by A. J. Banner
“This therapy we’ve been doing,” I said. “It’s based on the idea that people can change. But you don’t, that’s for sure. Is it like a reflex for you? You can’t help yourself?”
He stood abruptly, his eyes suddenly flat, but he spoke in the same soft, plying voice. “You’re reading too much into a number on a napkin. Alexa’s a kid. She’s infatuated. Would I throw everything away for some teenager?”
“A beautiful teenager, who’s conveniently over eighteen,” I said. “Are you sleeping with Diane again, too?”
“What? No. She’s gone—”
“Out of rehab, living in Seattle, so you needed someone new.”
He reached down to touch Bella’s cheek, his eyes brimming with love. “She’s my joy,” he said, then he looked up at me, the familiar, beseeching look in his eyes. “So are you. Postpartum depression can be a strong destructive force. It can bring out suspicions, make you question reality. It’s completely normal. Almost eighty-five percent of all women experience some sadness after—”
“Stop turning this around on me.”
He touched my cheek tenderly, but I flinched away. “You see things that aren’t there,” he said. “You’re paranoid.”
“I’m paranoid!” I could feel Bella squirming. I took a deep breath, exhaled.
“Let me take her,” he said, lifting her into his arms, supporting her head. I reached for her, utter fear flashing through me. She was so small, so fragile.
“No, give her back!” I said.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said, cradling her. “Take it easy.”
My insides twisted into tight knots. “Give her to me.”
She was fussing now. “She’s fine. She’s my sweet booboo, aren’t you, Bella Booboo?” He gently placed her back in the bassinet. “You know your daddy loves you and your mommy more than anything. Even if Mommy is losing her mind.”
“My mind is in fine working order.” I reached into my sweater pocket, produced the small package I’d found in his pants pocket upstairs, threw it onto the bed.
He looked at the package, then at me. “What’s that?”
“I also found that in your pants pocket,” I said. A sad weariness settled into me, a sense of finality. There was no going back for us now.
He laughed, picked up the condom off the bed, and threw it into the garbage. “You’ve got to stop snooping. You’re losing it. That was in my pocket forever. It probably got washed a hundred times.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re lying.” He could make anything he said, no matter how outlandish, sound like the truth. That was his gift, his ability to persuade people with his charm, to explain anything away. He could make me question myself. Chip away at my certainty. “Why was the condom in your pocket, Kieran?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve always carried one in case we needed it, but we haven’t needed it lately. I thought . . . you know, you wouldn’t want to get pregnant again too soon. Your body needs a rest.”
I swallowed my reply, not wanting any more lies. He would’ve kept the entire box of condoms in the nightstand, easily reached, if he were telling the truth. I was not yet ready, anyway, so soon after Bella’s birth. Sex was the furthest thing from my mind, but not, evidently, from his.
“Look,” he said gently. “We’ll talk. I’ll make you the usual? Organic ginger turmeric tea?”
I nodded, sighing. I wanted him out of the room so I could think about what to do. You’re okay, you will survive, I told myself when he’d left. I heard him clanking around in the kitchen, whistling carelessly, as if I had not just accused him of a second round of infidelity. But I was the sucker this time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . . I thought of Brandon’s words in the woods that night. He’d tried to warn me. He’s bad for you. Even in his psychotic obsession, he had spoken the truth.
I picked up my phone from the desk, scrolled through my contacts list to Dr. Thacker’s number. We’re canceling our next appointment, I would say when I called.
Have you considered staying together for now, around the birth of the baby? Dr. Thacker had said that in our first session. That can be a hard time to be alone. I had agreed to this, to wait, to give Kieran a second chance. He had slipped up once. He hadn’t killed anyone. I’d felt such terrible guilt for suspecting him of such a heinous act. No, in that, he’d been the victim.
Therapy had done nothing to change him. Emotions, feelings, communication. So important, right? It was all bullshit. There was no good reason for what he’d done, but I’d agreed that we would work on our marriage—no, I had worked on our marriage, while Kieran had gone on being his lecherous, deceptive self.
