Page 3 of Kill Your Darlings

to remind them that he was now completely vegetarian and then he’d asked if he could bring a friend along, some girl named

Ashtyn.

Thom nearly asked who Ashtyn was, because he couldn’t remember, but something told him not to ask, something told him that,

once again, he’d forgotten some crucial information about his family’s life. “I think I’ll go read,” he said, and took himself

to his office.

He lay down on the couch across from his desk, looked at his phone a little, checking his son’s Instagram to see if there

was a picture of this girl he was bringing. They’d only just gotten used to the previous girlfriend, Tonya, who had been eerily

uncommunicative but whom Jason seemed to genuinely love. And now he was dating someone called Ashtyn. He put his phone down

and picked up his book— Lying to Doctors by Catalina Soto—reading just a few pages before shutting his eyes, hoping to get some sleep.

But images kept appearing and disappearing in his mind.

His wife’s face in the dim hallway light, her eyes cold and unloving.

Emily’s face in the firelight as he spoke words at her, words that he couldn’t conjure up.

What had they been talking about? He felt deep shame that he couldn’t remember.

And then all he could think about was the coldness in his bones.

He turned onto his side, tucked his knees up.

Something flickered in the corner of his attic office, and for a moment he thought it was his cat, Samsa, skirting the baseboards.

But Samsa had been dead for six months. And for a terrible moment Thom thought he might cry, something he hadn’t done in years.

Instead, he sat up, rubbed at his ribs again, and wondered how long Wendy would be in the kitchen.

He wanted a beer but didn’t want her to see him get one.

iii

The weather had cleared by Sunday morning and they all took a walk, Wendy and Thom; their son, Jason; and his new girlfriend,

Ashtyn, who had turned out to be the exact opposite of his last girlfriend. Blond instead of dark, inquisitive and talkative

instead of standoffish. In fact, she’d barely stopped talking since arriving late on Friday evening. She was talking now—she

just couldn’t get over how beautiful it was on Goose Neck, and she couldn’t believe she’d never been here, but she was really more of a South-Shore

girl, having grown up in Wareham.

“You’ll have to switch your allegiance,” Thom said.

“What, South Shore to North Shore? I’m a Cape girl; you’re kidding, right?”

Wendy watched as Thom sped up ahead of them so that he was just with Ashtyn. He liked her, she could tell. Well, Wendy liked

Ashtyn as well. She wasn’t intellectual, exactly, but she seemed to exude some joy, a character trait not usually shared by

Jason’s string of moody girlfriends. Wendy slowed her pace, Jason beside her, so that she could talk privately to her son.

“So?” Jason said.

“So what?”

“What do you think of Ashtyn? You were just watching her and analyzing. I could tell.”

“She’s lovely. So different from Tonya.”

“You didn’t think Tonya was lovely?”

“Lovely to look at, but she wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, was she?”

Jason kicked at a horse chestnut, knocking it a few feet ahead of him. She’d taken enough walks with him, ever since he’d

been a boy, to know that he would keep kicking that particular chestnut for as long as he could keep it in front of him. “No,

she was difficult. Ashtyn’s easy, although she’s smarter than she looks.”

“Did I say she didn’t look smart?”

“You probably thought it. She went to school on a full scholarship, you know.”

Up ahead, Thom and Ashtyn had stopped walking so that Thom could point out the city hall across the harbor. Wendy and Jason

stopped as well. “Yes, she told me. What are her parents like?”

“Nice, I think. Different. Neither of them went to college. She’s the first in her family—”

“She has two older brothers, though.”

“They’re both plumbers, like their father.”

“Smart boys.”

Wendy took a look at her son’s profile as he squinted toward the water. He’d had sort of a hipster mustache that he’d recently

removed from his upper lip, and he looked so similar to the way Thom had looked at the same age. Dark-brown eyes, full brows,

that beautiful rosebud mouth that was almost girlish. But he wasn’t like Thom, Wendy thought. He wasn’t a striver, wasn’t

someone who cared what others thought of him, despite the ill-fated mustache. He seemed mostly happy in his own skin.

