The Wife's House - Arianne Richmonde Page 0,72

for survival was too strong, so soon I began eating again, although since my spate of illness—the monster hangover that I still didn’t believe was from mixing vodka with wine—I had very little appetite. I had a nasty virus? Anything was possible. The triplets refused to take me to a doctor and told me I was being a hypochondriac.

Had they found what was buried in the woods? I needed to know why they had locked me up and what they knew, but every time I asked what the hell was going on they were silent. Even talkative Jen, whose expressions told me she felt sorry for me, yet she wouldn’t go against her siblings and actively help. How had they wooed me so convincingly in the first place? By being indispensable? By luring me into the “family” bosom? They had sensed my weak spot. Honed in on my loneliness. How blind I’d been.

The hands on the más sola que la una clock inside my brain ticked torturously. Each morning, around breakfast time, before they set off for work, I expected the conversation to turn when they popped in to give me my breakfast. They were always cordial but dispassionate. The fun-loving triplets were a thing of the past. Every time I asked to be let out, they ignored me, or smiled, or laughed. I told them I had a fever (I did) and needed a doctor. My ankle still rendered me pretty incapacitated. But nothing I said budged them. I plotted and schemed. I’d smash them over the head with something—what?—I’d make my escape. But I was weak, muddled, their coltish legs too nimble, their brains too quick. They didn’t miss a beat.

I cried, screamed, begged, bribed. All to deaf ears. Nothing would convince them to set me free. So I decided to try a different tactic. I told them I wanted to have a chat. I had to find out what their plan was. What did they want from me? See if I could entice them in some way, try bribing them again. Everything had a price, didn’t it?

Jen billowed into my room, flushed from a long hot bath. Followed by Kate and, lastly, Dan with a tray of food. I didn’t feel like eating. The only solace was little Beanie. He jumped on my bed and I gave him a huge squeeze. At least he loved me. I had to take extra allergy pills, but it was worth it for his company.

The triplets behaved as if everything were completely normal. I felt sick with anticipation of how I would broach the conversation.

“How’s work?” I asked Dan, trying to warm him up. Lately he’d been behaving as if I were a dull piece of old brown furniture. There’s nothing more painful than being ignored, nothing more soul destroying. Scream at me, yell, tell me I’m a jerk, but don’t just pretend I’m not here!

The hard patter of rain rapped at the windows.

Dan, cupping a mug of coffee, not even looking at me, said in a monotone: “Work? It’s like I’m on automatic pilot. I mean, it’s not as if I give a shit, it’s just a stopgap till I figure out my next move.”

Next move… under the circumstances that sounded beyond ominous.

“Customers tipping well?” I said.

“Always.”

“They give terrible tips in England, you know.” I gave a pathetic little laugh as if to apologize for the country I no longer belonged to. “A lot of the time they add twelve percent to the bill as a matter of course, because customers might not pony up otherwise. They’re pretty darn stingy too when it comes to tips, not like here where you get twenty percent. I mean, bartenders getting tips in Europe? Not a chance. I remember when I first came here people looked at me like I was chopped liver. It took me a while to understand why. Because I had no idea I was meant to tip a bartender!” My voice sounded so leaden and monotonous. The anticipation was eating away at me. “Anyway,” I continued, “I bet you’ll sail into Harvard or Princeton. Maybe even MIT. Or if you don’t want to go so far away, there are some great universities right here in California.”

“We’ll see.” He was staring at the view, the mug of coffee still in his hand. Contemplative, marking time. My stomach twisted in fear.

I carried on, trying to keep my voice chirpy and light. “You’ve got the brains, Dan, let’s see if luck plays

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