I put down the phone. No signal. The landline worked in the hall now. I would make the call from there, later. I would seek her advice about the easiest, smoothest way to split up with Kieran. He still insisted on returning calls from his cell phone—now I better understood why. He wasn’t always calling his patients.
He returned with my cup of tea and a slice of banana bread. “Good for the nursing mom,” he said. He held Bella and walked around with her while I sipped my tea and ate the bread and mustered the courage to say what I needed to say.
“You will always be Bella’s dad,” I told him finally. “And I’m glad you were around for her, for us. But I can’t do this anymore. Cheating is cheating.” I took in his wavy russet hair, shiny, with strands of gold. His broad shoulders, those eyes that could be soft and caring, or hard and distant. I never knew which expression was really him—who was the real Kieran? It didn’t matter. I’d given him a second chance. He didn’t get a third.
“What are you talking about?” he said, not looking at me, bouncing the baby gently against his chest. He was a good father, for now.
“I want a divorce,” I said. “I won’t try to keep Bella from you. We’ll have to share her. Somehow. But I can’t be with you anymore.”
He stopped bouncing her and turned around to face me, his eyes sad. “That’s what I thought you might say.”
“I tried, I really did. I agreed to go to marriage counseling with you. But it’s over.”
“I was afraid of this. I can’t argue with you. I’m so sorry.” He came close to the bed, his shadow falling over me. He held Bella tenderly in his arms, kissed her forehead.
I fell back against the pillows again. I was so, so tired of all this. I felt as if a dial had been turned up, increasing gravity’s pull on my limbs. On my eyelids, too. So he understood. We would discuss the details later, the arrangements. Now, maybe finally, sleep would come.
“Check if she needs a diaper change,” I said. The words thick, as though I’d just had dental work done.
Kieran sat beside me. I could feel the mattress depressing beneath his weight, smell his subtle cologne—and Bella’s baby powder. He placed her in the bassinet, reached out to touch my forehead. “I’ll change her,” he said. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m so . . . tired.” My eyelids drooped. The room blurred—the soft cadence of the waves drifted in through the window.
“That’s the tea,” he said. “And the banana bread.” He turned off the bedside lamp.
“The . . . bread?” My thoughts tangled up. Bread couldn’t make a person sleepy, and the ginger turmeric tea settled the stomach. It didn’t make . . . a person . . .
“The Juliet is in both. In the tea and in the bread. A double dose. A risk, but . . . the cops never completely believed in the power of the Juliet. But we know better, don’t we?”
The Juliet. An alarm bell rang in my mind, but far away, across a vast and impossible expanse. No, Bella. I can’t leave her.
I must’ve spoken her name aloud, because he replied, “I’ll take good care of her.” I could feel his cool fingers caressing my forehead. “You don’t have to worry. She’s my flesh and blood.”
No, not Bella. Not my baby. But I couldn’t scream. My vocal cords were stuck. Must. Save her.
“Go to sleep,” he said gently
, in the distance. “Just like your mom. She went to sleep.” I could see him, the fuzzy shape of him through my half-closed eyelids.
“You killed her!” I tried to shout, but the words came out a whisper, barely audible. I could not say more—my tongue had swelled in my mouth, pressing down into my throat.
“That word. It was an easy death. But I didn’t use a plant. I didn’t actually know about the Juliet back then. Brandon made up that part. But I did use an anesthetic. Also not traceable. But no, I didn’t ‘kill’ her. I simply helped her along the path she was already taking.”
“No . . .” My eyelids fluttered shut. Why couldn’t I move? My poor mom. Brandon had been right. He’d tried to warn me.
“I’m sorry this took so long,” Kieran was saying. “But now is as good a time as any. I needed to use the Juliet, if only for poetic justice. You and your ex-husband—your lover, I’m sure—conspiring to kill me with that fucking plant. I know you were in on it with him.”
No, I wasn’t, I said in my mind. It was Brandon. Just give me Bella. My baby.
