I hear her wash her hands, and when I come out, she’s gone. A little part of me is disappointed. I need to see what she looks like. I need to see if she’s prettier than me.
But then again, that’s dumb. It’s not like she’s competition.
I rinse my mouth out, pick up my food from Vilma, and the crisp air outside feels so good on my flushed face.
I drive home, wait for the garage door to open and walk into the kitchen entrance of my house. I call for Jude, but there’s no answer. I find him in his office, staring at his phone.
“Hey,” I greet him. He startles and shoves his phone into his pocket.
“Hey,” he answers, and he’s clearly surprised. “What are you doing home?”
“I’m still sick. I’m going to take a couple days off.”
Only now I know—I’ll be sick for a few months. I’m still trying to process it.
I glance at my husband, assessing his mood. He seems to be tired, antsy even. Now is not the time to tell him.
“I came bearing gifts,” I tell him. “Dinner. It’s in the kitchen.”
He’s appreciative and tired, and I kiss him on the cheek. “I’m just going to change, and then I’ll be right there.”
I head to the bedroom, and on a whim, and I don’t know why, I decide to put on one of his shirts instead of my pajamas. He’s always loved it when I wear his shirts, and I guess I’m hopeful it will make him smile. He seems so distracted lately. Work must be bombarding him. I certainly know the feeling.
I wear only a pair of panties underneath his shirt and unbutton the top few buttons so that the swell of my breasts shows when I move.
I run my hands over my silhouette in the mirror.
It’s going to change very soon. My breasts will engorge, my belly will swell.
I swallow hard. I don’t know if I’m ready.
But I guess I have to be.
I join my husband in the kitchen, and his gaze flickers over me from top to bottom. I know he must be tired when he doesn’t react much.
“Well, well,” he says quietly as he serves our food. “Look at you.”
I grin. “It’s just a little something I picked up.”
He smiles back. “I like it.”
But his eyes don’t have the spark in them that I thought they would.
“You’re tired,” I observe.
He nods. “So tired.”
“Me, too.”
Now is definitely not the time to tell him.
I eat my soup, he eats his salad, and afterward, we sit staring at each other.
“Want to continue our game?”
“Sure.”
We walk into the living room together, and as I sink to the floor, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. Something on the porch. I can’t see what it is from here, but it’s small and dark.
“Did you order something?” I ask Jude, climbing back to my feet.
“Nope,” he answers, studying the board, already plotting his next move.
“Don’t cheat while I’m gone,” I warn him as I head to the door.
He chuckles. “I can’t promise.”
I’m snorting when I reach the porch.
And then I’m frozen.
The address stares up at me. The address. Tarnished bronze numbers and letters stare up at me, and this can’t be happening.
131 All Hallows Lane.
My eyes flit around the lawn, at the dark, at the shadows, and there is no one there.
Yet someone was.
I’m not imagining this.
It’s real.
My breath is caught and I’m floating, and I’m falling, and I can’t decide what I’m doing. Floating or falling? My thoughts come in slow motion and blurs, and the old metal burns a hole in my brain, and Jude’s voice cuts through it all.
“Co. Corinne. Corinne.”
His hands are around me, then his arms, then he’s carrying me to the couch. I can’t breathe and he’s rubbing my back, and his voice is soothing.
“It’s okay. Take a breath. Relax. Relax. Tell me what you see in the room. Open your eyes, babe. Open your eyes.”
I feel like I need a crowbar to do it, but I open them, and the light comes in, and my breath still won’t come. The room spins, and I try to focus.
Jude sits down next to me again and holds my hand.
“Tell me what you see, Corinne.”
“There’s a fireplace.”
“What color is the flame?”
“Orange.”
I take a breath. It’s short and stilted, but it still feeds my lungs.
“What color is the clock on the mantel?”
“Bronze.” Almost the same color as the address plaque. “Why is that on our porch?”
I pant now, and fear floods through me, and I don’t know why. What is there to be afraid of?
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jude answers calmly. “But don’t focus on that right now. Focus on me. Focus on breathing. Focus on my voice.”
He starts singing to me, giving me something to focus on. A dumb song that I know he hates from the radio. He hates it and I love it.
I focus and focus and focus.
And after a few minutes, my throat relaxes. My heart slows. I can breathe again.
I rest my forehead on Jude’s shoulder and try to stay calm.
“Are you okay now?” Jude asks me. He strokes my fingers.
I nod.
“How long have you been having panic attacks?”
He’s not accusing, just concerned. His mouth is drawn, his eyes are guarded.
“Not very. My hormones... I...” I almost tell him, but now isn’t the time, so I trail off, and Jude waits. I begin again.
“The address plaque on the porch,” I say. “It’s the address from...that night. It’s the same address plaque.”
Jude looks at me in concern and then gets up. He walks to the door, opens it and looks outside. He looks one way and then the other. He’s there for a minute, and when he comes back, I’m terrified of what he is going to say.
