by P. J. Vernon
“Should we sit?” she asked, motioning to the chairs.
I moved the casserole dish to the other side of me and helped her limp into a seat. She leaned her crutch against the armrest. “Banana pudding courtesy of your mother,” I announced. “Your favorite, I think.”
“No,” she answered. “Not really. But it’s a nice thought.”
“So,” I began, brushing my thighs nervously. “You’re getting well?”
“You mean to ask if Annie has disappeared?” She chuckled, and I wondered if she saw doubt in my eyes. The doubt I held that Annie even existed. “I’m on about six or seven different medications. The irony of which isn’t lost on me. There’s a mood-stabilizer. An antidepressant. Something for anxiety. Something to get me to sleep. Another to wake me up…” She laughed.
All things considered, it relieved me to see her laugh. From what I understood, recovery was inextricably linked to one’s frame of mind. Their outlook. And regardless of the truth—the truth only Gray knew—I did want her to be better. After Matthew, after what she’d alleged Paul had planned, my heart hurt for her. She could’ve grown into an entirely different woman if she’d had the love and protection family was meant to afford. Maybe she still could be that woman.
“They tell me to take it one day at a time.” Gray sighed. “Which is what I’m doing.”
“And how about the counseling? Has that been helpful?”
She rubbed her fingers against her palms. “At first it wasn’t easy, but I’m getting the hang of it. Talking things out, that is. I’ve got a wonderful therapist. She reminds me of…” she hesitated. “Of my sister. I’ve told her as much, and we’re determined to address me and Charlotte’s estrangement when I’m healthy enough.”
I cast my eyes down until the uncomfortable mention of Charlotte passed, and Gray spoke again. “But, I haven’t had a drop to drink in over a month. Longest I’ve gone in years. Funny how sharp my mind’s been these days, even with all the medication.”
“You’re going to get healthy, Gray,” I told her warmly. “I know you are.”
She smiled. “Denial’s a way of saving yourself from some awful truth. Something so terrible, so categorically horrible, you believe acknowledging it might break you. I know now the breaking of a person isn’t the worst that can happen.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, though I already knew.
She seemed to grow tired as she answered. Her glowing cheeks flushed with fatigue. “When a person breaks, it’s a frightening thing. Not because of what’s undone, but because of what might be unleashed.” She met my eyes. “The very rotten thing that might be unleashed. But that’s the thing I must accept. I have to take responsibility for what I’ve done and turn the rot into something new. Become a different woman than I was before.”
A hospital orderly rapped on the door and peeked inside. “Mrs. Godfrey, we’ll have to be getting back now. Lunch time.” He tapped a leather wristwatch.
“King. Ms. King,” she corrected him. “And I know. Every calorie counts. Doctor’s orders.”
“That’s right,” he said, beaming. “I’ll be back to collect that dish, too. When the desk checked it over, they said they’d never smelled such a yummy pudding.” With that, he left to let us finish the visit in private.
I stood and helped Gray to her feet, tucking her crutch under her arm. I held the door open as she hobbled towards it. The orderly had vanished somewhere down the hall. I reckoned Gray knew where to go from here.
“One last thing, Nina.” She stopped and turned to another door just outside the room. “Do you mind helping me wash my hands for lunch?”
“Certainly,” I answered. The second door opened into a single toilet bathroom. I stood in the doorway, propping it open as she lathered and rinsed her hands. I passed her a paper towel to dry them.
“Banana pudding. I said it’s not my favorite,” she stated, toweling her hands dry. She cast her eyes into the tiny mirror hanging above the faucet. They met mine in the reflection. “It’s Gray’s.”
Acknowledgments
I wrote The End, and then the work began.
A tremendous debt of gratitude is owed to the entire team at Crooked Lane Books, but most of all, my editor: Chelsey Emmelhainz. Thank you for your unending patience, bottomless well of wisdom and encouragement, and breathing life into this story. It couldn’t have found a fiercer advocate. Likewise, I owe my agent, Chris Bucci of CookeMcDermid, enormous thanks for his invaluable insight and support. I’m in over my head without you.
A very special thank you is owed to Beth Phelan and the writers, agents, and editors who organize and participate in #DVpit. The #DVpit mission is powerful and cannot be overstated.
I’m so fortunate to have family and friends whose thoughtful questioning and candid support elevated this work beyond anything I alone could do. April, Christa, Chris M., Craig, Daniel, Dee, Jodi, Justin, Kathy, Katie, Kristen, Lise, Liz, Paul, Renée, Rhiannon, Swati, and many others: Thank you.
My parents, Mark and Mary. Thank you for stoking my zeal for life. I’d never believe I should if you’d never taught me that I could.
Finally, Barry. Your faith and love has carried me over the finish line.
Author Biography
P. J. Vernon was born in South Carolina. Heb holds a PhD in immunology and published science before turning his hand to publishing fiction. P. J. is an insatiable reader of suspense and domestic noir. His writing—and love for all things unsettling—is influenced by the works of Gillian Flynn, S. J. Watson, and the late A.S.A. Harrison. Apart from spinning tales of dark secrets or terror in suburbia, P. J. is an active member of the Imaginative Fiction Writers Association (IFWA) and the Alberta Romance Writers Association (ARWA). He lives in Canada with his partner and two wily dogs.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Philip Vernon.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-749-4
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-750-0
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-751-7
Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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New York, NY 10001
First Edition: October 2018
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