, glittery red heart on the wall behind him with the word LOVE emblazoned on it in silver. His shirt is disheveled, and his hair head is shaved, shorter than it is now. He’s standing with his arm around a woman dressed head to toe in orange — even her lipstick looks orange. She’s clutching a bunch of fake silver flowers, and they’re both smiling at the camera. She must be at least ten years older than him. Maybe more. She’s attractive in her own way, for an older woman, with dyed platinum blond hair and hazel eyes, but beside Finn… she looks like she can’t believe her luck.
There’s something about the way Finn looks in the picture, though. His blue eyes look bloodshot — even the irises have a pinkish tint.
And another thing that’s strange about him — I can’t see any tattoos. No skull on his neck. Nothing creeping out from under the shirt sleeves. It’s Finn, but a Finn from a parallel universe. One where I don’t exist.
‘Put it away,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to look at it anymore.’
I probably shouldn’t let on to Chris how annoyed that picture makes me, otherwise he will feel like he’s won. I’m meant to be playing up the happily married wife routine. But after everything that’s just happened with Finn, out there by the waterfall — I’m in no mood to be a loved-up bride right now. Not when, according to the evidence that’s just been presented to me, he’s already got one.
Even if he’s not married to her anymore, I still can’t fight the feelings of hurt and jealousy. Finn made me feel like this was all a first for him, being married, and letting himself come as close to someone as he’d come to me. Makes me feel sick to the stomach that I just jokingly called him ‘hubby’ out there when he’s probably been called that very thing before, by someone much older and more experienced than me.
A Daddy should be honest. This just makes me feel sick.
And given that this Bonnie Hancock, whoever she was, wasn’t exactly about to win any prizes for Miss USA, at least not any more, given her advanced years, there must have been something else that attracted Finn to her… she must have beenamazingin the sack.
