“Then why are they open on the counter when he’s out of town?”
Silence settles between us. I glance out the window, at the sun beginning to set outside. The noises of the night are starting to emerge—the scream of the cicadas and chirping of crickets and all of the other animals that begin to come alive in the dark. Louisiana at night is a noisy place, but I prefer it to silence. Because when it’s silent, you can hear everything. Muffled breaths in the distance, footsteps digging deep into drying leaves. A shovel being dragged through the dirt.
“I’ve been worried about this.” Cooper exhales, pushing his hands through this hair. “It’s not safe for him to be bringing all those drugs into the house with your history.”
“What do you mean all those drugs?”
“He’s a pharmaceutical sales rep, Chloe. His briefcase is full of that shit.”
“So? I have access to drugs, too. I can prescribe them.”
“Not to yourself.”
I feel of a wave of tears pricking at my eyes. I hate that Daniel is taking the blame for this, but I can’t think of another explanation. Another way out without telling Cooper that I’ve been calling pills in for myself under Daniel’s name. So instead, I’m quiet. I let Cooper believe it. I let his distrust for my fiancé sink deeper, simmer louder.
“I’m not here to fight,” he says, standing up from the stool and walking toward me. He wraps my body in a deep hug, his arms thick and warm and familiar. “I love you, Chloe. And I know why you do it. I just wish you would stop. Get some help.”
I feel a tear escape, gliding down my cheek and leaving a trail of salt in its wake. It lands on Cooper’s leg, leaving a small, dark stain. I bite my lip, hard, trying to stop the rest from falling.
“I don’t need help,” I say, pushing down on my eyes with my palms. “I can help myself.”
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says. “It’s just—this relationship you’re in. It doesn’t seem healthy.”
“It’s fine,” I say, lifting my head from his shoulder, wiping the back of my hand across my cheek. “But I think you should go.”
Cooper tilts his head. This is the second time in one week I’ve threatened to choose Daniel over my brother. I think back to the engagement party, standing on my back porch. That ultimatum I’d given him.
I want you in this wedding. But it’s happening, with or without you.
But I can see now, from the hurt in his eyes, that he hadn’t believed me.
“I can see that you’re trying,” I say. “And I get it, Cooper. I really do. You’re protective, you care. But no matter what I say, Daniel is never going to be good enough for you. He’s my fiancé. I’m marrying him next month. So if he’s not good enough for you, I guess I’m not, either.”
Cooper takes a step back, his fingers curling into his open palm.
“I am just trying to help you,” he says. “To look after you. That’s my job. I’m your brother.”
“It’s not your job,” I say. “Not anymore. And you need to leave.”
He stares at me for a second longer, his eyes darting back and forth from me to the pills on the counter. He extends his arm, and I think he’s going to grab them, take them, but instead, he hands me the key ring that holds my spare. The memory of me giving it to him flashes through my mind—years ago, when I had first moved in, I had wanted him to have it. You’re always welcome here, I had said as we sat cross-legged on the mattress in my bedroom, foreheads damp with sweat from assembling my headboard, Chinese takeout cartons spilling onto the floor. The oily noodles leaving greasy smears on the hardwood. Besides, I’m going to need someone to water my plants when I’m gone. I stare at the key now, dangling from his pointer finger. I can’t bring myself to take it back—because once I do, I know that it’s final. That it can’t be returned. So instead, he places it gently on the counter, turns around, and walks out the door.
I stare at the key, fighting the urge to pick it up, walk outside, and push it back into his hands. Instead, I grab it and the Xanax and toss them into my purse before walking over to the door and setting the alarm. Then I grab Cooper’s wine bottle, still mostly full, and pour myself another glass before picking it up along with the salmon, now cold, and walking back into the living room, settling in on the couch, and turning on the TV.
I think about everything that has happened today and immediately, I’m exhausted. Seeing Lacey, my meeting with Aaron. The scuffle with Daniel and the interaction with Bert Rhodes and going to Detective Thomas, telling him everything. The argument with my brother, the concern in his eyes when he saw those pills. When he saw me, alone, drinking at the kitchen island.
Suddenly, more than exhausted, I feel lonely.
I pick up my phone, tap the screen until the background illuminates in my hand. I think about calling Daniel, but then I picture him at dinner, ordering another bottle at some five-star Italian restaurant, the roars of laughter as he insists on just one more. He’s probably the life of the party—cracking jokes, grabbing shoulders. The thought makes me feel even lonelier, so I swipe up at the screen and open up my Contacts.
And there, at the very top, I’m greeted with another name: Aaron Jansen.
I could call Aaron, I think. I could fill him in on everything that has happened since the last time we spoke. He probably isn’t doing anything, alone in an unfamiliar town. He’s probably doing the same thing as me, as a matter of fact—sitting on the couch, half drunk, leftovers perched between his outstretched legs. My finger hovers over his name, but before I can tap it, the screen goes dark. I sit for a minute, wondering. My mind is feeling a little foggy now, like it’s been wrapped in a thick, wool blanket. I put the phone down, deciding against it. Instead, I close my eyes. I imagine how he might react when I tell him about Bert Rhodes showing up on my doorstep. I imagine him yelling at me through the phone after I admit to letting him in. I smirk a little bit, knowing that he’d be worried. Worried about me. But then I would tell him how I got him out of the house, called Detective Thomas, went to the police. I would relay our conversation, word by word, and smile again, knowing that he’d be proud.
I open my eyes and take another bite of salmon, the drone of the TV sounding more distant as my mind starts to focus instead on the sound of my chewing. The clank of the fork against the Pyrex. My heavy breathing. The image on the television is starting to grow fuzzy on the screen, and I realize that my eyelids are feeling heavier with every subsequent sip of wine. Pretty soon, my limbs are tingling.
I deserve this, I think, sinking deeper into the couch. I deserve to sleep. To rest. I’m just exhausted. So, so exhausted. It’s been a long day. I turn my phone off—no disruptions—and place it on my stomach before pushing my dinner onto the coffee table. I take another sip of wine and feel a little bit dribble down my chin. Then I let myself close my eyes, just for a second, and feel myself drift into sleep.