Zahid called to his dog.
“Princess,” he said. “Come here, girl,” he said. “It’s time to go.”
Zahid’s dog wagged her tail, but she did not budge. I was glad. Posey had made her choice. My mother would keep the dog.
“That’s my dog,” Zahid said.
“Not anymore,” I said.
My mother did not disagree.
“Leave this house,” my father said to Zahid.
“I want her to put the gun down,” Zahid said. “She is making me nervous.”
I did not lower the gun. It would have been nice if Zahid could have called me by my name.
“Will you come with me?” Zahid asked Khloe. “Khloe? We can take the train together.”
“Khloe stays.”
My arm had begun to waver. I was hot and I was thirsty. I wanted Zahid gone already so that I could go into the kitchen and get a glass of seltzer filled with ice. A slice of lime. There were so many things I wanted in life.
Not him. I was done with him.
“Sorry, Zahid,” Khloe said.
“Okay,” Zahid said. “Okay. I am leaving. I am going.”
It was as if he expected someone to stop him.
And finally, he left.
Zahid walked through the living room and then the kitchen and then he was out the front door. He was wearing only his purple bathing suit. He did not have his clothes. He did not have his wallet. His dog. He did not have his laptop computer.
Poor, pathetic motherfucker. He would figure it out.
My mother took a deep breath.
“Oh, Rachel, honey,” she said. “Thank God,” she said. She looked like she wanted to hug me again, but did not dare. “Thank God. I love you. I love you so much. Do you know how much I love you?”
I nodded.
Finally, she had said the right thing.
I looked back down at the gun. Somehow, I was still holding it. My fingers were slick with sweat.
“I love you, too,” I said.
Everything was fine. My mother still loved me. Suddenly, I wanted only her. I wanted to crawl into her arms, have her stroke my hair, hold me close, only I was not sure about what to do with the stupid gun.
“Don’t worry, everyone,” I said. “I would never shoot anyone. Did you think I would? Did I scare you?” I smiled. I even waved the gun a little bit. “I scared you.”
I had scared them.
I liked that.
I lowered my arms.
It had been a long day. It was hot. My finger slipped.
The blood came right away, thick and red, gushing into the water. I had shot myself in the foot. Somehow, I did not feel a thing. I dropped the gun, finally, watching it sink to the bottom of the pool and I started to laugh.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Alex Glass, you gave me deadlines and suggestions and almost gleeful encouragement and I wrote this book.
Jennifer Jackson, for being my editor, Zakiya Harris, Paul Bogaards, Robin Desser, Rachel Fershleiser, Nicholas Latimer, Danielle Plasky, Katie Shoder, and every one at Knopf for giving Very Nice such a splendid home.
Shelley Salemensky for being a perfect first reader, nearly stepping out into traffic while reading the opening chapters. Ellis Avery for being inspiration. Sara Levine for taking me to the beach in Connecticut and the long distance writing dates. Jillian Medoff for a summer of poolside coaching.
Lenny Letter and Joyland magazine for publishing short stories that would become part of the novel.
And my family, always. My mother, Ann, and my sister, Julie, and my brother, Michael. My daughter, Nina, who sat down with me to write upon occasion, even though she often interrupted me to read aloud what she had written. And thank you, Dad, Ira Sidney Dermansky, who was so proud of me and excited about this book.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marcy Dermansky is the author of the critically acclaimed novels The Red Car, Bad Marie, and Twins. She has received fellowships from the MacDowell Colony and the Edward F. Albee Foundation. She lives with her daughter in Montclair, New Jersey.
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