“How are you and Dad?” he asked. They were walking again.

“How do you think we are?”

“Dad’s drinking a lot.”

“That’s not exactly a new thing, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. Does it worry you?”

Instead of answering right away, Wendy thought about the question. “Ten years ago it did. I thought he’d do something to wreck

his career or else he’d wreck the car, end up killing himself, or worse, someone else. But now it’s just part of our life,

I guess. He drinks more when people are visiting. I don’t know what to say. Does it worry you?”

“Yes,” Jason said emphatically. “It makes me crazy that he’s always telling me we don’t spend enough time together, and then

when we do get together, he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even remember it.”

“I hear you, Jason, you’re preaching to the choir.”

That night, after her son and his girlfriend had left, and after Thom had fallen asleep in front of a hockey game, Wendy sat

in the living room with a blanket around her, and her book in her lap, just thinking. What would she be doing right now if

Thom’s fall on Thursday night had broken his neck and killed him? He’d be dead three days. Jason would have come earlier,

and he’d still be here. What else? The neighbors would have made casseroles, and old friends would have called or sent text

messages. And she’d be planning a funeral.

It would be a lot, those first few weeks, but once Thom was in the ground, then the next phase of her life could begin.

She’d delete that novel he had begun work on, make sure it never saw the light of day.

And then she’d be free to do what she wanted, not just for the remainder of her life but for every day of that life.

The house would be hers, and the garden, and even the television remote.

She could cook more fish. Maybe even one day she could form a new relationship.

Not another husband. She would never have one of those again.

But maybe a painter who only came to New Essex in the summers, some uncomplicated man who was good in bed and knew how to fix tricky sump pumps and failing gutters.

Wendy realized she was smiling while she thought of this new life, then told herself to think of the alternative. What would

the next thirty years be like with Thom in them? Would it be possible to get back to the kind of relationship they’d had for

the first half of their married life? The feeling that they were an exclusive club of two, with their own jokes and rules?

A bubble that was both exciting and comforting and only for them. In the old days when they’d started to drift apart they

always managed to find each other again, remind each other that they had authored their own existence, that they were special.

Plus, they’d raised Jason, someone better than either of them. In that, they were in agreement.

But now, ever since Thom started having the bad dreams and the black moods, then the affairs and the drinking, it had all

gone wrong. And it wasn’t going to get better. Thirty more years with Thom was not going to make either of them happy. And

there was no such thing as divorce, not for them. They were together forever all the way to the end of the line, just like

in Double Indemnity .

She sipped her tea, gone cold. Without moving from her seat she made a decision. Life would be better without Thom in it.

Far better.

Another movie quote went through her mind and made her smile again. It was a shame she couldn’t share it with Thom, because

she thought it was quite clever.

I’m going to need a bigger set of stairs .

iv

Thom was walking across campus when he got the phone call from Wendy. She usually texted so he answered quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re calling me.”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I’ve done something impulsive and now I need you to look at your calendar.”

“What have you done?”

“I booked a trip.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s just a long weekend. In D.C. I thought we could take the train.”

“To D.C.?”

“Georgetown, really. That’s where the Airbnb is. I booked it for the first weekend in May, and then I remembered that you’d

mentioned something about Peter coming to visit—”

“Oh, that’s not happening,” Thom said. Peter was his closest friend from college, and notorious about making plans and then

canceling them.

“It isn’t?”

“No, sorry, I forgot to tell you. He canceled, the fucker.”

“Good. You’re free for a trip, then?”

“Probably. Is it this weekend?”

“No, next one. Just three nights. A Thursday through a Sunday.”

“D.C., huh?”

“It will feel like actual spring there. And if the weather’s not great, there are all the free museums, and the apartment

I rented is adorable. I don’t know why I’m trying to sell you on this, I’ve already booked it. You’re coming whether you like

it or not.”