“Now you get a dose of your own medicine,” Kieran went on. “I have Chantal to thank for the formula. I’ve got no fucking idea how to crush herbs and mix witches’ potions.” He caressed my cheek, his touch a burn.
“No!” I managed to blurt. Chantal. The perfume on his lapel. Her floral scent. Really? My friend? Chantal had pretended to care about me. Had pretended to dote on Bella. I lifted my arm with all my strength, whacked him away. But my attempt was feeble. I reached for Bella—where was she? Had he picked her up out of the bassinet? I collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted, my body as heavy as a boulder.
“Don’t try to move,” Kieran said gently. “It will only make things worse.”
“No.” Had I spoken, or only thought the word?
“Chantal said it might take a little time. She knew how to interpret your mother’s recipe. She just made it stronger than whatever concoction you and Brandon conjured up to kill me.”
But I didn’t kill you, I thought. It wasn’t me. Chantal. Not Chantal!
I must’ve spoken aloud again. “Yes,” he said, “Chantal. She came on to me. Pretty relentlessly.”
His voice receded. Bella floated away from me. No. My baby. No!
“I’ve got an excellent babysitter lined up, so don’t worry,” he said. “I love you, Elise, but you’re so . . . demanding. You want everything your way. You’re insecure and unstable. I wanted to make our marriage work, but you’ll always be crazy and paranoid. When I get the estate squared away, Bella and I, we’re moving to the city. I hope you don’t mind. I’m sick of this island. It’s so fucking boring.”
Don’t take her. Don’t take Bella! I screamed inside. My eyes were glued shut, a concrete weight crushing my chest. I could hear Kieran zipping up a bag in the distance, cooing to Bella.
“Don’t worry about our baby,” he said, close to my ear now. “I could never hurt her. She’s so much like me. She’ll be safe with the babysitter tonight, and then she will grow up with me.”
No—never! I wanted to scream, but I had no voice, and my silent cry turned inward.
“I’m afraid Bella and I—we can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got a prior engagement. With Chantal, not Alexa. Alexa was a good fuck, but she’s immature. Chantal is smart and interesting. Well, I’d better get going or I’ll be late.” I could feel a swish of air as he reached down to kiss me on the forehead. “Goodbye, Elise. It’s been fun.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chantal combed out her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, applied a coat of luscious lipstick. Mascara, a touch of perfume. Her stomach filled with tiny, fluttering winged creatures. She had not felt this alive, this full of anticipation, in . . . how many years? She couldn’t remember now. Her emerald eyes stood out, ringed with black kohl. The camisole clung to her breasts. She wore matching lace panties. She pulled the sheath blouse over the camisole, slid into slinky black leggings. Then she put on a soft sweater, socks, and black flats with treads, for walking on the deck of the yacht. Last, she wound a patterned satin scarf around her neck.
Her phone buzzed in the bedroom. She hurried over, saw Bill’s name lighting up the screen. Why did he keep calling? She hit the “Decline” button. He was the one who had left her. He’d made his own bed—he could lie in it now.
There it was, the insistent ring of the doorbell. Chantal checked her reflection one last time—she was irresistible—and smacked her lips. Rushed down the stairs to the foyer. Flung open the door.
There he was, stunning in his sexy black dry suit and wool cap. “Hey,” he said, looking around. His gaze caught hers again. She could see the raw hunger in his eyes.
“Right on time,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “How did it go?” She looked at him anxiously, studied his face for a sign of trouble, but he grinned, relaxed as usual.
“It went like clockwork,” he said. “She found a condom in my pocket. It just made my job easier.”
“Good timing then,” she said, and let out her breath. This was really happening. He’d really done it. “How was she when you left?”
“Asleep,” he said.
“In her bed—she hadn’t taken anything else?”
“Her system is clean. Do you think I would be that stupid?”
“No, of course not.” Her hands were shaking a little. “It’s just . . . strange. Surreal.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“What about Bella?”
“I dropped her with the babysitter. Don’t worry so much. You weren’t this anxious when you were making the formula.”
