Page 99 of The Wife Upstairs

“The fire burned with extraordinary heat,” she says, gently. “There was nothing left. I believe they found…” She pauses, clears her throat. “I believe there were some teeth.”

I see that stupid fucking pineapple in my hand, the way it crunched against Eddie’s jaw.

The shards of white on the carpet.

“Thank you,” I tell her, averting my eyes, letting her think I’m overwhelmed by the horror of it all.

I hear her leave and, after a moment, pick up my Popsicle again. It’s partially melted, a sticky puddle of yellow on my tray, and I push one finger through it.

My ring still sparkles on my left hand. At least I have that, and selling it will get me started on a new life at least. A smaller one than I’d planned for, but something.

Provided Bea lets me.

She’s out there still, and she knows I know the truth. So, what’s her next move?

“Sweetie?”

I glance up and see Emily standing in the doorway, frowning at me.

She looks over her shoulder for a second and then says, in a low voice, “I was just coming by to check on you, but there’s a boy herewho says he’s your brother? And he’s taking you home tomorrow? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Fuck me, John.

“I don’t,” I say, and Emily’s frown deepens as she steps more fully in, then smiles.

“Adele is already moved in, you might as well come, too.”

Adele. I’d forgotten about the dog in all that had happened, and for whatever reason, that’s the thing that finally makes tears spring to my eyes.

“She’s okay?” I ask, and Emily nods. “Completely fine. Terrorizing Major and Colonel.” Walking farther into the room, Emily takes my hand. “Come on, girl. Come home with me.”

So I do.

38

The first few days at Emily’s are nice. I get a pretty guest room and Emily orders takeout for me, brings me more ice cream for my throat, and this concoction she makes out of pineapple juice and sparkling water is actually pretty delicious. And it’s nicer than I’d thought it would be, having Adele. She sleeps on the foot of my bed every night, her presence a warm, comforting weight.

So it’s fine in the beginning.

Really, the shit doesn’t start until the fifth day I’ve been there, when I’m up and walking around, basically recovered from the fire.

It’s small at first.

Can I run into the village and pick up some croissants for her book club? Oh, and on my way back, can I run into Whole Foods? She has a list!

And now here I am, three weeks after I left the hospital, walking Major the shih tzu through the neighborhood.

As we walk, I wonder if I imagined the past six months. Maybe this was all just some kind of extended hallucination, and I never even met Eddie Rochester, never lived in the house set back from the road where, briefly, most of my dreams came true.

But our morning walk reminds me that no, it happened. There’s only an empty lot where the house Eddie and Bea built used to stand. Ashes and crime scene tape, that’s all that’s left, but I take Major there anyway, waiting for… what? A sign? Bea to magicallyappear wearing a veiled hat and sunglasses, telling me it was all worth something?

That’s not happening.

I’m just a girl who got caught up in other people’s bullshit. Who got to taste a different life only to have it taken away, because that’s how it always goes.

Still, it makes me sad to stand there, seeing the spot where the house used to be, remembering how I’d felt, cooking in that kitchen, sleeping in that bedroom, soaking in that bathtub.

Except that every time I think of that, I have to remember that Bea was always there, sharing the space with me. Waiting.