Page 69 of The Wife Upstairs

John is still staring at me, his throat working, and I wonder if this is how good he felt when he surprised me in the Home Depot parking lot.

If so, I almost don’t blame him for doing it.

“Anyway, I made sure he knew you were shady as fuck, and, just for a little extra flavor, I might’ve implied you were also kind of pervy and obsessed with me, so he will definitely not be answering any more of your calls.”

That part’s not true, but it’s too fun to watch him sweat.

Still, he’s not totally beaten yet. “You did something, Jane,” he says. “You ran from something. Or you never would’ve paid me.” He steps forward. “You never would’ve come to live with me in the first place if you weren’t on the run. We were in the same group home for what? Two months? You barely knew me. But you needed somewhere to hide. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” I say, and he glances at the door, wincing a little.

I look over my shoulder, remembering the girl at the desk, remembering where we are, and almost laugh. “Are you… worried about me swearing? In this conversation about you blackmailing me?”

I move closer, my new expensive handbag dangling in the crook of my elbow, Eddie’s ring winking on my finger.

“You are smarter than I ever gave you credit for, I’ll allow that,” I tell him. “Butthisis over now. You don’t call me, you don’t call Eddie, you forget you ever knew me or that I ever existed.”

His face is sullen, but he still says, “Forget you? Or forget Helen Burns?”

My heart still thuds heavily in my chest when I hear that name.

It’s over.

She’s gone now.

“Get fucked, John,” I tell him sweetly, and then glance up at the picture on the wall, another portrait of Jesus, this time with a bunch of kids around his feet instead of lambs.

“Sorry,”I mouth at him with an exaggerated grimace, and then I walk out.

As I pass the desk again, I see the girl watching me with obvious curiosity on her face, and I give her another smile as I pull a checkbook out of my purse.

“My fiancé and I had heard your church was in need of a new music system.”

I leave the church several thousand dollars poorer, but a truckload smugger. Let John ever try shit like this again now that his boss, the Reverend Ellis, came out to shake my hand and thank me effusively for my generosity, promising me that both Eddie and I will be thanked in every church program from here on out.

I want John to see that every Sunday.

Mr. Edward Rochester, and his wife, Mrs. Jane Rochester.

Okay, maybe I jumped the gun a little with the wife bit, but wearegetting married. Eddieisinnocent. And I’m—free.

I get into the car, my hands wrapped around the steering wheel, and I take a deep breath.

It isn’t like I killed Mr. Brock, after all. Killing someone and letting them die are two different things.

He deserved it.

He let Jane die. The real Jane, the one I loved, the one who wasthe best friend I ever had, my sister, even if we didn’t share any blood. We’d shared a home, though. We’d shared a nightmare.

She was always puny, always small. Always getting whatever cold or stomach bug went around our school. Usually, I could help. Vitamin C, orange juice. Taking notes for her so she didn’t get behind.

But that last time, she got sick and didn’t get better. The cough got wetter, deeper. Her fever ran higher.

You have to take her to the doctor, you have to,I’d begged the Brocks, but they’d make excuses, like they always had.

She’s fine, she’s faking, it’s not that bad.

Jane died in my bed, huddled next to me, her body glowing so hot I could hardly hold her.