Page 143 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

Jane knew she should look for Andrew, but she had to compose herself before she spoke with her brother. The last hours or days of his life should not be filled with recriminations.

She went across the hall to the bathroom. She used the toilet, praying that she did not feel the sharp pain, see the spots of blood.

Jane looked down at the bowl.

Nothing.

The tub drew her attention. She had not fully bathed in almost four days. Her skin felt waxen, but the thought of getting undressed and finding soap and locating towels was too much. She flushed the toilet. Her eyes avoided the mirror as she washed her hands, then her face, with warm water. She looked for a rag and wiped under her arms and between her legs. She felt another wave of relief when she saw there was still no blood.

Were you stupid enough to think I’d let you keep it?

Jane walked into the living room. She looked for a telephone, but there wasn’t one. Calling Jasper was likely pointless, anyway. All of the family phone lines would be tapped. Even if Jasper was inclined to help, his hands would be tied. Jane was completely on her own now.

She had made her choice.

From the sound of it, someone had rolled the TV into the kitchen. She blinked, and time shifted back. Nick was on his knees in front of the set, adjusting the volume, insisting they all watch their crimes being cataloged for the nation. The group had arrayed themselves around him like blades on a fan. Clara on the floor taking in the frenetic energy. Edwin solemn and watchful. Paula beaming at Nick like he was the second coming of Christ. Jane standing there, dazed from the news that Clara had given her.

Even then, Jane had stayed in the room rather than finding Andrew because she still did not want to let Nick down. None of them did. That was the biggest fear they all had—not that they would get caught, or die, or be thrown into prison for the rest of their lives, but that they would disappoint Nick.

She knew that now there would be a reckoning for her defiance. Nick had left her here with Paula for a reason.

Jane rested her hand on the swinging door to the kitchen and listened.

She heard a knife blade striking a cutting board. The murmur of a television program. Her own breathing.

She pushed open the door. The kitchen was small and cramped, the table wedged against the end of the laminate countertop. Still, it had its charms. The metal cabinets were painted a cheery yellow. The appliances were all new.

Andrew was sitting at the table.

Jane felt her heart stir at the sight of him. He was here. He was still alive, though the smile he gave her was weak.

He motioned for Jane to turn down the television. She twisted the knob. Her eyes stayed on his.

Did he know what Nick had done to Jane in the bathroom?

Paula said, “I told you to wait in there.” She threw seasoning into a pot on the stove. “Hey, Dumb Bitch, I said—”

Jane gave her the finger as she sat down with her back to Paula.

Andrew chuckled. The metal box was open in front of him. Folders were spread out on the table. The tiny key was by his elbow. A large envelope was addressed to the Los Angeles Times. He was doing his part for Nick. Even at death’s door, still the loyal trooper.

Jane worked to keep the sorrow out of her expression. Impossibly, he looked even more pale. His eyes could have been lined in red crayon. His lips were starting to turn blue. Every breath was like a saw grinding back and forth across a piece of wet wood. He should be resting comfortably in a hospital, not struggling to stay upright in a hard wooden chair.

She said, “You’re dying.”

“But you’re not,” he said. “Nick took the ELISA test last month. He’s clean. You know he’s terrified of needles. And the other way—he’s never been into that.”

Jane felt a cold sweat break out. The thought had not even crossed her mind, but now that it was there, she felt sickened by the realization that, even if Nick had been infected, he probably would’ve never told her. They would’ve kept making love and Jane would’ve kept growing their child and she would’ve not found out the truth until it came from a doctor’s mouth.

Or a medical examiner’s.

“You’ll be okay,” Andrew said. “I promise.”

Now was not the time to call her brother a liar. “What about Ellis-Anne?”

“She’s clean,” Andrew said. “I told her to get tested as soon as...” He let his voice trail off. “She wanted to stay with me. Can you believe that? I couldn’t let her do it. It wasn’t fair. And we had all this going on, so...” His voice trailed off again in a long sigh. “Barlow, the FBI agent. He told me they talked to her. I know she must’ve been afraid. I regret—well, I regret a lot of things.”

Jane did not want him to dwell on regrets. She reached for his hands. They felt heavy, weighted somehow by what was to come. His shirt collar was open. She could see the purplish lesions on his chest.