calls from anyone but Rachelle, the woman who helps him run the ranch, and he won’t answer the door to his private cottage when Hunter knocks.
Lizzy says he’s drowning in gambling debt because he can’t stay away from blackjack. So he’s a gambler and a drinker. Isn’t that lovely?
I wonder what made Adam a drinker. Was it anxiety? I think that was a big part of it.
My thoughts are wandering to what my parents think about the news that Adam and I split, when I step out from beneath a copse of oak trees and I see the shrubbery maze, twisting like a square worm in the darkness. A few more steps, and I can see the shrubs are tall—easily taller than six feet—and in the warm breeze, their little leaves dance.
It would be stupid to go into a maze as it’s getting dark. I’d probably get lost. And yet, I step in. The situation resembles my life right now so much, I almost hope I will get lost, just so I can have to work my way back out.
8
SURI
By the time I get back into our suite, I’ve decided that I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m not helping Cross, I’m not spending any time with Lizzy, and I’m startling at every turn, worried about whether an encounter with Marchant Radcliffe would result in me slapping him or jumping his bones.
I’m tucking clothes into my suitcase, about to put in a call for the plane to get me in the morning, when the door opens and Lizzy sticks her head inside.
“Suri?” Her eyes double in size. “What are you doing?”
“Liz, I’m sorry, but I just can’t—”
“Suri—Suri, no.” She steps in, shaking her head vehemently. “No. You can’t go now. I need you here!”
Her proclamation irritates me. “That’s ridiculous. You just spent the night with your gajillion hooker friends.”
It’s mean, okay? I know it’s mean. But it’s not that mean. So when Lizzy sits down on the bed, drops her head into her hands, and starts to sob, I’m shocked. I step over and throw an arm around her.
“Lizzy—hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, it’s just, I saw Marchant Radcliffe and—”
“I’M PREGNANT!”
“…What?”
“I’M PREGNANT! No one knows! And earlier today, Hunter said children are…a blight!”
So that’s what she’s been so weird about. “Oh, Lizzy. Oh man. This is big news! But it’ll be fine.” I rub her back as she sobs. “You’ll change his mind. He loves you and you’re getting married.”
“No we’re not! We can’t! I’ll be too fat to—” she hiccups— “I’ll be too fat to wear a dress!”
I pull her into my arms and hold her while she cries about stretch marks and pushing out a “ten pound vagina bomb” and try not to think about Marchant Radcliffe.
It’s going to be a long night.
*
MARCHANT
I’m in the kitchen, about to pop an Ativan, when I hear a knock on the back door. I know it’s Hawkins. I can feel it. And this time, I can shoot him, because he’s trespassing.
I run downstairs and punch the glass out of my gun cabinet, grab a .38 and load it quickly. By the time I get to the kitchen, I’ve stuck the gun inside the back of my jeans, because I’ve managed to convince myself it’s only Hunter. Or Rachelle. Or someone else coming to check on me.
But when I open the back door, I find myself staring at Hawkins—the little fuck.
He hits me in the face. Then two thugs grab me by the shoulders and haul me up against the stone wall of my house. I manage to reach my arm behind myself and dig my hand into the waist of my jeans. I work my sweaty fingers around the gun, and when I pull it free I point it toward Hawkins’ legs. I am stunned by the boom as the bullet hits him in the foot. Blood sprays like a fucking geyser.
He howls, and the goons rush to his aid. I dart back inside my kitchen, slamming the door behind me just in time for the bullet that punches through it to miss me.
I look out the square window, and I see one of the goons pointing a pistol at me. I’m slightly surprised to find that
Lizzy says he’s drowning in gambling debt because he can’t stay away from blackjack. So he’s a gambler and a drinker. Isn’t that lovely?
I wonder what made Adam a drinker. Was it anxiety? I think that was a big part of it.
My thoughts are wandering to what my parents think about the news that Adam and I split, when I step out from beneath a copse of oak trees and I see the shrubbery maze, twisting like a square worm in the darkness. A few more steps, and I can see the shrubs are tall—easily taller than six feet—and in the warm breeze, their little leaves dance.
It would be stupid to go into a maze as it’s getting dark. I’d probably get lost. And yet, I step in. The situation resembles my life right now so much, I almost hope I will get lost, just so I can have to work my way back out.
8
SURI
By the time I get back into our suite, I’ve decided that I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m not helping Cross, I’m not spending any time with Lizzy, and I’m startling at every turn, worried about whether an encounter with Marchant Radcliffe would result in me slapping him or jumping his bones.
I’m tucking clothes into my suitcase, about to put in a call for the plane to get me in the morning, when the door opens and Lizzy sticks her head inside.
“Suri?” Her eyes double in size. “What are you doing?”
“Liz, I’m sorry, but I just can’t—”
“Suri—Suri, no.” She steps in, shaking her head vehemently. “No. You can’t go now. I need you here!”
Her proclamation irritates me. “That’s ridiculous. You just spent the night with your gajillion hooker friends.”
It’s mean, okay? I know it’s mean. But it’s not that mean. So when Lizzy sits down on the bed, drops her head into her hands, and starts to sob, I’m shocked. I step over and throw an arm around her.
“Lizzy—hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh, it’s just, I saw Marchant Radcliffe and—”
“I’M PREGNANT!”
“…What?”
“I’M PREGNANT! No one knows! And earlier today, Hunter said children are…a blight!”
So that’s what she’s been so weird about. “Oh, Lizzy. Oh man. This is big news! But it’ll be fine.” I rub her back as she sobs. “You’ll change his mind. He loves you and you’re getting married.”
“No we’re not! We can’t! I’ll be too fat to—” she hiccups— “I’ll be too fat to wear a dress!”
I pull her into my arms and hold her while she cries about stretch marks and pushing out a “ten pound vagina bomb” and try not to think about Marchant Radcliffe.
It’s going to be a long night.
*
MARCHANT
I’m in the kitchen, about to pop an Ativan, when I hear a knock on the back door. I know it’s Hawkins. I can feel it. And this time, I can shoot him, because he’s trespassing.
I run downstairs and punch the glass out of my gun cabinet, grab a .38 and load it quickly. By the time I get to the kitchen, I’ve stuck the gun inside the back of my jeans, because I’ve managed to convince myself it’s only Hunter. Or Rachelle. Or someone else coming to check on me.
But when I open the back door, I find myself staring at Hawkins—the little fuck.
He hits me in the face. Then two thugs grab me by the shoulders and haul me up against the stone wall of my house. I manage to reach my arm behind myself and dig my hand into the waist of my jeans. I work my sweaty fingers around the gun, and when I pull it free I point it toward Hawkins’ legs. I am stunned by the boom as the bullet hits him in the foot. Blood sprays like a fucking geyser.
He howls, and the goons rush to his aid. I dart back inside my kitchen, slamming the door behind me just in time for the bullet that punches through it to miss me.
I look out the square window, and I see one of the goons pointing a pistol at me. I’m slightly surprised to find that
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