I dropped into my armchair and glowered at the window.
The door opened; Hannah’s head popped into the room, forced cheer on her face.
“You’re back,” she said.
That was self-evident.
I closed my eyes and listened as she walked across the room. I heard the heavy metal scrape of my pistol on the desk.
“Did you … put the safety on this thing?”
“No.” I sighed.
“Do you want to shower? With me?”
I heard her drawing closer. I smelled her perfume, piquant and almost masculine. I usually loved that scent on her body, but right now it was cloying.
“No,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“Where have you been?”
I rested my head against the high back of the armchair. Some nights I drove to Denver and slept in our unsold, desolate condo. Other nights I camped on the Corral Creek property. Other nights I didn’t sleep at all. I explored our land or walked around Denver. Why should I sleep if I wasn’t tired? I preferred to sleep in the day, avoiding my battery of well-wishers with their painful, tedious questions.
How are you feeling?
Have you eaten?
Do you want to talk about Seth?
No. No. Never.
“Matt?”
“Mm.”
“It’s September,” Hannah said. Her fingers sifted through my hair, which was getting too long, and over the scruff along my jaws. “Look.” She turned the page on a wall calendar. I studied it from the armchair. Ah, yeah, I recognized that calendar: a gift with an appeal from The Nature Conservancy. September’s page showed a beach at sundown, golden sand and rocks green with lichen.
I would not like to go there. I looked away.
“Night Owl comes out in paperback tomorrow. Can you believe that?” She kissed my mouth. I knew that I loved her and I wanted to hold her, but I lacked the energy. “I’m actually excited,” she said. She sat on my lap and nuzzled my neck. “Have you been outside? You smell like pine. Matt…”
She cried for a while and told me she missed me.
“Hannah.” Nate strode into the room. He held a cup of coffee, black, which he set on my desk. He guided Hannah off my lap. “Morning, Matt.”
“Three’s a fucking crowd,” I said. I stood and brushed past them, heading for the bedroom. “Don’t touch my gun,” I said at the door.
* * *
I have a recurring dream.
In the dream, I drown my brother.
We played together when we were young.
I hold him under until he stops moving.
I killed my brother. I loved him. I killed him.
Chapter 31
HANNAH
“He’s getting better every day.” I cradled the cordless phone between my shoulder and ear, both hands occupied with bracing a bowl and stirring batter. Muffins for Matt. I smiled. I loved to watch him eat. He never really ate with me now—he tore through the kitchen like a hungry animal, wolfing down the nearest thing—but he ate, and that’s what mattered. “Oh yeah, more communicative about it all, more … just everything.”
“That’s great. God, such a relief.” Pam sighed.
“It shouldn’t be long before—”
“Hannah, please. Work from home for the rest of the year if you need. I understand. You have to let me know when I can visit, that’s all I ask.”
My smile dropped.
“I’m sure it’ll be soon. Um, whenever he’s ready. Is Laura in New York?”
We chatted about book stuff for a while and she let me go. As soon as I hung up the phone, I felt Nate’s presence. I turned.
He was leaning in the kitchen doorway, head cocked. It gave me a rush of relief to see someone—anyone—besides my haggard reflection and wild Matt. Even under duress, Nate looked sophisticated and carefully put together. His black hair was clean and combed. He wore slacks and a thin charcoal sweater.
“Getting better every day?” he said. “More communicative?”
I resumed stirring the batter.
“In my opinion, he is.”
“You’re lying to Pam. You’re lying to yourself. I can’t stay out here forever, as much as I want to, and Ella and Rick will break down the door soon. When they do—”
“Stop.”
“When they do, and when they find Matt stalking around with a loaded gun—”
“He has never talked about suicide.” My hand trembled.
“They will have him committed. You can’t stop them. And at this point, I’m not even sure it would be the wrong thing to do.”
I bit my lip until it hurt. Then I breathed out.
“I realize you can’t stay forever. I’m not letting anyone take him away.”
“Do you think I don’t love him and want him to get better?” Nate came around to look at me. “But what we’re doing here? It’s not working. He hasn’t breathed a word about Seth. I’m not even sure if he knows Seth is gone. That person upstairs isn’t my brother, and he isn’t your fiancé. Where is he even spending the night?”
“He needs more time. It’s only been a few weeks. Mike is coming tomorrow—”
“Perfect.” Nate threw up a hand. “You invited that psychobabbling idiot back here?”
Nate and Mike did not see eye-to-eye. Mike wanted to shoot Matt full of benzos. He talked about “depression and features of catatonic excitement.” Nate quoted from medical journals, raised his voice.
