No. Despite what you might think, I’ll never be okay.
The plane is small, barely booked. A money-losing trip that exists solely to get the aircraft to JFK for a more profitable flight in the morning. I have an entire row to myself. After takeoff, I stretch across the empty seats.
Lying there, I do everything possible not to think about Sam. Nothing works. There’s no way to ignore the suspicion that skitters into my thoughts as if on spider legs. I imagine her dropping pills into Lisa’s wine glass, seeing her sip them into her system, waiting until they take effect. I picture Sam with the knife, slicing Lisa’s wrists, watching the results as she bites her fingernails.
Is she capable of doing such a thing?
Maybe.
Why would she do such a thing?
Because she was on the hunt for information about me. Perhaps she roped Lisa into helping her. But Lisa had second thoughts, pushed her away, threatened to kick her out. Now it’s my turn to do the same thing. I pray the results are different.
Somehow, I manage to sleep for most of the flight, although even that offers little relief. I dream of Sam sitting stiff-backed on my living room sofa. I’m in a chair across from her.
Did you kill Lisa Milner? I ask.
Did you kill those kids at Pine Cottage? she says.
You’re avoiding the question.
So are you.
Do you think I killed people at Pine Cottage?
Sam smiles, her lipstick so red it looks like her mouth has been smeared with blood. You’re a fighter. One who’ll do anything to survive. Just like me.
A flight attendant snaps me awake as we make our descent into New York. I get into the upright position, shaking the dream away. I look out the window, the night sky and plane’s interior lights turning it into an oval mirror. I barely recognize the reflection staring back at me.
I can’t remember the last time I did.
Pine Cottage, 10:14 p.m.
In the bedroom, Craig wasted no time in shedding his pants. Quincy didn’t even realize they were off until he was on top of her, kissing her, pushing the dress up to her stomach while grinding hard against her inner thigh. When he reached for Quincy’s breasts, she put her hands over his, nodding her consent.
She was ready for this. Janelle had prepared her. She knew what to expect. She was a vestal virgin, tossed upon the altar, waiting for eternity.
But then Craig’s breathing grew ragged and rough. When he slid his knees between her legs and pried them open, Quincy’s whole body tensed.
“Wait,” she murmured.
“Just relax,” Craig said. His face was buried against her neck, sucking it, skin sticking to his hungry mouth.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Craig made another attempt at parting her legs with his knees. Quincy kept them shut, thigh muscles straining.
“Stop.”
Craig thrust his mouth upon hers, his flopping tongue silencing her. He was heavy on top of her, pinning her down, breathing like a bull while bucking against her closed thighs. Quincy felt like she was being smothered, suffocated. Craig’s hands fell from her breasts to her knees, prying at them.
”Stop,” Quincy said, putting more force into it this time. “I mean it.”
She gave Craig a shove, slid out from under him and sat up, back against the headboard. Craig’s smile lasted a few more seconds before fading as realization set in.
“I thought we agreed to do this,” he said.
“We did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Quincy didn’t know if there even was a problem. Her body pulsed with desire, aching for Craig to be on top of her, against her, inside her. Yet a small part of her knew it didn’t have to be like this. If they continued, it would be rushed and blunt, almost like they were following another one of Janelle’s stupid rules.
“I want it to be special.”
She thought that would make Craig less angry. That he would see how much this really meant to her. Instead, he said, “That’s a myth, Quinn. The first time is never special.”
The words confirmed something Quincy had always suspected but never wanted to ask. This wasn’t Craig’s first time. He had been through this before. The revelation felt to Quincy like a betrayal, small yet painful.
“I thought you knew,” Craig said, easily reading her thoughts.
“I just assumed you were, too.”
“I never told you I was a virgin. I’m sorry if that’s what you thought, but it wasn’t my doing.”
“I know,” Quincy said.
She wondered how many others girls had been in the same position with him and if all of them had simply given in to the pressure. She hoped someone else had resisted. She hoped she wasn’t the only one.
“I didn’t lie to you, Quincy. So you’re going to have to come up with a better excuse than that for saying no.”
“But I’m not saying no,” Quincy said, suddenly backtracking, mad at herself for doing so. “I just thought—”
“That it would be candles and flowers and romance?”
“That it would mean something,” Quincy said. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”
Craig rolled off the bed, suddenly shy. He searched for his pants while stretching the bottom of his shirt over his crotch. It was all the answer Quincy needed. Still, she reached for him, trying to lure him back to bed before he could get fully dressed.
“This doesn’t have to be a problem,” she said. “I still want to spend the night together. Who knows what will happen.”
Despite her efforts, Craig found his pants on the floor next to the bed and started to stuff his legs into them. “Nothing is going to happen. I think you’ve made that very clear.”
“Please come back to bed. I just need to give it some more thought.”
“Think all you want.” Craig zipped his fly and headed for the door. “But I’m done thinking.”
Then he was gone, rejoining the party, leaving Quincy curled up in bed and crying. Large tears dripped onto the borrowed white dress, each one spreading, darkening the silk.
CHAPTER 32
It’s past midnight when I reach home. Rather than well-rested, my nap on the plane has made me drowsy and weak. My hands tremble as I unlock the door, partly from exhaustion, partly from uncertainty. I don’t know what’s awaiting me inside the apartment. I imagine opening the door to see the place stripped of every item we own, my post-dated check tossed onto the bare floor. And even that’s better than Sam waiting for me in the shadows of the foyer, knife raised.
I drop my bags just inside the door, freeing my hands in case I need to defend myself. But there’s no Sam gripping a knife. No Sam offering a glass of wine swimming with pills. A quick look around seems to confirm everything that was here before I left remains here still.
The apartment is dark and, from the feel of it, empty. The place has an air of abandonment, as if someone has only recently departed, leaving bits of their essence swirling like dust.
“Sam? It’s me.”
My heart begins to pound as I wait for a response that doesn’t arrive.
“I decided to come back early,” I call out as my chest fills with hope. “I caught a late flight.”
I roam the apartment, flicking on lights. Kitchen, dining room, living room. No trace of theft. No trace of Sam.
She’s gone. I’m certain of it. She’s skipped town, just as I had hoped. Taking her secrets with her and leaving mine.
I dig through my purse in search of my phone. I texted Jeff when I landed, telling him I’ve arrived safely and that I’ll call him when everything is over. Now it is over, and I’m in the hallway, phone in hand, about to hit dial.
That’s when I notice the door to the guest room is still closed. Light seeps from beneath the door, crossing my shoes as I stand in front of it. Music plays on the other side, muffled behind the wood.
My heart hits the floor.
Sam is still here.
“Sam?”