His wife crossed her arms over her chest. It was a movement Simon wasn’t familiar with—Joyce allowing herself to be seen as vulnerable.
In the back of Simon’s mind, he understood Joyce was admitting to her affair in front of him, hoping for a response. But Simon couldn’t offer it.
He had work to do.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE LAURA
Addy’s blood was drying into the cracks in Laura’s hands. They were chafed from the long winter, and ripe for splitting.
Laura didn’t know how she was going to get out of this. Her heart pulsed with two beats. She knew it was too early to feel the baby ticking away like a clock inside her body, but she felt it anyway, like a phantom limb or a broken heart.
She thought about telling Susan she was pregnant. With her brother, Dermot’s, baby. Maybe Susan would spare her.
But then Laura recalled how Susan spoke about her own family, her children and husband. Her parents. Laura realized telling Susan about her pregnancy might make Susan want to hurt her more.
Dermot’s face rose in her mind. Not the way he looked when they made love, or when he took her out in the hills and wrote their initials in the snow. It was the final time she saw him, in that hotel room. Fear shining back at her from his eyes, his mouth curled into a horrible half-smile like he couldn’t believe she was capable of anything but following his lead.
She’d shown him, for once.
Laura looked at Simon, tearing at Addy’s clothes and opening her like a gutted fish with his penknife, and then Joyce, pulling away from him with a fatigue Laura thought had to go deeper than the cluster bomb they’d found themselves in.
Was that love? Cheating, coercing, pretending everything was okay day after day, just because it was easier than living life uncertain and alone?
She wondered if Terry knew what she’d done, all along. Could he read her that well?
The night after it happened—not the night Dermot died, but the night she must have conceived the baby she was carrying—she came home to the trailer, her hands still shaking from the adrenaline. Terry was home, making something on the stove. Laura couldn’t remember what it was. All she could smell was that acidic tang of something burning, which might not have been from Terry. It could have been a remnant from Dermot’s place still clinging to her brain.
Addy cried out, and Simon moved over her, pressing with his hands and calling out to someone to boil water, like he was a midwife bringing life into this world.
Laura wept that night, after Dermot’s. She’d wanted to be with him so badly. They’d kissed in his apartment, holding each other tight. Laura stopped by unannounced and found Dermot alone with a bottle of beer in his hand.
“Are you okay?” he’d asked. The question caught like a ragged edge drawn across her skin. He wasn’t happy she was there, she thought.
“I wanted to see you,” she told him. She’d followed him into the kitchen, letting him take her jacket. They’d danced around the idea of being together long enough, she’d decided. He was being too cautious. She’d come to his apartment, ready to show him how she felt.
He got her a glass of water, and as he handed it to her she let her fingers linger on his. Dermot coughed and moved away, sitting on one of the bar stools, but Laura followed him. She took a deep breath, and in a swift movement she’d practiced at home in front of her spotted mirror, she slipped off her shirt. She’d put on a deep burgundy bra, the padding pushing her breasts up into an impressive shelf despite how tiny she was in real life.
“Laura,” Dermot said, but she was certain she heard it in his voice. He wanted her, just like she wanted him.
Laura moved over and put her lips against his, soft and gentle. He didn’t move away. She opened her mouth and he pushed his tongue against her teeth, a hunger taking over that she’d felt for so long but wasn’t sure he felt too. Her heart shot off a burst of happiness.
She searched with her hands for the hem of his shirt, not wanting to take her attention away from his face—oh, his gorgeous face, so close to hers. When she found it, she pulled it up, greedy with anticipation. Dermot let out a sigh, his hands moving down her torso. They lingered on her breasts and then found the snap of her jeans. She’d thought about wearing the dress she’d bought with him but decided at the last minute he’d want her to be like herself. He preferred women who were natural, she’d thought.
Although now she knew there was no truth in that. Dermot didn’t prefer natural women any more than he preferred glamorous models or old men with sad eyes. Dermot wanted everyone and no one.
Which explained to her what happened next, at least in some small way.
They were knotted together, limbs and mouths and hot breath twisting around each other. Laura was naked and Dermot was only in his briefs, his hardness pressing against the side of her hip. They hadn’t said a word to each other since she kissed him. Their bodies pulsed together, each movement a question and the following one an answer.
She reached and slipped off his underwear, exposing his excitement. She’d never seen one in real life, and it thrilled and appalled her in equal parts. “I love you,” Laura said, just as he was reaching between her thighs, ready to guide himself inside of her.
The air around them shifted, and that welcome pressure of his body on hers moved away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” He lay alongside her. “This is wrong.”
She didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t understand it.
She reached over, and just like she’d seen on the internet when she’d explored in the hopes of being a good lover for Dermot, she gripped him in her hand and moved up and down, rubbing the tip and cradling him below.
Dermot moaned, maybe in protest. His hands gripped her wrists, but then loosened as she brought him closer to the edge. He’d love her, if only she could show him how good she could make him feel.
When he finished, he didn’t offer to touch her again. Instead, he pulled his pants up, and started tapping at his phone. She went to the bathroom to clean up.
Laura stood in the bathroom, her hands slick with his cum, and instead of washing them off she shoved her fingers inside herself. She’d never touched herself like that before, and the angle of her wrist as it went inside cricked at her hand, but she pushed forward until she was as deep inside as she could go. When she pulled her hand out, she checked for any left on her skin, and then washed her hands well.
At least he was inside of her, she’d thought.
She came out of the bathroom, hoping to see Dermot waiting for her.
Instead, the bedroom was empty. She gathered up her clothes, holding them up to her exposed skin, and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. She heard their voices too late, and when she emerged past the bookcase Simon was there at the door, looking desperate as he tried to explain something to Dermot.
They both turned as she entered the room.
When she looked at Simon, she thought she’d never seen someone so broken in her life.
“Simon, this is Laura,” Dermot said. “Laura’s a friend of mine.”
Simon blinked, turned, and left without speaking.
It was that word that stuck in her throat. Friend. Her thighs ached from where he’d pressed against her.
It was the first time she’d wanted to kill him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO JOYCE
Apparently nobody had any self-control anymore. Her husband was playing God and Laura was useless. Susan held the gun in the air like it was a magic wand that would grant all her wishes, namely to erase this entire mess from existence.
Joyce sighed, accepting that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
“Simon,” she said. Her voice floated like its own shadow across the space between them. He didn’t look at her. Blood pooled in the crease between Addy’s clavicle, which had been exposed when Simon tore her shirt to address the gunshot wound.
Joyce should have been able to tell if he’d been drinking, but she wasn’t sure. His hands were steady at least.
She said his name again, and this time he turned his head slightly towards her, an expression of intense irritation on his face. “I need to focus,” he told her. “Leave me alone.”
“You need to stop.” She let the words drop into the void of space between her and Simon, Simon and Susan, Susan and the gun. Laura and the rest of the world.
“I can save her this time!” Beads of sweat broke on his brow, and Simon wiped at his face with the edge of his forearm. He didn’t even have gloves on. He hadn’t thought to wash his hands.
Joyce moved towards him, putting her hands out to steady him away from Addy, but a voice cut in.
