“Do about what?”
She hesitated. The words she needed to say felt like stones in her mouth. “Money. I don’t know what to do about money.”
“Oh, that.” He sounded relieved. “Krissy—don’t worry about that. You don’t have to worry about that.”
She turned her head to look him full in the face. “Really?”
He hitched a shoulder. “Of course. I mean, maybe you could help out with the books or something—” She frowned. The books? But before she could say anything, he rushed to finish. “But you don’t have to, of course.” He let out a little laugh. “We’re gonna be fine. You can do whatever you wanna do.”
Her eyes held his, searching for that previous hint of hesitation. But he was smiling, broad and easy. She exhaled, her shoulders sagging, her head sinking into one of her hands. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice. “I just…I’ve been saving all summer but I don’t have enough. Not for this and for New York too.”
Next to her, Billy grew still, and when he spoke again, it sounded as if he were choosing his words very carefully. “Well, Kris, the only reason we’d have money is because of the farm.” Krissy blinked her eyes open, then slowly lifted her head from her hand. “I mean,” he said. “I know you wanted to go to New York, but I can’t leave. Not now anyway. But, Kris, I promise, if we stay here, I’ll take care of you. And we’ll go to New York someday. We’ll stay in a fancy hotel and see the Rockettes.”
“Billy,” she said after a moment. “What’re you talking about?”
“I— What’d you mean? I’m talking about our future. I just don’t want you to get all worked up about money right now. We’ll be fine. We’ll be okay.”
She shook her head. “Wait. Are you saying you wanna have this baby? You wanna—get married?”
Billy gave her a look. “Well…yeah. Kris, you—you’re pregnant.”
And then suddenly he was digging a hand into the pocket of his Levi’s and Krissy was watching, heart thumping hard in her chest. He stood from the bench, turned to face her, and knelt ceremoniously onto one knee. He lifted his hand and she saw a delicate ring pressed between his thick, calloused fingers. In the center of the gold band was one small, square diamond. Krissy had the sudden sensation of being trapped in a whirling tornado, too fast and strong for her to fight.
“Krissy Winter,” Billy said, swallowing thickly. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
In the moonlight, the diamond glinted, and Krissy stared down at it for a very long time. She knew the ring was a tether, forever binding her to this man she was just now realizing she hardly knew. But it was also a ticket to so much more. This ring could open up her world in ways she’d only ever imagined. It would mean, for the first time in her life, that she could stop worrying about money, that she could stop fighting so fucking hard for everything. It would mean, for the first time in her life, she might finally be able to exhale.
Just before she opened her mouth and said yes, Krissy made a silent promise. If Billy hadn’t understood that what she’d come here tonight for was money for an abortion, she wouldn’t tell him. Nor would she tell him the other thing. The cost of this marriage, she knew, would be keeping those secrets. She just hoped it would be worth it.
* * *
—
As Krissy followed Billy and Detective Lacks into their house, she thought back on that moment by the pond, the moment that changed everything. For seven years, she had kept that promise to herself, holding her secrets tight inside her. Now, the stakes were higher and she had so much more to hide.
She, Billy, and the detective moved through their home in a serpentine route, skirting around strangers photographing and labeling, bent over clipboards of notes and crouched by floorboards, their gloved hands efficient and meticulous. As their trio passed, each crime scene worker looked up then down, their expressions unnervingly blank, as if they’d been trained to pretend the inhabitants of the house were invisible. Krissy felt like a ghost.
They made their way into the kitchen, past those words, and up the stairs, Billy like an obedient dog at Lacks’s heels. When Krissy joined them at the top of the landing, she stole a glance at her husband’s face, but he avoided her eye. What was he thinking? she wondered. What was going on in his brain?
“Okay, you two,” Detective Lacks said. “Let’s do this quickly so we can get you out of here.” She glanced around the hall and open doorways, her eyes landing on a nearby officer who was sticking orange Post-it notes around January’s room. “Ah, Tommy. Could I get a hand?”
The uniformed officer, who was crouching at eye level with January’s vanity, turned his face to look at them. “Sure thing, Detective.” He stood and strode over.
He was probably only a few years older than Krissy, with acne scars on his cheeks, and he had the same detached look as all the others, his eye contact flat and unfeeling. Krissy was sick of all these people treating the death of her daughter like a Tuesday at the office. “Tommy,” Detective Lacks said. “Why don’t you escort Mr. Jacobs while he packs a bag for him and his wife. I’m gonna take Mrs. Jacobs to get some things for their son.”
Billy’s eyes snapped to Lacks, looking panicked. “I don’t know what to pack for her,” he said as if Krissy weren’t standing right beside him.
Lacks reached out a hand and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. Just try not to touch anything you don’t need to touch.”
This send-off clearly made Billy more nervous, but he swallowed, nodded, and followed the young officer down the hallway to their bedroom.
He, Krissy, and Detective Lacks were in and out and at the Hillside Inn in Nappanee, overnight bags in tow, in under half an hour. At the sight of the hotel, Krissy felt a bitter laugh bubble at the base of her throat. The exterior was painted red with white wooden crossbeams, making it look like an oversized, bizarrely shaped barn; no matter how hard she tried, no matter what she did, she seemed to be doomed to the farming life.
Inside, as Detective Lacks checked them in, Krissy registered random details. Two clocks hung on the wall, one labeled Nappanee, the other inexplicably France. A terra-cotta pot on the front desk was filled with cheap pens, plastic flowers adjoined to their ends with thick tape. Next to it was a little red barn.
Lacks handed them each a plastic key card, then led them to their room on the second floor, stopping abruptly outside a door with brass numbers that read 218. Krissy could feel Billy’s gaze on her, but when she turned to look at him, he averted his eyes. Why did he keep doing that?
“I made sure there was a second bed for Jace,” Detective Lacks was saying.
Billy nodded. “Thank you.”
“Detective Townsend and I will be in touch tomorrow, but feel free to call us if you need anything or if anything comes to mind.”
Billy gave Lacks an obsequious smile and then, as if he couldn’t help it, he shot Krissy another look she couldn’t read: Was it fear in his eyes? Paranoia? Was there some hidden message in his expression or was he trying to find one in hers? “Thank you, Detective Lacks,” he said. “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
Krissy wanted them both to just shut up. She wanted to punch, to hit, to shred something with her bare hands.
“I want to warn you two,” Lacks said, “that tomorrow could be a bit…chaotic. The press will’ve gotten wind of everything by now and—”
But Krissy had had enough. Billy’s gaze and Lacks’s voice felt like fingernails clawing at her skin. “Detective Lacks,” she interrupted in a tight voice. “My daughter died today. My house is crawling with strangers and I haven’t seen my six-year-old son in hours. I can’t think about whatever it is that you’re saying. So can you please just leave?”