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CHRISTIAN
My reaction is delayed because I can’t believe what I’m seeing when I open the door. I expected to see the police when the doorbell rang. This is no worse, but no better.
Outside it’s still gray. The wind has picked up. The trees blow in something like thirty-mile-per-hour winds, the more insubstantial of them bending. You can hear the wind howl as it enters the house uninvited.
Her hair whips around her face. She gathers what she can in a hand and holds it at the side of her head, by her neck.
It’s Nina Hayes. I haven’t seen her in maybe six months, but she hasn’t changed much. She’s almost exactly the same as the last time I saw her. She’s a brunette. Her brown hair goes just below the shoulders. She’s a pretty woman, but she can’t hold a candle to Lily.
Nina’s expression is flat, if not frowning. It makes me wonder what she knows, if she knows something. It’s so unlike her to just show up at our front door like this.
My heart goes wild inside of me and I feel like something feral and caged—a lion at the zoo—trapped and desperate to get out.
“Nina!” I say to her, but my tone and the delivery are too cheerful, too tinny. The smile plastered to my face is fake.
Nina’s face is darkened. She stands on the porch in the wind. She has no interest in small talk. She’s come for a purpose. “It’s windy out here, Christian,” she says. “Can I please come in?”
“Oh God, of course. I’m so sorry.” I pull the door open more widely. Her arm brushes against me as she steps in, the wind pushing her through.
“Lily told me about Jake,” I say, my cheerfulness lessening, becoming almost somber. “I’m so sorry, Nina. If there is ever anything we can do to help, or if there is anything you need—”
“Thank you. I appreciate that, Christian. If you don’t mind, I need to talk to Lily, please,” she says, cutting me off, and my first thought is to lie, to say that Lily isn’t here. Lily’s car is in the garage and the garage door is closed, so Nina wouldn’t know whether or not she is home. For all Nina knows, Lily had errands to run after their breakfast together.
But then, Lily materializes behind me with a quiet, bemused expression on her face.
“Nina?” she asks, coming around a corner, her voice a whisper, her jaw practically slack. There is a dish towel in her hands. Lily has been doing dishes, cleaning up the kitchen that we’ve, over the last few days, neglected to clean, so that dishes were piling up on the counter and sink. Nina looks past me as Lily says, “I thought I heard your voice. Is everything okay?”
“Do you have a minute?” Nina asks, her words somewhat curt. Nina has never been the warm and fuzzy type, but this feels almost glacial and makes me uncomfortable. But then Nina says, “I’m sorry to just barge in on you like this,” and something about that feels less glacial to me. Maybe I don’t need to panic.
They were together not two hours ago. That in and of itself is concerning. Whatever Nina has to say to Lily, she could have said then. But she didn’t, which means something has happened since they were at breakfast, something important enough to warrant coming over to our house to speak to Lily in person.
She knows what I’ve done.
“Yeah, of course,” Lily says. “Come in.”
Nina follows Lily to the kitchen, as I turn my back to them to close the door, having to shove it closed against the weight of the wind. I turn the dead bolt, trapping us all inside.
And then, for this one regrettable instant, I think I may have to do something to Nina before this is through. Because if she knows something, if she’s come to confront Lily and me, then I can’t just let her leave, can I? If I do, she’ll go to the police. And then I’ll go to jail, or even worse, Lily will go to jail. I’ll do anything to keep Lily and myself, but especially Lily, out of jail. I have a sudden mental image of my hands coming down on Nina’s neck. The image is so real and so crystal clear that I can feel what it would be like to press down, to stop the airflow to the trachea, to strangle her before lowering Nina’s lifeless body to the floor. I imagine Nina’s arms flailing, her legs kicking, and I wonder how long it would take, how much pressure I would have to put on her neck for her to die.
“Can I get you something?” Lily asks, breaking my reverie, and I feel instantly sick for thinking like that. I’m not a killer. I could never kill someone. Could I?
This whole thing has spiraled out of control, turning me into someone I’m not.
Nina follows Lily to the kitchen. Lily is still talking. “Water, tea?” she asks.
There’s this slight tremor to Lily’s voice. I hear it, but I wonder if Nina does.
Nina and Jake have been to our house for dinner before. It was after we’d been to theirs and saw the way they lived. Lily was reluctant to have them over; she felt self-conscious, as if our almost three thousand square foot, waterfront home was something to be ashamed of. She went all out getting things ready, cleaning and buying new stuff for the house. I remember saying something to her at the time like, if they’re the good friends we think they are, they won’t mind our average quality dishes and furniture, but Lily wanted everything just right.
“No. Thanks. I tried calling you,” Nina says, still wearing her coat. “You didn’t answer.”
“Oh?” Lily glances back over her shoulder. “I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry. My phone must be on silent. Is everything okay?”
“No. It’s not, Lily,” she says, and then Nina turns to see me following them into the kitchen. Her expression is unreadable. I force a smile, something that belies my terror and looks more like concern, though inside I’m fucking scared. My heart is a cheetah.
We come into the kitchen. Lily says, “Oh no, Nina,” and she goes to the fridge to get Nina water anyway, despite her saying that she didn’t want any. “What happened? Is it your mother?”
“No,” Nina says. “It’s Jake.”
