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Donni always felt so small in these dreams and when she tried to run, the air turned to syrup, trapping her like a fly in poisonous amber.
You’re such a beautiful girl, said the monster in her dream.But not quite beautiful enough. Why don’t you come here and let me make you exactly what you should be?
“No!” she screamed, choking on her fear, nearly gagging on it. Her heart was pounding so loud it sounded like a drum. “You stay away from me!”
I’m not going to hurt you, said the monster.Come here.
But the thing between its legs was spinning like a saw.
(You love this you little whore)
Donni shot up, tangled in her sheets. There was a scream in her throat, raw and splintery. She heard herself whimper when she recognized the same mechanical sound from her dreams, dulled to a faint buzz now.
Her phone.
It was her fucking phone.
She groped for it, cursing with more frustration than the situation required when it skidded away from her trembling fingers. Across the room, Powderpuff, who had been watching her anxiously, whined. Donni sucked her teeth at the dog to calm her, breathing out sharply when she managed to latch on to the phone and hold the speaker to her ear.
“Hello?” she said, a little breathlessly.
“Hello, Donni.” The voice that rasped into her ear was chillingly familiar, because it sounded very much like her late husband’s. “Did you get my message?”
She told herself it was the dream that made her voice tremble when she said, shakily, “You’re back.”
“I’m back,” he agreed. “And I want to see you. I think we have a lot to discuss, don’t you?”
For a moment, her brain stuck on thatI want to see you.She thought wincingly of the message where she had all but begged him for money. If she could take it back now, she would. The proprietary tone in his voice, like he thought he owned her, lock, stock, and barrel, set every nerve in her body on edge.
So she decided to play dumb. “I’ve already made arrangements for the funeral. The estate lawyer is taking care of the rest. I can forward you the contact information for both if you have concerns.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He sounded amused, which was worse than irritation.He’s toying with me, she thought, bristling when he went on to add, “It’s been ten years, Adonica. Let’s talk about what we can do for each other over dinner, like civilized, rational people. I’ll even let you choose the place.”
Her fingers bit into the phone. “As I recall,” she said tautly, “you’re neither civilized nor rational.”
“Well, then I guess I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you don’t show up, then. Will I?” His tone, which had dropped to a register not even her husband could reach, abruptly returned to normal. “See you soon, Donni. Text me the time and place.”
The phone went dead in her hands.
She wished there were a similar way for her to disconnect. From this. Fromeverything. Where the hell was she supposed to muster up the energy to go and meet her estranged and deviant stepson? The funeral was tomorrow, and she’d barely manage that.
Donni looked around her room in the half-light. Already, with the shadowy claws of her nightmare receding, it was starting to look more friendly. Marco had initially given her this room to use as a walk-in closet but eventually, she had started sleeping in it herself on a little trundle bed. She had decorated it according to her own taste, with framed posters of her movies interspersed between other posters of classic horror, likeEvil DeadandHalloween.Clothes and storage covered every wall, save for the one where her cramped little bookcase leaned that held all her old Zebra romances. She had brought those with her from New York, having saved up her allowance money to send in for them by mail every month. Back when she’d still believed in romance.
Nobody had hurt her, then. Nobody had taught her that sex could be anything but beautiful, or that love could be as twisted as a corkscrew. Sometimes Donni ached at the thought of her younger self. That innocence, that idealism. She knew better now.
She had met Marco Nicastro at a party she’d been paid to attend. It had been hosted by a winery—not his. She supposed he was there to size up his competitors. Before he’d turned to wine-making, he’d been a hedge fund manager, an aggressive go-getter. Corporate espionage was exactly the type of thing he’d consider good business.
“I’m hoping to turn Riachuelo into the new Napa,” he’d confided to her. “This place could use some culture and I happen to have a connection to supply me with real Vespaiola grapes.”
His pompous, confiding tone had vaguely amused her. “Sounds like a type of car,” she’d joked, to see what he would do. It had become her sort of litmus test, like poking a bear with a stick. Taking a cheap shot at a man to see if he’d turn aggressive.
But Marco had taken it in stride. “Well, you’re not wrong. They both come from the same root. Vespa. It means wasp. The grapes are named after the wasps that eat them when they’re left to dry on the vine. They like sweet things. I do too.” He’d winked.
After he monopolized her time for most of her working hours, thoroughly pissing off her hosts, he’d asked her out to dinner. And since she’d been forced to take a pay cut, Donni had agreed, feeling like he owed her. That had turned into several months of dating, which had eventually led to a ring.Thering. The little enameled one he hadn’t even liked. That should have been a red flag, but when she brought it up to Lyra, her sister had told her that she’d be a fool to turn him down. What was she waiting for, Lyra wanted to know. Some movie producer or actor-turned-TV-spokesperson?
So Donni had said yes, and when Marco had given her another ring with a diamond so big that she’d needed to wear it with the stone turned in towards her palm just like her mother had taught her when she’d been living in the big city, she had told herself that this was just how a man like him probably felt he needed to show affection to a younger wife. When the luster wore off, so would the inappropriately expensive gifts.
Never mind the fact that he’d only told her he had a son a few months before the wedding. Never mind that initially, he hadn’t even told herthatmuch. “I have a kid,” was what he’d actually said, with so much remove that she’d figured the ‘kid’ was either a full-grown adult—like her—or else living with the mom. But neither was the case. In between the various boarding schools he was shunted off to, the ‘kid’ lived at home with his father.
