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“Okay, that makes me feel even worse. What the hell does she need to atone for? He’s the one who went after her, knowing full well that he couldn’t provide for her,” Cora says.
“The whole thing’s a mess,” I say. I’ve read the letter dozens of times, and I keep coming to the same conclusion—an overwhelming accidental sense of tenderness toward Beatrix, of all people, even after she’s spent the past three months clawing at me while I sleep and stealing my archival materials.
I take a deep breath, “Besides, I have a theory.”
Cora rubs her hands together greedily. “Oh, do tell! I love a good theory.”
“Okay, it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I think Martin killed Beatrix and tried to cover it up.” Evan shoots a look over in my direction.
“Mhmm. Well, we know he was trying to ship her off. What if he got mad when she refused to go? What if, when she refused to leave, Martin decided to make her? You know what they say? It's always the husband or the lover, I guess?” Cora muses.
Evan scoffs, “Hey, Eleanor.”
“Yeah?”
“You left your red string on your desk. Seriously, get a hold of yourselves. Do you two even hear yourselves right now?”
“You know, that’s why they say ghosts exist,” Cora starts. “It’s because they have unfinished business on earth. Maybe Beatrix wants us to know the truth about her death.”
“Who’s they?” Evan taunts, unearthing a sandwich from a brown paper bag.
“Paranormal experts!”
“From where? Wikipedia?”
“No, Evan, every paranormal book ever.” Cora rolls her eyes and digs into a spicy tuna roll from the grocery store she packed for herself.
The smell of fish makes me gag. I gag once, feeling the vomit creeping up my throat. I try to breathe deeply. This past week has been better, but now it’s a lost cause. I excuse myself and sprint to the women’s restroom. I fling open the stall door with a clang and don’t even bother locking it before I retch.
I spit once and then freeze when I hear footsteps. It’s Cora.
“Eleanor, are you okay?” she asks.
I try to tell her yes, but the nausea hits me again, and I vomit again.
“Do you have food poisoning? Do you want me to call someone?” she asks.
I shake my head and stand up, trying to breathe.
“I’m okay.” I glance around to make sure no patrons are entering as I flush the toilet with my foot.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper. It still feels strange to say it out loud.
“Holy shit. How long?”
“Ten weeks.”
“And it’s …”
“They’re Joseph’s. It’s twins. We found out yesterday. Um, please don’t tell anyone,” I say. “I’m not ashamed, but it’s still early, and I need to figure out maternity leave.”
“I won’t say a word. I’m shocked. How are you feeling about everything?”
“I mean, I’m shocked, too. But I think Joseph’s a good guy. We’re still getting to know each other. I guess co-parenting will force you to get to know someone.”
“That it will. Wow. That's a lot to process. Well, you let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. Thank you, Cora.” We washed our hands, and Cora handed me an extra clump of paper towel.
