Because I’m fine. I’m always fine. Not thrilled or anxious or joyful or heartbroken. Just fine. This grief is the most I’ve ever felt, and it will fade someday and I’ll be fine again and no one will worry. But maybe Luke will be out there somewhere missing me and I’ll be real for a few moments.
I hold his hand as we walk in as if I’m a normal girl.
Luke’s little brother resembles him, just an inch shorter and a bit stockier. His name is Johnny and his husband is Isaiah. The couple look like two versions of the same man, one white and one black. They both have short hair nearly shorn on the sides, and both wear square tortoiseshell glasses. Their wedding pictures must be cute.
I’m introduced to everyone and I put on my best charming face. Uncertainty is not a normal state for me, but as dinner is served, I wonder what Johnny and Isaiah think of me.
Gay men are more likely to notice that I’m not quite right. Sometimes I’m in the middle of trying to soften them up with flirting when I realize that mask isn’t a good fit for the moment. They can see the strings holding it in place.
Still, everyone likes flattery, regardless of sexuality, so I compliment their home and the cocktails and the dog.
Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. This is my last date with Luke. I let myself relax and try to enjoy observing. A dinner party is a bit like a book: people tell stories and the listeners picture it in their minds, and I enjoy the prose and performance of it all.
There’s an older gay couple at the end of the table, and they are a caricature of people who’ve been married too long. They finish each other’s sentences and share each other’s plates. One of them isn’t eating carbs and the other doesn’t like spinach, so they scrape and swap, clucking over the other’s dietary quirks.
A heterosexual couple next to me hardly speak to each other at all, though they are lively with everyone else. I wonder why they stay together. Their arms never even touch accidentally. But they each tell hilarious stories about their work on local plays, and I like them both a lot for entertaining me. This is almost like a Christmas dinner, a little holiday for me before I have to get back to my darker side.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Luke whispers before dessert.
“I’m enjoying myself. I like your brother.”
“Thank you. He’s pretty great. Don’t you have a brother?”
“Yes. And he’s not great at all.”
Luke laughs and doesn’t press the issue, and I’m glad. My brother was never a brother to me. He was a bully with shitty bully friends. When our parents would disappear, he didn’t take care of me; he didn’t even bother reassuring me. Instead, he’d say things like “Maybe they got tired of you being an ugly freak,” and then he’d use the unsupervised time to stay out late and vandalize abandoned homes.
That was my brother. But Luke and Johnny seem close. Whatever they went through in their family forged sibling solidarity. Luke smiles at his little brother as if he’s proud of him. That’s nice.
I really wish this weren’t our last night together. But Meg deserves to be avenged and I’ll have to sacrifice to avenge her.
As dessert is served—apple bread pudding with rum sauce: yum—Johnny stands and taps his wineglass. I glance at Luke, but he gives an exaggerated shrug.
“Okay, I admit this is more than just a last-minute dinner party. We invited you guys here to announce some news.” Johnny tugs Isaiah’s hand to prompt him to stand up too, and their arms go around each other’s waists as if that’s their default. “A year ago, just after the wedding, we started the process of applying to adopt a baby—”
Luke’s sharp gasp cuts through the other murmurs of surprise.
“It’s been a long road, but . . . we’ve found a birth mother who really likes us, and we really like her, and . . . our baby will be born in February.”
I turn to see Luke’s reaction. He whispers, “Holy shit.” His skin loses all color and his eyes go wide. I’m not sure he’s happy. But then he smiles and everything about him lights up. Tears glisten in his eyes. “Jesus, brother,” he says. “That’s amazing.”
He shoots to his feet and rounds the table to give both men big, squeezing hugs. “I’m going to be an uncle!”
Everyone laughs and congratulates him before crowding close for their own hugs. Johnny is openly crying. The joy in the room is palpable, even to me.
This is the kind of future I lost when I lost Meg. I try to soak up the love, though it doesn’t belong to me. It heats my skin and even sinks a little deeper, the glow warming me briefly inside.
When Luke returns to my side, I hug him and tighten my hold when he squeezes me hard enough to squish the air out of my lungs.
“I’m going to be an uncle! For real!”
“That’s so cool. You didn’t have any idea?”
“None. He’s good at keeping secrets, I guess. I’m just . . . wow. I wonder if I could coach a T-ball team. That would be cool, right? Whether it’s a boy or girl, they’ll like T-ball, won’t they?”
I’m laughing at his wide-eyed wonder. “I have no idea.”
“Yeah, I bet they will. Maybe I should buy a bigger place so the kid can come sleep over whenever they want.”
“It will be a few years before you’d need more room, I think. I had no idea you were this into kids.”
“I’m not! I mean, I never imagined I’d have my own, and since they’re gay, having kids wasn’t an assumption, but . . . God, Johnny will be a great dad, and Isaiah comes from a huge family, so . . . yeah. They’re going to make a really great world for their kids.”
“That’s a lovely way to put it.”
We’re sitting again, and Luke is absently holding my hand and staring at his bread pudding as if he’s seeing a million scenes playing out at once.
“You don’t want kids?” I ask.
