Page 34 of The Liar's Wife
I’d grown his little lips, formed his little fingers, and someone had ripped him away from me. Everything in my future had been ripped away in the blink of an eye. No first steps, no first words, no preschool, no teaching him to swim, no watching him see the ocean for the first time. It was all just…gone. He was gone. I’d never hold my son again. Never look into his sparkling blue eyes. Never hear what his laugh would’ve sounded like. Never hear him call me ‘Mommy.’
I couldn’t catch my breath as I tried to, still face down in the sand. I didn’t care enough to lift up. Dannika’s hands were on my back again, pulling me up, and I heard Kessler say something.
The words were fuzzy, like my vision, and before I could focus, darkness found me.
Chapter Twenty
When I awoke, I was in a room I didn’t recognize at first. I looked around at the green walls and white curtains, the photos that weren’t mine. It all felt like a dream.
Then the pain hit me. Slammed into me with the weight of a brick wall. It took my breath away.
My son was probably dead.
My husband was probably dead.
My husband was definitely a liar.
I still knew nothing of the truth.
I sat up, squeezing my eyes shut as the tears welled in them, blurring my vision. I grabbed the comforter, holding it to my face as I sobbed into it.
None of it felt real.
It was a nightmare I couldn’t escape from.
A horror story that used me as the heroine.
Had Gray felt it? Had he cried out for me? Had it been peaceful? Painful? Had he wondered where I was? Why I couldn’t save him?
Why, Ben?
I laid in bed, sobbing for what seemed like hours, my body physically incapable of moving too much. If I laid still enough, perhaps I would wake up and realize it was all a dream.
After a while, I sat up, my chest and muscles sore from the constant crying. My face was red and raw from the tears, my throat scratchy. I needed to bathe. I needed to brush my teeth. I needed to pump my milk. Still, I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the strength to do anything.
I lifted my phone from the nightstand and checked it. My mom had texted, checking in. She’d either seen it on the news or Dannika had filled her in. Her words were misspelled, and I knew she’d typed it while crying, too. I couldn’t talk to her right then. It would only make me cry harder.
My bladder burned for relief and, eventually, I forced myself to get up rather than pee the bed in Dannika’s guest bedroom. If I’d been at home, I may have chosen differently. I walked toward the bathroom and stepped into the bright light, glancing at myself in the mirror. It was as if a light had been switched off inside of me. Though it had only been hours since I’d found out what happened, it looked like years of life had been drained from my body. My skin was sallow and dull, my eyes dark. My hair stuck up in every direction, my clothes drenched in sweat and stiff from the saltwater and sand. My arms and the back of my neck had a red, itchy rash that I realized must’ve come from not showering when we got home. The bed was full of sand, and thanks to the salt, my skin was drier than usual. It was a bad combination, but despite the itch, I just didn’t care. It was as if the caring part of me had drifted off to sea with my child. I was empty, avessel with a beating heart and working bodily functions, but not much else.
After I’d used the restroom and washed my hands, I scooped a bit of water into my mouth to ease my dry throat, just enough to coat my tongue, and then walked from the room. I was tempted to climb back into bed, to never move again, but I needed to see if there had been any updates. I knew by now the news would be covering the story.
When I walked out of the bedroom, Dannika was sitting on the edge of the couch, folding a load of laundry. She perked up when she saw me, watching my expression. “Hey…” she said cautiously. “How are you?”
I shook my head, my voice catching in my throat before I could say anything. I feltempty, I supposed, was the best way to describe it. So much emptiness. “Have they…found anything?” Anyone.
She shook her head, almost eagerly. “No, nothing.”
I looked around. “Where’re the kids?” I wasn’t used to being in Dannika’s house without it being loud, noisy, and messy. It was like some alternate reality.
Her expression changed, and I realized in an instant why they weren’t there. Because from here on out, I would be the woman people felt strange for having their kids around. Like they were bragging simply by existing. Like I would wish all kids would die because mine had. “I had Ty drop them off at his mom’s on his way to the office. She gets bored, and I figured you could use some quiet.”
I glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be at work, too?”Not me. I’m not sure I’ll ever go back again.
“I took the rest of the week off, and so did you. I called Cumberland last night after we got home. We’re fine. It’sbeing handled. I think Howie may come by later to check on you, if that’s okay.”
I didn’t want to see anyone, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I wandered into the kitchen and opened the cabinet where she kept her glasses. I pulled out a purple plastic one and filled it with tap water. As I lifted the glass to my lips, seeing the water rising toward me, I had a flash of water filling Gray’s toothless mouth, filling his lungs. I coughed, spluttering up water and spewing it across the room as new tears filled my eyes. How was I supposed to go on like this? How was I going to survive it? I wasn’t sure I would.
Dannika shot up the instant I coughed, rushing toward me with a towel. Without me explaining what happened, she seemed to understand. That was Dannika; she always understood. She grabbed a towel from the drawer and cleaned up my mess, watching me stand there frozen in place with the cup in my hand. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to drink again. Maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about living much longer after all. How long could a person live without water?The rule of threes. Three minutes without oxygen, three days without water, three weeks without food. The old saying came to my head immediately. Three days didn’t seem so bad.