The door opened; Hannah’s head popped into the room, forced cheer on her face.
“You’re back,” she said.
That was self-evident.
I closed my eyes and listened as she walked across the room. I heard the heavy metal scrape of my pistol on the desk.
“Did you … put the safety on this thing?”
“No.” I sighed.
“Do you want to shower? With me?”
I heard her drawing closer. I smelled her perfume, piquant and almost masculine. I usually loved that scent on her body, but right now it was cloying.
“No,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“Where have you been?”
I rested my head against the high back of the armchair. Some nights I drove to Denver and slept in our unsold, desolate condo. Other nights I camped on the Corral Creek property. Other nights I didn’t sleep at all. I explored our land or walked around Denver. Why should I sleep if I wasn’t tired? I preferred to sleep in the day, avoiding my battery of well-wishers with their painful, tedious questions.
How are you feeling?
Have you eaten?
Do you want to talk about Seth?
No. No. Never.
“Matt?”
“Mm.”
“It’s September,” Hannah said. Her fingers sifted through my hair, which was getting too long, and over the scruff along my jaws. “Look.” She turned the page on a wall calendar. I studied it from the armchair. Ah, yeah, I recognized that calendar: a gift with an appeal from The Nature Conservancy. September’s page showed a beach at sundown, golden sand and rocks green with lichen.
I would not like to go there. I looked away.
“Night Owl comes out in paperback tomorrow. Can you believe that?” She kissed my mouth. I knew that I loved her and I wanted to hold her, but I lacked the energy. “I’m actually excited,” she said. She sat on my lap and nuzzled my neck. “Have you been outside? You smell like pine. Matt…”
She cried for a while and told me she missed me.
“Hannah.” Nate strode into the room. He held a cup of coffee, black, which he set on my desk. He guided Hannah off my lap. “Morning, Matt.”
“Three’s a fucking crowd,” I said. I stood and brushed past them, heading for the bedroom. “Don’t touch my gun,” I said at the door.
* * *
I have a recurring dream.
In the dream, I drown my brother.
We played together when we were young.
I hold him under until he stops moving.
I killed my brother. I loved him. I killed him.
Chapter 31
HANNAH
“He’s getting better every day.” I cradled the cordless phone between my shoulder and ear, both hands occupied with bracing a bowl and stirring batter. Muffins for Matt. I smiled. I loved to watch him eat. He never really ate with me now—he tore through the kitchen like a hungry animal, wolfing down the nearest thing—but he ate, and that’s what mattered. “Oh yeah, more communicative about it all, more … just everything.”
“That’s great. God, such a relief.” Pam sighed.
“It shouldn’t be long before—”
“Hannah, please. Work from home for the rest of the year if you need. I understand. You have to let me know when I can visit, that’s all I ask.”
My smile dropped.
“I’m sure it’ll be soon. Um, whenever he’s ready. Is Laura in New York?”
We chatted about book stuff for a while and she let me go. As soon as I hung up the phone, I felt Nate’s presence. I turned.
He was leaning in the kitchen doorway, head cocked. It gave me a rush of relief to see someone—anyone—besides my haggard reflection and wild Matt. Even under duress, Nate looked sophisticated and carefully put together. His black hair was clean and combed. He wore slacks and a thin charcoal sweater.
“Getting better every day?” he said. “More communicative?”
I resumed stirring the batter.
“In my opinion, he is.”
“You’re lying to Pam. You’re lying to yourself. I can’t stay out here forever, as much as I want to, and Ella and Rick will break down the door soon. When they do—”
“Stop.”
“When they do, and when they find Matt stalking around with a loaded gun—”
“He has never talked about suicide.” My hand trembled.
“They will have him committed. You can’t stop them. And at this point, I’m not even sure it would be the wrong thing to do.”
I bit my lip until it hurt. Then I breathed out.
“I realize you can’t stay forever. I’m not letting anyone take him away.”
“Do you think I don’t love him and want him to get better?” Nate came around to look at me. “But what we’re doing here? It’s not working. He hasn’t breathed a word about Seth. I’m not even sure if he knows Seth is gone. That person upstairs isn’t my brother, and he isn’t your fiancé. Where is he even spending the night?”
“He needs more time. It’s only been a few weeks. Mike is coming tomorrow—”
“Perfect.” Nate threw up a hand. “You invited that psychobabbling idiot back here?”
Nate and Mike did not see eye-to-eye. Mike wanted to shoot Matt full of benzos. He talked about “depression and features of catatonic excitement.” Nate quoted from medical journals, raised his voice.
