Page 25

Chapter 22

I invited Jamie in, and he excused himself to go the bathroom. I dropped my purse on the console and tried to gather my thoughts.

I still didn’t know what I was going to tell Mere about Peter’s absence. Fighting an onslaught of guilt, I slipped into the blue parlor and called Lilah to see if she could sleep over one more night. Evidently, Lilah had heard the same rumor Jamie had, because she asked no questions and refused my offer of free meals in perpetuity. She put Mere on the line, who assured me she was having fun and she’d see me tomorrow. I asked, as casually as I could manage, if Peter had called her. He hadn’t. I told her I loved her, but it felt like it was someone else saying the words.

Another woman in another life.

Ever padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. She probably smelled the pizza I’d left out last night. I turned in a circle, sensing something in the house was off. Not bad; off . The house felt different. Doused in the painterly late-afternoon light and eerily still, I watched the motes of white dust swirl through the air. In the hours I’d been gone, I realized the house had lost our smell: my CVS detergent, Peter’s ground coffee beans from South Carolina, the bubble bath I used in Mere’s nightly bath.

The house smelled of George Davenport again, the way it had that first day. Old man, uncleared AC flues, stacks of old newspapers. And, as always, the faint whiff of something chemical. Uncanny, how that underlying smell never seemed to go away no matter how much I cleaned. Even after months of us living here. It was as if the house was sending me a message: I am not yours. I will never be yours.

I still had the headache, which wasn’t much of a surprise, after what I’d done to myself last night, but this was something different. This was a full-body, all-encompassing ache. Like I was standing here in this house, feet on the worn wood boards of the floor, but also floating outside of myself through all the rooms of the house.

I was numb. Dead inside.

My life was over.

Peter was leaving me.

And then, I had the oddest sensation. Intense pain, mine and . . . others—the pain of all the souls who’d lived in this house. Silas Dalzell and his family. And not just their pain but their emotions, too. I was feeling the generations of laughter, their tears. Their peace as they slept and dreamed, their fear when they had a nightmare. I felt the joy of them going picnicking, tromping off to fish in the rust-red creek. I was living inside the memory of this house, and it was a present thing. A living breathing, ongoing now .

Wren and her band of merry, dreadlocked, homeless friends, they were playing house here now, at this very moment, taking their hallucinogens and doing whatever it was they did here. I’d never experimented, but I could imagine how it felt. I was feeling that way now—the way your whole perception expanded. The way you seemed to separate, mind flying from body, the two experiencing different realities at the exact same time.

I felt the spirit world, the world beyond the veil, but I also felt this world in a magnified way. The humming of the window unit I’d forgotten to turn off in my bathroom. I heard the plop-plop-plop of the leaky faucet in Mere’s bathroom. The tick-tick-tick of the ancient refrigerator. The buzzzz of a fly trapped somewhere inside the house. He was banging against a window, flinging himself against the glass, desperate to escape.

Let me out of here, he buzzed. Let me out of here.

I closed my eyes. Visions assaulted me—tunnels that twisted through a jungle, telescoping in and out through the ropy vines. Grids of wallpaper patterns that fractured and re-formed around me. Colors infusing me through my pores, sluicing through my veins, lighting up my cells and organs. I turned in slow motion, sensing Jamie standing near me.

“Did Garnet put mushrooms in that tomato pie?” I asked him, the words feeling strange in my mouth.

“I don’t think so,” Jamie said. “Are you okay?”

I touched my face gingerly. “I feel a little . . . I don’t know. Weird. You didn’t drug me, did you?”

Jamie looked shocked. “Billie, no. God, no, I wouldn’t do that. Are you sick? Do you want me to take you to Doc Belmont’s office?”

I shook my head. “Peter wants a divorce,” I said. My voice sounded like someone else’s.

I could see there were a million questions he wanted to ask but wouldn’t. Then his eyes took on a tender light. “Oh, Billie. I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. There was nothing to say.

“You know, I was jealous of him,” Jamie said. “Of what y’all had. That night at Mayor Dixie’s, by the fire, I remember watching y’all. The way he pulled you to him to dance, the way you responded, the way you moved together so perfectly. It was so easy. So familiar. Like you two had danced a million dances together. Like you had your own private choreography. I could feel it, here.” His fist touched his chest. “Your connection. And my lack of one with anyone. I’ve been alone for a long time. Too long. But there’s nothing to do about it. I’m not going to be with somebody I don’t truly want.”

“Well, it didn’t mean anything in the end, did it? Peter doesn’t want to talk to me. He wants to end our marriage.”

He moved to me, so close I could smell him. “He’s a fool. To leave you and Mere. Not to mention free lemon ricotta hotcakes whenever he wants.”