He shakes his head, then seems to snap out of his daze. His eyes dart up to meet mine. “I mean, if the woman I’m with really wants kids, I’d seriously think about it.”
I laugh again at his obviousness. No point in explaining that I don’t want kids. Luke will get the hint when I disappear.
Maybe he won’t be the one person in the world who thinks of me after all. I can already tell that his universe will be too full of this tiny niece or nephew.
Isaiah and Johnny take their seats and we finally get to our desserts as they explain that the birth mother knows the sex of the baby but they want it to be a surprise. “The mother is a great girl,” Isaiah says. “First in her family to go to college. She wants to work in criminal justice, maybe even go to law school.”
Everyone at the party is vibrating with excitement. Everybody loves babies. I won’t get to experience the wait or the arrival, but I’m glad that Luke gets this. A real family. He’ll always have a place to go for Christmas.
That’s nice for him. It would have been nice for me too. But he’ll be much better at it. He’ll be more involved, more in love with the experience. He won’t just be leeching emotions from other people because he can’t feel his own.
I take a bite of bread pudding and it’s delicious. That joy will have to be enough for me.
CHAPTER 37
I call Steven at six in the morning to let him know I’m turning off my phone so I can be ready to get back to nature. He laughs at my silliness and says he’ll pick me up at seven for the three-hour drive.
Of course I don’t give a damn about getting back to nature, but I do care about leaving an electronic trail of texts and cell phone signals. The last thing I need is Steven texting me messages that could be used to ferret out the truth in a police investigation.
I leave my phone turned on and hide it in a dresser drawer in case I need to establish that I never left town. Then I pull an identical burner phone from its hiding place in the closet. No way am I going into the forest and not taking a phone. I may need to make a very convincing 911 call.
Speaking of, I’ve studied those. People say certain things during a real eme
rgency and different kinds of things when they’re faking it and covering up a crime. I’ve got this down. All of my worry and fear will be focused on Steven. I won’t establish an alibi or theorize about what probably happened. I’ll be confused and cooperative and so scared for him. I’ll do exactly what the operator tells me, but I’ll frantically beg for more help for him.
But I hope to avoid all that entirely. Best to keep it as simple as possible.
I pack the used boots and jacket I just bought, along with a hat and mittens. I choose two changes of clothes, flannel pajamas, and a nearly transparent black nightgown in case I need to distract him or just screw him to sleep. Then I add a few more things to my duffel bag: latex gloves, my pocketknife, duct tape, zip ties, a small flashlight, and a collapsible shovel I bought along with the hunting gear. He’ll bring the gun, which is very thoughtful of him.
My flowery dress disguise won’t cut it today, so I wear skinny jeans and a sweater and pull on half boots with a heel so he can make fun of me for being impractical.
I put out an extra-large bowl of water for my cat and enough dry food to last for two days. I’m just sitting down to play with her when I realize there’s a bigger problem: if I need to go on the run, my cat will be trapped here alone. I don’t know if I’d feel worried or guilty per se, but I definitely wouldn’t like thinking about it. Shit.
I briefly consider smuggling her along on the hunting trip in my duffel bag. She might be quiet long enough to get an hour out of town, but Steven is so passionate in his hatred he could just leave us on the side of the road in retaliation. He might even decide to drive her all the way to the cabin and shoot her. I’d immediately kill him, of course, but that wouldn’t bring my cat back.
What to do?
I close my eyes and ponder the options. If things go badly and I do have to disappear, there will be a good reason. I’ll be under suspicion and the cops will come to the apartment regardless. So, at worst she’d be here for a week or so. Even if I jump the gun and run before the cops are looking for me, surely Luke will drop by to try to contact me. He would hear the cat meowing.
Decision made, I get up and put out another, larger bowl of dry food and a cake pan full of water. That should keep her going long enough to be discovered. I suppose if I were less selfish I’d leave a window open so she can escape, but I don’t want to take the chance of losing her. She’s mine, and I’ll need entertainment while I lie low and play the worried girlfriend.
When I return to the couch, my cat is staring at her favorite feather toy, waiting for me to pick up the stick it hangs from and make it move. She gives me a croaky meow of impatience and her eyes flash silver when she turns in my direction. I wonder if the couch will be intact when I return. It’s the first thing I’d destroy if I were her.
I play with her for fifteen minutes, admiring the vicious athleticism of her twisting, stretching body. I wish I could move like that. Wish I could suddenly expose curved claws above the little pink pads of my fingers. What a gift.
She eventually tires of me and slinks away to eat her breakfast and give herself a bath.
“Bye, cat,” I say as she deserts me.
I still have fifteen minutes to waste. I get out the letter for an extra jolt of inspiration. It works.
CHAPTER 38
Jane, it’s me. I’m so, so sorry.
I love you so much. You and my mom are the only people I don’t want to leave, but I can’t do this anymore.
Steven is my soul mate, and despite all our problems, I don’t know how to do this without him. We were going to have a life, a house, a family. Now I have nothing.