His face is a blank blank mask, and he looks at me oh so carefully.
“Corinne,” he says softly. “There’s nothing there.”
38
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
“So the address plaque wasn’t there?” Dr. Phillips asks, and his pen is ever ready on his page. I shake my head painfully, acknowledging the truth.
“No.”
My face sinks into my hands, and I stay like that, my eyes hidden, for minutes and minutes. It’s humiliating to admit. It’s devastating to realize.
“Dr. Cabot?”
I don’t respond.
“Dr. Cabot?” I finally lift my face, and Dr. Phillips is watching me.
“Don’t hide from it now,” he advises. “That’s the last thing you should do. Let’s face reality together, shall we?”
I have to laugh, a bitter-laced laugh, and he raises an eyebrow.
“You don’t think I know your reality?” he asks. “I assure you, my dear, I do.”
My head snaps up. “You know what it’s like to be unsure of reality? To not know what is real and what’s not? I doubt that.”
He smiles, a bit wry. “Not firsthand, but I’ve had a practice for a long time. I’ve treated dozens of patients that this has happened to in some capacity. Trust me, I get it.”
“But you don’t,” I tell him firmly. “Until you have holes in your brain, until you personally think you remember something, but it turns out that you don’t at all, then you don’t know, Dr. Phillips. With all due respect.”
He nods slightly. “Okay. Point taken. Your case is exclusively yours. Your situation is unique to you, and so you are c
orrect. I do not know. I do not know personally. But I’m still here to help. Will you let me?”
“I really just want to go home,” I tell him simply. “I want to forget everything that’s happened and get on with my life.”
He’s sympathetic, but resolute. “Yeah, but that’s not possible, is it?”
I sigh. “No.”
“Let’s revisit your memory from last time. You said you weren’t alone. Have you remembered anything else?”
I stare at the floor. “I had a nightmare once, before I came here. I’m not sure if it was just a nightmare or if it was part of the memory.”
Dr. Phillips waits.
“Someone called me a cunt. Kept saying it in my ear. A man. I’ve been seeing and hearing that word...in a lot of places lately.”
“The same man you remember seeing in the house that night?” His pen scratches on the page.
“I’m not sure, but that would make sense.”
“Who else would be at the house?” He looks at me. “Melanie and Joe were out for dinner, right? It was Halloween. Why weren’t they out trick-or-treating with their kids?”
“Well, Joey was just a baby. And the two older girls... Joe didn’t want them going out for some reason. I guess I never asked why. But it is very strange, isn’t it?”
“I agree,” he says. “Unless it’s for religious reasons. Were they religious?”
I shake my head. “Catholic, but not devout.”
“Hmm. Okay. Well, let’s go back to that night. When you walked through the door, what did you feel?”
I close my eyes, trying to focus on my memories. “I was nervous. I knew about Melanie and my father, and it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say.”
“What did Melanie say to you?”
I picture the way she’d been at the sink and had turned to me, wiping her hands on a towel and her shirt.
Hi, hon, she’d said. Glad to see you. Joey has missed you.
“The baby loved me,” I remember. “That’s why Melanie liked for me to babysit.”
“And the girls?”
I focus on them. They had blond pigtails and serious eyes.
“They were very quiet.”
“What are you feeling right now?” he asks quietly, and I focus on my belly. It’s heavy and knotted.
“Fear.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I feel this...foreboding. Something bad is going to happen.”
“Did you put the kids to bed?” the doctor asks me.
I nod. “Yeah. We watched television for a while first. I bathed the baby, and the water was still in the tub when...”
I pause. A memory has dropped itself into my head... Shoes. A hand over my mouth. The taste of dirt on his hands.
“I was going to go clean up the bathroom when he grabbed me. I tried to scream, but his hand was big. I couldn’t make a sound.”
“Can you see who it was?”
I’m looking through the eyes of eighteen-year-old Corinne, and I see the bedroom, the dark shadows and the unmade bed. I smell the fall leaves coming in from the open window, and I feel the sheets as they’re pressed into my face.
“He holds me down and pushes my face into the bed,” I whisper, and my hands are knotted together. “He keeps telling me that I’m a cunt. I tempted him, and I’m a cunt.”
“Who is it?”
I focus and focus and focus.
The face blurs into black and then comes back into focus.
I blink.
“Joe Gibson.”
39
One day until Halloween
Corinne
I text my husband.
Want to come home for lunch? I’ll make it worth your while.
My stomach is queasy, but I need to be up and about. I need to tell my husband our news. He’s going to be floored. Thrilled. Ecstatic.
He doesn’t answer for a while, and that’s fine because I know he had patients all morning.
Sure. Should I bring lunch?
I think about that for a minute, and about our bare cupboards.
Sure, lol. You might need sustenance, I suppose. Can I get some soup?
He answers right away. Chicken? From Vilma’s?