I smiled wryly. “I never cook those at home.”

“You would for me.” His face lowered, angling toward mine. “Wouldn’t you?”

I caught my breath and looked into Jamie’s eyes. They were not just greenish-blue now, they were iridescent. He moved closer, laid his hand, gently, lightly, on my hip. He moved his hand up, over the curve of my hip, my waist, up my ribs. I lifted my arm, both arms, letting them cross lazily over my head, loving the feel of it. He used both hands now, following the curve of my arms, up, up, until he could grip my wrists.

How did I get here—in this life? How had everything gone to hell so quickly?

But God, it felt so good. He was touching me, but also someone who wasn’t me. It was that other woman who had fucked up her life in such a few easy steps. He pivoted me against the wall, arms over my head. He held me with one hand now, the other moving back down, exploring the curve of my breast, my stomach, then between my legs.

I looked at him. Those iridescent eyes burned. I wondered what secrets they held.

“Can you consent?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the other woman, the woman who was living another life. The woman who wasn’t me.

“Let me make you feel better, Billie. Please. Just for a minute, let me make you feel the way you should.”

I sighed, my eyes closed, some small part of me knowing it was a bad choice, the other part not caring. But I said yes anyway.

* * *

I woke at dawn in Peter’s and my bed. The window was open, and a light breeze blew through the room. Jamie still slept beside me. God, we must’ve slept at least twelve hours, maybe more. Once we’d come back to the house, it seemed time had ceased to exist.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut, searching my memory for an anchor, something to center me. No weird, shape-shifting tunnels or garishly colored geometric shapes appeared. No colors and smells passing through my body like a screen door. Whatever weird high I’d had the previous evening had vanished.

Other things flashed in my brain. Jamie and I spending a good deal of time on the stairs, then moving the show to the bed. Everything that transpired there. As the night slowly replayed in my head, I was feeling the whiplash of regret.

I got up, pulled on the silk robe lying over the back of a chair, and went to the bathroom to pee and wash my hands. In the sink, the water spurted out an orange-red color. “Shit!” Startled, I jerked my hands back and watched as the water gradually went clear. Jesus. When I first saw the water, it looked like blood.

“Billie?”

I shut off the faucet and walked back into the room. Jamie was propped up on his elbow, smiling at me. The secret smile of a lover.

“Do you still feel it?” he asked.

“It’s gone.”

He shook his head slowly, deliberately. “I think it’s this house. I think it might be mold.”

I felt a stab of fear. “Mold?”

“You said Peter was sleeping all the time, right? And your cat was acting strange. Maybe it’s something in the house. Some kind of contamination that’s fucking up your brains or your nervous systems or something.” He hesitated, like there was something else he was about to say.

“What?” I prodded.

He locked his gaze on me. “Move in with me. You and Mere.”

I laughed in disbelief and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re kidding me.”

He sat up. “I’m serious, Billie. Even if it’s just until you can get it checked out and fixed. My cabin isn’t anywhere as nice as this place, but it’s big enough for the three of us. It’s comfortable. You can stay as long as it takes to fix whatever’s going on here. Or maybe by then, you’ll decide you like it there.”

I stared at him. Everything was happening so fast, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Peter walking out and Jamie walking in. I didn’t know what to do. I was numb before. Now I was paralyzed as well.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Come here.”

I scooted closer to him, and he pushed my hair back. “I know you were not quite yourself last night.” He eased over me, balancing on his forearms, and dropped a soft kiss on my lips. “I want us to be together because you choose it. Because it’s what you want.”

What I wanted was my husband. My husband who had left me. Who had left his daughter. Who wanted a divorce.

“Come here . . .”

I wrapped one leg around him, and he pressed into me. I let him in. I shut down the rational, reasonable part of my brain and looked into his eyes. I’d deal with the guilt later. Peter had done this. Peter had left me for no reason other than that he couldn’t adjust to our new life. He’d left me alone, with our daughter, to explain to her. To lie to her. He’d betrayed everything we’d been working for. He’d broken all his promises. He’d broken my heart.

We shall meet but we shall miss him,

There will be one vacant chair . . .

I tried to shut out the song. To focus on the feel of Jamie’s body—his broad smooth chest under my fingertips, the silky hair, his hard thighs. His lips. His hands. On this singular goal we were working toward together. The only goal worth reaching in this moment.

“Oh,” I caught my breath, feeling the mounting pressure, the promise of pleasure to come. Oh God, it felt so good. And I needed to feel good.

Jamie shifted himself over me, his elbows on either side of my head. “I know it’s too soon, Billie, but I want you to—” he started to say.

Stop talking. Please.