Maybe that’s what I deserve. He says I have nothing because I am nothing. It feels like he’s right. It feels like I’ve spent my whole life falling down, and I’m too broken to get back up and try anymore. I’m afraid to do it without someone to love.
Please don’t be mad at me, Jane. I’m so tired. I haven’t stopped crying all week. I just want to stop crying. I know you won’t understand that. You were always the strong one. The big sister I never had and always needed.
Please be strong for me now.
Thank you for letting me into your life. I should have listened to you about so many things.
I love you bunches, Jane. I love you always. Please forgive me.
Yours forever and ever,
Meg
CHAPTER 39
“Don’t you want to come inside and show off your fancy boots?” Steven asks with a snide smile.
I slide lower in my seat in case anyone else pulls up on this side of the little general store. “I’m supposed to be a secret. You didn’t tell anyone I was coming, right?”
“No.”
“So what if the store owner knows your friend and tells him you brought a girl up here? He might tell your dad.”
“Good point. I’ll grab a few groceries and be right back.”
“Get some ice cream!” I call out as he closes the door.
He gives me a disappointed look and shakes his head. Ice cream is only for girls who are a size four, I guess. I don’t deserve it. The back of the truck is already full of beer and snacks, but Steven wants to grab bacon and eggs and some hot dogs for dinner. We’re going to cook them over a fire. He was irritated when I called it a weenie roast, so I’ve said it at least three more times.
“Weenie roast,” I say again, and giggle.
Despite the three hours on the road, I haven’t quite decided how to kill him yet. There’s no perfect option to keep me out of harm’s way, and my brain is rebelling at the idea of self-sacrifice. It won’t settle on a plan.
Or maybe I secretly have morals! But, no, that doesn’t feel right. I want him dead.
The option that would cause the least suspicion would be burying him in the woods and then pretending I was never here. I’d get the most cover with this one. Steven would tragically disappear on a hunting trip, and the police would likely barely question me, if they got around to it at all. All my playacting would be for Steven’s family, and it wouldn’t be difficult to fool them.
But there are a couple of big problems with that plan. First, I’d have to find a way home without leaving a trail of evidence. Second, there’s really no way for me to guarantee that no one has noticed me or will notice me. If the cops find out I lied about being here, I’d be screwed.
Still, it’s my favorite option at this point, because I’m mostly out of the equation.
Another fairly good alternative is to kill and bury Steven in the woods, then call the sheriff tomorrow night when Steven doesn’t return to the cabin. Hunters and hikers disappear all the time, and it’s forecast to start snowing on Sunday. They’d never find his body in these thousands of acres of woods.
This plan would involve a lot of acting on my part, and my audience would be seasoned professionals. A challenge, but I think I’m up to it. I’ve been acting my whole life.
The identity I’ve created is solid enough for a quick background check. I’ll just look like a girl who keeps to herself and has never had a brush with the law.
I don’t think they’d dig deeper. For the first week or so, he’d only be a missing person, presumed lost in the woods, so they wouldn’t focus on me. They’d be too busy searching for a man who could still be rescued.
And, really, I’m a woman he started dating three weeks ago. We’re not married, I wouldn’t benefit in any way from his death, and a motive more complicated than that would take a lot of imagination to conjure.
It’s a decent plan.
The last option for killing Steven is my least favorite, but it might come down to opportunity. He teaches me to hunt and there’s a terrible accident. These things happen when there are guns around. This scenario puts me in the spotlight, of course, but again, we’ve only been dating a few weeks; why in the world would I murder him?
This is an emergency-only option. I don’t want that kind of investigation into my identity. It wouldn’t hold up. But I still enjoy thinking a
bout it. The shock on Steven’s face as he realizes I’ve shot him. The fear and pain. I’d sit next to him and tell him the whole truth as he died. I’d make him apologize for Meg. I’d make him regret everything.
And then my hysteria as I race to a road and try to flag down a passerby! A kindly old sheriff would arrive and I’d offer a sobbing, stuttering confession. He’d likely believe it immediately because I’m a woman, and women are so dumb about guns and hunting and common sense. He has a granddaughter just like me, God bless her. Steven probably deserved it for handing his gun over to an idiot female, anyway. He was thinking with his dick instead of his brain.
It’d make a good TV episode.
Steven rounds the corner of the general store with a paper bag full of goodies and I wave happily.
“Did you get ice cream?” I ask once he’s behind the wheel again.
“They didn’t have any.”
What a liar. “Thanks for bringing me with you. I’m so excited.”
“You’ve said that about a million times.”
“Because I’m excited, silly.”
“I know, babe.” He pats my thigh.
“Tonight’s going to be so nice.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I brought a little nightie I thought you might like.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He shoots me a hot look as he turns off the county road onto a dirt lane. “Is it black?”
“Yes.”
“Short?”
“Yes.”
“Mm. So you’re going to dress up like a little whore for me?”
“Stop!” I smack him in the shoulder.
“You know I like it. As long as it’s just for me.”
“It is.”
“You can model it. Show me how sexy you are. I’ll take a few pictures.”
“That is not going to happen!”
“We’ll see what you say after a bottle of champagne.”
Jane Doe Page 17