“I know—it’s just so real.”
“You look beautiful.”
“So do you,” she said.
“You got a waterproof jacket? It could get wet out there.”
She laughed. “I do have rain gear, but there’s no rain in the forecast.”
“Just in case. I like to be prepared.”
“So you do.”
“A drink before we go?” he said. “Do you have that bottle of rye I gave you?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She ushered him into the living room, slid over to the liquor cabinet, held up the bottle of Rittenhouse. “I make a mean Manhattan.”
Kieran whistled softly. “Can’t pass that up. I hope you’re having one, too.”
“Two Manhattans, coming up.”
He walked to the standing glass cabinet, in which she displayed her collection of action figures. “Are these Bill’s or yours?”
“They’re all mine.” She mixed the ingredients of his drink. Bourbon, vermouth, Angostura bitters, etcetera. And a fresh cherry. Then her own.
“Lots of female action figures here,” he said. “They look pretty badass.”
“They are,” she said, bringing him his drink. “Will you be sober enough to drive down to the boat?”
“After one drink? Hell yes,” he said, holding up the glass to clink it against hers. “And I can sail the yacht and row the dinghy and stay awake all night with you in our little love nest.”
“The cabin is not so little,” she said.
They drank without sitting, perhaps both of them jumpy with the truth of what they had done, and with the prickle of anticipation. “This was damned good,” he said, holding up his empty glass. “The best Manhattan I’ve ever had.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, relieved. “I was a bartender once.”
“Now you’re a computer geek,” he said. “A hot one.”
When she turned around, he was right there in front of her, reaching out to touch her hair. She felt that flutter again, the anticipation of release.
She looked up into his eyes, took his hand in hers, held on. “Wait until we get there. Not here.”
“Then let’s go. I’m driving.”
The interior of the Jaguar smelled clean, not old. She sat in the passenger seat, trying to control her breathing as he drove down to the harbor. “Do you thin
k we should move her?” she asked, testing the water.
“You mean dump her,” he said. “No, better she’s at home.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “You’re the doctor.”
They were silent for a while.
“Where is this cabin, exactly?” he said.
“You sail us to Orcas Island. I’ll get us to the dock.”
“How did you find this place?”
“It belongs to a friend,” she said. “She stays there like once a year. Wait until you see the inside. It’s amazing.”
At the harbor, nobody was out on the docks. The boats bobbed on their moorings, reflected in the calm, black waters of the harbor. He helped her onto the yacht, untied the lines, and they were soon on their way, the wind in their hair. She’d been waiting so long.
“We could’ve just stayed at my house. We would’ve been alone,” she said.
“No, I loved your idea of an adventure,” he said. “Elise never liked coming out on the boat. She got seasick.”
“Her loss,” Chantal said. It didn’t take them long to drop anchor in the protected waters off the coast of Orcas. He helped her down the ladder and into the dinghy. He yawned. “Damn. Having the baby around is seriously messing with my sleep patterns.” In the bobbing dinghy, he untied the line, picked up the oars. “Where are we headed?”
She pointed up toward the distant lights on a rocky bluff. “There’s a dock over there. Does this thing have a motor?”
“It’s a tender,” he said. “It’s not really made for—”
“It’s okay. We don’t want to make noise anyway,” she said. “Until we get to the cabin. Nobody will hear us.”
“I like the sound of that.” He grinned, yawned again.
After she’d called him a few weeks earlier, it had not taken long for him to respond. Oh, they had flirted for a few years. She had cradled her obsession, nurtured it. But he had never fully come around, not then. If he’d looked in the drawers in her home office, he would’ve found photographs of himself she’d printed from the internet or taken from a distance with the zoom lens on her camera.
She’d loved Bill, but he’d been the one to buckle beneath the weight of grief. He’d been the one to give up on the marriage, which had filled with blame and accusation, after Jenny’s death. Bill had loved Jenny as his own, but he was weak. He’d abdicated his responsibility to the marriage, and Chantal had had no choice but to let him go.