Just then, a snarling sound echoed through the house, followed by a high-pitched bark—an animal scream that sounded so primal that it made the hair on my arms stand straight up.

We flew apart. “What was that?” I whispered.

Jamie lifted his chin, straining to listen. “It sounded like—”

We heard it again, a high keening, that snarl, then a yelp of pain. I bolted up and away from Jamie, wrapping the robe around me again. He followed, hot on my heels. Half-dressed, we skidded out into the upstairs hallway. We heard thumps, bumps, more yelps and growls and followed them all the way downstairs.

It wasn’t hard to locate the source—Ramsey and Ever in the conservatory, circling each other, fur bristled, lips curled, and fangs bared. Locked in mortal combat.

“Ramsey?” I shouted. “What are you doing here?” I looked over at Jamie. “He must’ve run away from the vet. Shit!”

The room was in shambles. Pots were overturned, potting soil spilled across the tile floor, and all the plants Mere and I had bought uprooted. Ramsey lunged, Ever dodged, and a race ensued around the small fountain in the center of the room. After a couple of circuits, they returned to their corners, and the roles reversed, Ever attacking Ramsey now. A vicious choreography of thrusts and parries followed, one which threatened to develop into a full-blown fight to the death at any moment.

I shrieked. “Stop it, Ramsey! Get away from him!”

“Stay back,” Jamie said, looking only slightly ridiculous shirtless and in his boxer briefs, waving his shirt over his head like a referee’s flag.

Ever growled and inched toward Ramsey. He hissed back, the fur on his back making him look like some kind of feline stegosaurus. Ramsey leaped at Ever, hooking his claws into the dog’s ruff, and she began to shake her head to get him off. I lunged at them, screaming, “Stop, Ramsey! Stop!” But there was no way I was going to be able to physically separate them. Ever was whimpering in pain and Ramsey continued to hiss like a demon.

Jamie appeared in the hallway, holding the garden hose in one hand, the other, keeping the length of it kinked to stop the flow of water. I watched in disbelief as he let go of the hose, releasing the full stream of water at the animals. “Cut it out, you motherfuckers!” he bellowed, aiming the spray directly at them.

Ramsey double-flipped off Ever, a perfect-10 Olympic gymnast move, and streaked out into the hallway, Jamie following and hose-herding him out the front door.

“Oh my God.” I collapsed in relief then looked back at Ever, who had plunked her butt down on the wet carpet and was glaring at me, indignant, hurt, an expression of betrayal in her soft brown eyes. “Sorry, girl.”

Jamie reappeared, soaked and breathless. “Your cat is a fucking monster.”

“I know, I know.” I started to pick up the overturned pots and planters. Jamie brought back a broom from the kitchen and swept up the dirt and broken glass.

“How did he get back here? I mean, all the way from Dr. Undergrove’s?” he asked.

“Maybe he ran away? But why didn’t someone in the office call to let me know? It’s past nine o’clock in the morning. Surely there can’t be that many animals there that they haven’t noticed. It’s almost like—” I stopped.

Jamie stopped sweeping. “What?”

“I don’t know.” I threw up my hands. “Peter went to the doctor, weeks ago, but we still haven’t heard back on the test results. And now my cat just mysteriously escapes from the vet? It’s like no one wants us to find out what’s going on in this house.”

“To be fair, Peter was up to a lot behind your back. He might’ve heard from the doctor and just not told you.”

“Yeah.” I chewed at my thumbnail. “But now this Ramsey thing . . .”

“You really think Dr. Undergrove turned him out of the clinic on purpose?”

“Okay, just bear with me here. There’s more that doesn’t add up. When I asked to see the plat, to find out about the uncapped well that supposedly is on the property, it was missing. And then Mayor Dixie offered me another house.”

“She did?”

“I think she knows this place is contaminated, and she doesn’t want us suing her. I bet you anything she told Doc Belmont to hold off telling Peter that he had some kind of exposure to contamination. She may have even told Dr. Undergrove to get rid of Ramsey, too.” I felt overwhelmingly weary all of a sudden.

Jamie looked serious. “I just think you should be careful who you talk to going forward. There’s something going on, and I don’t know who you can trust.”

He had a point, but I didn’t know how worried I was about it at the moment. Something about the fight between Ever and Ramsey had jolted me awake. I couldn’t focus on any environmental issue with the house or property—or Mayor Dixie’s bizarre attempt at a cover-up—until I answered the questions burning away everything else out of my brain. Was this really the end of my marriage? Was I ready to accept Peter’s request for a divorce?

I couldn’t answer that, not unless I knew for sure what Peter and Alice had discussed on those tapes. In spite of what Jamie said, I was watching those videos. I had to.