Yes, please, I answer.
K. I’ll be there around noon-ish.
Despite my nausea, I make myself take a shower and get ready. I put on makeup and lip gloss and blow-dry my hair. I vomit in the middle there somewhere, but it’s not a big deal. I’m growing used to that.
I nibble on saltine crackers while I wait, and when the clock hands hit noon exactly, Jude’s Land Rover turns into the drive.
I feel ridiculously nervous.
This is Jude. My Jude. There’s no reason to be anxious. This is what he wants. My hands flutter to my belly, shielding the life within. Our baby will be beautiful.
Jude opens the front door, and his smile is radiant, the hazel in his eyes warm, like liquid gold.
“Hey, babe,” he greets me, kissing my cheek. I grab him, inhaling the cold air in his clothes, and kiss him on the mouth instead.
He’s surprised but holds me for a minute.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quickly, and I laugh, taking the bag from him.
“Nothing at all. I just have something to tell you.”
His mouth curls up at the edges anxiously, and I put a hand on his arm. “It’s not bad,” I tell him. “In fact, sit down.”
He sits, and I put our food on the coffee table, taking a deep breath as I turn to him. I grab his hand.
“I’m pregnant,” I tell him simply.
He stares at me for a minute, uncomprehending. Then his entire face lights up, and he grins.
“You’re...pregnant.”
I smile. “Yes. You’re going to be a daddy.”
He grabs me and hugs me and doesn’t let go. “So, you didn’t have the flu.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I’m stunned,” he admits finally, pulling back. “How did it happen? I know you didn’t plan it. You weren’t ready. Oh my God, you weren’t ready. Are you okay?”
He’s worried now, worried about me, and that pulls on my heart.
I squeeze his hand. “It’s ours, Ju. Maybe it’ll be a little boy with hazel eyes like you.”
He smiles at the thought, looking out the window. “Or a blonde girl with blue eyes like you.”
I push away that thought—because I don’t want our child to be like me. Or worse, like my father. I push push push the thought away.
Jude stares at me, and I think he can read my mind. “It will be okay,” he assures me. “It will.”
I nod and swallow, and he hugs me again, just as happy as I thought he would be.
“Is it wrong that I want to make love to you right now?” he asks thoughtfully.
I laugh, reaching for him.
“Please do. I miss you, Ju,” I whisper into his ear.
He makes love to me on the couch, and for a few blessed minutes, we feel close again, like the same person. All of my worries and fears fade away as we rock together, my ankles on his shoulders.
“I love you,” I whisper afterward.
“Not as much as I love you.”
40
Twelve hours until Halloween
Jude
My phone buzzes with texts, and while they used to make me feel good, they only make me disgusted now.
Hey, how are you?
Where are you?
Can I see you soon?
Zoe’s words make me a monster. My actions have made me a monster. I have to end it.
And I will.
But not via text. That would be a total dick thing to do. It’s not this girl’s fault that I was using her
to make myself feel better. And I know that’s what I’ve been doing.
I felt neglected, I felt insufficient for my wife, and I used this girl, this girl who has clear daddy issues, to boost my ego.
It was a total dick thing to do.
But I’m getting everything I want now. Corinne will be home more often, we’re having a baby. Everything will be fine.
I’ll break it off with Zoe gently.
I haven’t even had sex with her.
No blood, no foul.
I text her back, finally. How about now? Meet me in the park? 20 minutes?
She answers immediately. Yesssssss!
Corinne is at the grocery store, so I feed Artie, then slip out the door. I’ll make this fast and be home by the time she gets back.
The cold air bites at my cheeks, and I drive rather than jog.
When I arrive, Zoe is already there.
“Hey, handsome,” she greets me. She’s wearing jeans this time, but her shirt is unbuttoned practically down to her navel. “I’ve missed you.”
She reaches for me, but I step back.
“Zoe, we need to talk.”
Her face goes dark. “What do you mean?”
I pause. “I mean, I can’t keep doing this. It’s wrong.”
“You haven’t had a problem before now,” she points out, and she’s confused. “I don’t understand. I’m not asking you for anything, Jude. I just want your time now and then. I know you’re married.”
“That’s the thing. I’m married. I’m not the kind of person to do this type of thing.”
“But you’ve been doing it already,” she mentions, and the guilt builds up in me again.
“Yeah, I know. But I haven’t crossed the line yet, and I don’t intend to. You’re a beautiful girl, and you’ll make someone else very lucky.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me.”
She thinks on that and stares at me and reaches for me, but I take another step back.
“I mean it, Zoe. I just can’t. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, I do. I understand that you’re missing out on the best thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s a mistake, Jude.”
Her eyes are sharp, her tone is sharper.
“I’ll have to take that chance. Think about it, Zoe. You deserve better than being the other woman. You deserve someone who is free to marry you. You deserve to be someone’s first priority.”
Such Dark Things Page 20