probably going to be a reasonably good day. But Emily didn’t come up for breakfast, and the sense that something was wrong began to creep over her, and eventually she walked downstairs—she purposely didn’t hurry, because that would be admitting there was a reason for worry, and she couldn’t see one—and opened the door to the empty bedroom.
In that one moment, her every fear came true. Even as she ran through the house, the alarm in her head giving way to panic, even as she shouted her daughter’s name to the empty rooms, then started shouting nothing coherent at all, just sounds of anguish, like those some wounded animal might make, even then, she knew it was pointless. Returning to Emily’s bedroom, breathing deeply to calm herself, she became aware of a faint scent that was almost pheromonal: Bernice. She realized, too, that she had been smelling it for some time—on the sofa where she watched TV, possibly even in her
own bed. And so Tessa did not call the police, had called only David, who hurried home and confirmed, with the photographs, what she already understood to be true. Bernice, who knew the alarm code. Bernice, who might easily have kept a key. Bernice, about whom Tessa had wondered and worried constantly all this time, now come back, prodigal child, thief.
She peered through the blinds out into the sunny landscape of their neighborhood. The garbage men were coming, and she watched them stop at the house below with the noisy dog. Then the truck started up and groaned its way to their driveway, where David had put the cans out before leaving—he was incredibly reliable in this and other domestic ways—and the men emptied them. How could they do these normal things? How could life go on oblivious of what had happened?
Bernice had come to them in the summertime, left in the winter. Tessa had hoped they might be friends, and early on it had seemed possible, but the girl had turned resentful and just grown more so. Tessa tried everything she could think of to get through to her, suggesting shopping trips together, asking her what she would like to eat, trying to draw her out with questions about her family and interests. Almost everything she said was met with narrowed eyes, one-word answers. Tessa watched in envy as Bernice’s body changed, her hair thickening, her stomach filling out. But it was like having a sullen teenager, or perhaps a delinquent under house arrest, living with them. In the seventh month, Tessa took her to the mall to buy new clothes. Afterward, they ate hamburgers at Red Robin, and out of nowhere Bernice broke the silence and said that one strange thing that Tessa still remembered: “You’re better than him.”
She pointed the cursor so it hovered over a folder marked Dental. Business records, probably, and none of her business anyway. Except
why would he be keeping records at home when there were computers at the office? She hesitated. She should not look. They both understood what a good family was, and what the hierarchy was within it. David was in charge. Tessa considered herself a liberated woman in all the ways that counted. She thought for herself, she wasn’t afraid of her husband, she had a job. But a marriage was like any other organization—there had to be an acknowledged leader or there would never be a clear direction and the whole enterprise would flounder.
She clicked anyway. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She stood up and took off her glasses to rub her eyes. She put them back on and sat down again.
In front of her was a photo of a person hanging upside down from what appeared to be a clothes rack. She wore a blindfold and a black garter belt and nothing else. She was not particularly pretty or thin, and her makeup and heavily rouged lips added to the unreality of the scene.
Tessa shut her eyes and held her hands together and tried to summon some of the casual ease with which her husband was able to converse with the Almighty. “God,”
In that one moment, her every fear came true. Even as she ran through the house, the alarm in her head giving way to panic, even as she shouted her daughter’s name to the empty rooms, then started shouting nothing coherent at all, just sounds of anguish, like those some wounded animal might make, even then, she knew it was pointless. Returning to Emily’s bedroom, breathing deeply to calm herself, she became aware of a faint scent that was almost pheromonal: Bernice. She realized, too, that she had been smelling it for some time—on the sofa where she watched TV, possibly even in her
own bed. And so Tessa did not call the police, had called only David, who hurried home and confirmed, with the photographs, what she already understood to be true. Bernice, who knew the alarm code. Bernice, who might easily have kept a key. Bernice, about whom Tessa had wondered and worried constantly all this time, now come back, prodigal child, thief.
She peered through the blinds out into the sunny landscape of their neighborhood. The garbage men were coming, and she watched them stop at the house below with the noisy dog. Then the truck started up and groaned its way to their driveway, where David had put the cans out before leaving—he was incredibly reliable in this and other domestic ways—and the men emptied them. How could they do these normal things? How could life go on oblivious of what had happened?
Bernice had come to them in the summertime, left in the winter. Tessa had hoped they might be friends, and early on it had seemed possible, but the girl had turned resentful and just grown more so. Tessa tried everything she could think of to get through to her, suggesting shopping trips together, asking her what she would like to eat, trying to draw her out with questions about her family and interests. Almost everything she said was met with narrowed eyes, one-word answers. Tessa watched in envy as Bernice’s body changed, her hair thickening, her stomach filling out. But it was like having a sullen teenager, or perhaps a delinquent under house arrest, living with them. In the seventh month, Tessa took her to the mall to buy new clothes. Afterward, they ate hamburgers at Red Robin, and out of nowhere Bernice broke the silence and said that one strange thing that Tessa still remembered: “You’re better than him.”
She pointed the cursor so it hovered over a folder marked Dental. Business records, probably, and none of her business anyway. Except
why would he be keeping records at home when there were computers at the office? She hesitated. She should not look. They both understood what a good family was, and what the hierarchy was within it. David was in charge. Tessa considered herself a liberated woman in all the ways that counted. She thought for herself, she wasn’t afraid of her husband, she had a job. But a marriage was like any other organization—there had to be an acknowledged leader or there would never be a clear direction and the whole enterprise would flounder.
She clicked anyway. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She stood up and took off her glasses to rub her eyes. She put them back on and sat down again.
In front of her was a photo of a person hanging upside down from what appeared to be a clothes rack. She wore a blindfold and a black garter belt and nothing else. She was not particularly pretty or thin, and her makeup and heavily rouged lips added to the unreality of the scene.
Tessa shut her eyes and held her hands together and tried to summon some of the casual ease with which her husband was able to converse with the Almighty. “God,”
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