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“The only thing keeping this house out of a horror movie is the lack of bloodstains on the floor.”
“Why would there be bloodstains?” he asks. “Baking soda and hydrogen peroxide can get blood out of anything.”
I laugh. “Well, there’s the kind of statement that screams ‘I’m innocent’ to the cops. Furniture would be great.”
After he leaves for the bar, Ann calls. I’ve told her so many lies by now that it’s hard to keep them all straight: I’ve told her I have a sponsor, I’ve told her I’ve gotten a real job instead of working at Beck’s bar, and I’ve told her I’ve stopped focusing on Caleb.
The one thing I haven’t lied to her about is Hannah’s grave because Ican’tlie about that. It sickens me that I haven’t gone, but I just can’t take the risk.
“It’s important, Kate,” she says when I admit, once again, that it hasn’t happened yet. “You’re stronger now. It won’t be like it was last year. You need to see that for yourself. It’s why you left rehab, right?”
“Yeah,” I admit with a sigh. “They really shouldn’t make it so easy to leave.”
Her laughter is quiet and slightly pained. “They don’t make it easy, hon.”
Maybe. But given how sneaky addicts are, they shouldn’t make it quite soobviousthe doors are left unlocked for the six AM shift change every morning.
“Fine. They don’t make it hard enough to get out for someone who reallyneedsto leave.”
“We’ve discussed this—you didn’tneedto leave either.”
I don’t argue, because this is something no one understands—the way it ate at me every night, knowing Hannah’s birthday was approaching and she’d spend it alone. Was Caleb going to go to her grave? Of course he wasn’t. He hadn’t been once since we buried her.
Except...going there broke me in ways I hadn’t expected, and I had nowhere to turn. Caleb had already refused to see me again until I’d completed rehab. I guess I could have gone to Beck, but Kent felt like the easier answer, an answer that bled into weeks, then months.
If I go to her grave again, I know where I’ll wind up.
“You’re right,” I tell Ann. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
So I guess I’ve now lied about every fucking thing possible. Because I’m not going to Hannah’s grave yet. I’m better, but I’m notthatmuch better.
* * *
Beck arrivesthat afternoon with a truck full of furniture—bed, dresser, nightstand. Even a mirror.
“You need help?” I ask.
I’m rewarded with that smirk of his. “Kate, my hand could probably circle your bicep twice.”
“If your hand can circleanythingtwice, you belong in a circus. Actually, if your hand can circle something twice, I’m not sure what you need a girl for. No one could compete with that.”
I’m sure he wants to laugh, though he provides no visible sign of this. “Just hold the door.”
He saves the biggest box for last, hoisting it overhead with his arms flexing, though he doesn’t appear to be struggling in any way.
“I should take a picture of you lifting that,” I say as he walks past. “For your fan club.”
“What fan club?”
I blow out an irritated breath. “I’ve seen those girls you hook up with. They’re the type who dig your whole half-man, half-beast thing, and you look like The Incredible Hulk at the moment.”
He sets the box on the floor of the living room. “I’d rather be with a girl like that,” he says pointedly, “than the kind who only wants a pretty boy in a suit, flashing his platinum card around.”
I shoot him a look. I’ve never heard him criticize Caleb until now. “That’s nothing like Caleb.”
A muscle flickers in his cheek. “Sorry. I thought we were offering each other completely unfounded generalizations about our exes. And speaking of exes, are you going to sign the separation agreement?”
I start to ask how he even knows about that and then I remember. “You and your friends gossip like teenage girls.”
