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I make a motion for her to lower her window. Reluctantly, she does.
“Christian,” she says, finding her voice. Her voice lifts as if surprised to see me, like she’s not the one running reconnaissance on my house.
“What are you doing here, Nina?” I ask.
Nina blinks. Her eyes search mine. “I... I was just leaving,” she says. She steps on the brake and the car powers up.
“Not so fast, Nina,” I say, setting a hand on the open window frame. “I think you have something of mine.”
“What is this, Christian?” she asks, her voice breathless and desperate. “Is thatblood?”
Nina bites down on her lip. Her eyes are narrowed, her breathing fast and shallow, and I know that she’s thinking the worst, that the blood belongs to Jake and she’s right. She’s putting the pieces together—Lily’s earring, my car, the blood—and coming to the realization that Jake probably isn’t okay.
I could tell her what happened. I could go with the truth. I could say that Jake attacked Lily and that Lily fought back, to protect herself, that if she didn’t kill him, he might have killed her.
“The baby,” I say instead, by instinct, “didn’t make it.”
Almost as soon as I say it, I wish it back.
I hate myself for going there. It feels like I’m tempting fate, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what to do. I’m not thinking about what happens thirty weeks from now when Lily gives birth to our baby, or even three weeks from now when she starts to show. I’m just thinking about this moment right now, and how Nina and I both get through it alive.
I’m not a killer. I don’t want to have to kill her.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” I say. “Why were you following me, Nina?”
Her face is blank. “I want to talk to Lily. I want to see Lily,” she says.
“Lily isn’t up for seeing anyone tonight. She’s upset.”
“Where is Jake? What did you do to Jake?” she asks, her voice turning shrill. “I saw your car on that video, Christian. I know it was you. I know you were in my house. What did you do to Jake?” she asks again.
“Nothing,” I say. “I didn’t do anything to Jake. He’s your husband, Nina. Why don’t you tell me where he is?”
She asks then, “Why didn’t you throw that bag in your own trash if it’s from the baby? Why did you hide it down the street?”
“Because I didn’t want Lily to come across it by accident. She’s devastated,” I say, “as you can imagine.”
The first baby we lost hit the hardest for Lily. She cried for weeks. I think it’s because we went into it with so much hope and optimism that we didn’t consider all the possible outcomes. The only one we considered was that at the end of nine months, we’d have a healthy baby. With each subsequent miscarriage, Lily was less visibly sad, as if somehow accepting of our fate, though she died a little inside every time.
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
“Believe whatever you want. I’m not lying, Nina. I didn’t do anything to Jake.”
I reach in through the open window. Nina flinches, drawing back. The street is quiet. It has to be close to ten o’clock. I left Lily in the house. I said I’d be right back. I’ve been gone much longer than I intended, so that I wonder if she’s gazing out into the night, looking for me. People on the street are going to sleep for the night. Interior house lights are switching off, the street becoming somehow darker.
Fully present and completely aware of what I’m doing, I reach in with both hands. Nina sinks back into her seat, recoiling from me. “Stop it, Christian,” she says, fighting my hands. Nina’s neck can’t be three inches from my hands. She’s restrained in her chair. Standing outside, I have leverage. I have the advantage of power and height. It would be so easy to strangle her.
But I’m not a killer.
I wrap my hands around the bag of Lily’s clothes, lifting it from Nina’s lap. It’s only in the last second that she tries to resist. Her fingers come down on the bag, but I wrest it easily from her.
Later I wonder if I’ll regret letting her leave.
NINA
Icall Officer Boone as I drive. He doesn’t answer. I didn’t think that he would—it’s late—but I leave a message and he calls me back almost immediately. I tell him what happened. I’m practically hysterical.
