The Fiancee - Kate White Page 0,63
she’s decided not to speak. She’s afraid of getting too emotional.”
I settle on the sofa, wineglass in hand, and Gabe follows suit, but just far enough away from me that our bodies don’t touch. Is that by chance, or by choice on his part?
“Have you worked out what you’re going to say tomorrow?” I ask.
“Yeah, I decided to read a letter my mother wrote me at summer camp when I was Henry’s age, one with a few good life lessons that have stuck with me. I made a digital copy of it once, and so I’ve got access.”
“What a wonderful idea,” I say. “I can’t wait to hear what she wrote.”
From there we drift into what feels like an awkward silence. Or maybe Gabe is simply grief-stricken and I’m reading it wrong. Finally, he drains his wineglass in a single gulp and announces he’s going to bed.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” I say. I cock my chin to the poetry book on the coffee table. “I want to read over the poem a few more times tonight.”
When I slip into bed ten minutes later, Gabe’s already asleep, and snoring heavily. It sounds like there’s a woodland animal rooting around in his chest, snorting, snuffling, emitting a low, troubled growl. I drag the pillow over my head, but it doesn’t help.
That’s not the only thing that’s keeping me from a good night’s sleep. There’s also a huge ugly knot in my stomach. I’m nervous, I realize, over the idea of reading the poem at the service tomorrow. Sure, I’ve performed onstage countless times, but it’s never an anxiety-free experience, and these are especially difficult circumstances. I’m also worried about Gabe and me. There’s been this odd clunkiness between us since he found out about my snooping. Or really, ever since I first told him about Hannah’s lie.
But mostly it’s a knot of fear. I keep thinking of Hannah’s wicked little smile tonight, when she’d clearly realized I’d found the foxglove blossom. She seems completely unafraid of tipping her hand to me. She must have concluded by now that if I accuse her of murder in front of the Keatons, everyone will think I’m crazy.
But she’s the one who’s crazy—and dangerous. The blossom was a threat, but would she go so far as to hurt me? She snuck into the cottage once before, and she could do it again.
The patio door, I suddenly think, bolting up in bed. I never checked whether it was locked. I nearly fly down the stairs and, holding my breath, tug back the muslin curtains. The lock is in place. And there’s nothing beyond the window but a wall of darkness.
Before returning to our bedroom, I check in on Henry. The bedding is twisted crazily around his torso, and I take a minute to untangle the top sheet before laying it over him again and returning to the other bedroom.
Though I eventually drift off to sleep, I’m awake again at around one thirty, once more after three, and again near six, this time without even the hint of grogginess that promises a possible return to slumber. I struggle out of bed, dress as quietly as possible, and tiptoe downstairs.
Pale morning light greets me on the ground floor, seeping in from around the edges of the curtains, and when I peek through the window, I see the sky is smeared with pink. For a brief moment, my fears from the night before seem overwrought, even ridiculous. But they’re not, I tell myself. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.
Though it’s only six o’clock now, there’s a slight chance Bonnie’s already in the kitchen, prepping for the luncheon. I decide to head over there and see if she needs any help. Coming down the path, I can see the side door of the house is closed, and probably still locked, but when I round the corner, I find the interior kitchen door open and the scent of fresh coffee wafting from inside. I ease open the screen door, and there’s Marcus sitting at the table with a mug in front of him, staring off into the middle distance.
“Hi,” he says when he notices me.
“Good morning. You couldn’t sleep, either?”
“Not really. I kept hearing some animal prowling around again last night. I’m not sure if it was only a raccoon or that damn coywolf. You want coffee? Bonnie apparently isn’t coming until seven, so I went ahead and made a pot.”
“Coffee sounds great, thanks.”
I fill a mug and join Marcus