Nine Perfect Strangers - Liane Moriarty Page 0,148
thank you for so long. God might have appreciated a thank you card over the years.
Thank you for that long hot sex-filled summer in Europe with Sol.
Thank you for that first year of my marriage to Henry which, to be honest, God, was one of the happiest of my life.
Thank you for a career that has given me virtually nothing but pleasure and I’m sorry for all that fuss about the review. I’m sure that reviewer is one of God’s children too.
Thank you for my health, you’ve been quite generous in that regard, and it was rude of me to make such a fuss over a bad cold.
Thank you for friends who are more like family.
Thank you for my dad, even though you took him a little early.
Thank you for Bellinis and all champagne cocktails.
Sorry for complaining about a paper cut while others suffered atrocities. Although, to be frank, that’s why I gave up believing in you—that whole paper cuts for some versus atrocities for others thing.
Carmel cried into her wet towel and jumped at the sound of yet another crash.
Frances imagined the balcony of her room hanging at an angle and then smashing to the ground in a shower of embers.
She imagined billows of black smoke illuminated by fiery light against a summer night’s sky.
“The smoke in here isn’t getting any worse,” she said to Carmel, to be comforting. “Napoleon and Heather did a good job with the towels.”
She could still smell and taste smoke, but it was true, it wasn’t getting any worse.
“We might be fine,” said Frances tentatively.
“We will be fine,” said Napoleon. He sat between his wife and daughter, holding their hands. “It’s all going to be fine.”
He spoke with such assurance and Frances wished she hadn’t caught sight of his face as he readjusted the wet towel, because it was filled with despair.
It’s coming for us, she thought. It’s coming for us and there is nowhere to hide.
She remembered Masha saying, “I wonder, do you feel that you’ve ever been truly tested in your life?”
Jessica lifted her head from her knees and spoke in a muffled voice through her towel. “She never even heard all our presentations.”
It was cute the way she still wanted to see logic in Masha’s actions. She would have been the kid who couldn’t stand it when the teacher forgot to give the quiz that had been promised.
“Do you think Yao is still alive?” asked Zoe.
70
Yao
Yao dreamed of Finn.
Finn was very keen that Yao wake up.
“Wake up,” he said insistently. He banged together a pair of cymbals. He blasted a horn in Yao’s ear. “Mate, you really need to wake up to yourself.”
Yao returned to consciousness while Finn receded. He felt the imprint of something soft and scratchy against his cheek. He lifted his head. There was a cushion on Masha’s desk. He remembered the feeling of the needle in his neck. The surprise of it, because that was not a decision he could respect.
He heard the sound of something burning. He smelled smoke.
He lifted his head, turned around, and saw her, smoking a cigarette, looking out the window.
She turned to face him and smiled. She looked sad and emotional, but resigned, like his fiancée when she broke off their engagement.
Masha said, “Hello, Yao.”
Yao knew it was over, and he knew he’d never love anyone ever again quite the way he loved this strange woman.
His voice rasped in his throat. “What have you done?”
71
Frances
Still it went on. The burning. The crashing.
Frances’s fear peaked and then plateaued. Her heart rate slowed. A great tiredness swept over her.
She had always wondered how she would feel if her life was in mortal danger. What would she do if her plane began to plummet toward earth? If a crazed gunman put the barrel to her head? If she was ever truly tested? Now she knew: she wouldn’t believe it. She would keep thinking right until the last word that her story would never stop, because there could be no story without her. Things would keep happening to her. It was impossible to truly believe that there would be a final page.
Another crash. Carmel startled again.
“Wait a moment,” said Lars sharply. “That sound—it’s the same sound as before. It’s exactly the same.”
Frances looked at him. She didn’t understand.
Napoleon sat up straighter. He removed the towel from his face.
Jessica said, “There’s a pattern, isn’t there? I knew there was a pattern. Crackle, whoosh, small bang, crackle, crackle, crackle, huge scary bang.”