But then as he turned onto a dirt road that separated a cornfield from a patch of woods, Dave said, “How’re the kids doing?”
Billy took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, they’re good.” But Dave had shifted the car into park and was angling his body to him, clearly waiting for him to go on. “Uh,” Billy continued. “January’s dancing is going good. She’s always running around the house doing moves.”
Dave smiled, but his eyes were far off and sad. “I hear about her sometimes from Margot. They seem to be getting close.”
“Who?”
“My niece. Margot.” He paused. “She lives across the street from you, dude.”
“Right, right.” Adam Davies from across the street was so different from his old friend, sometimes Billy forgot they were actually related, but he knew Dave’s niece. She and January were always running around the farm together. “I need another beer,” he said, bending down to pull a can from the ring. “You want one?”
“Sure. Why not.” But there was a slight edge in his voice. Dave accepted the beer from Billy and cracked it open. “What about Jace?”
“Huh?”
“How’s Jace doing?” He articulated Billy’s son’s name clearly as if Billy might not recognize it.
“Uh, yeah, he’s fine. Both the kids are fine.” He took a long sip of beer, staring out his side window at the cornfield beyond. In the night, the crop looked black. He didn’t want to talk about his son, whom he didn’t understand. He didn’t even want to talk about January. He just wanted to drink and joke with his friend like old times. “But what about you, huh? You up to anything fun these days?”
For a moment, Dave stayed silent. Then Billy heard a choked sound from the driver’s seat and he snapped his head around to look, eyes widening. Dave, whom Billy had never once seen cry, was pressing a fist against his mouth, eyes closed tight. His chest was heaving, little sobs hiccuping from his throat.
“Whoa, dude,” Billy said. “You okay?”
But Dave couldn’t speak. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, his fist pressed to his mouth. Then, finally, his breathing slowed and he opened his eyes, which were thankfully still dry. Looking straight ahead, he said, “Rebecca had a miscarriage.”
Billy swallowed. He had no idea what to say to that. The word miscarriage sent a shiver of discomfort through his body. He couldn’t believe Dave had just revealed something so private. “Wow, man. I, uh, I’m sorry.”
“It happened, like, a few hours ago. She wasn’t far along, but…” He shook his head. “It was bad.”
Billy frowned as Dave’s words slowly sunk in. Rebecca’s miscarriage had happened that night? Billy had assumed a few days had passed at least, but now it all made sense. That was why Dave had talked to Billy over the phone. That was why he’d suggested a drive—not because he wanted to see Billy, but because he needed a fucking shoulder to cry on. And yet, for the past six years, every time Billy had needed a friend, Dave hadn’t been there. It would’ve been nice to go for a drive that one night after he and Krissy had taken January to the hospital with a fever of 103. It would’ve been nice to grab a beer with his friend after Jace had thrown a fit because he didn’t want to ride in the tractor with him. But through it all, Dave was nowhere to be found. Billy felt all the sympathy he’d had harden in his chest.
He took a sip of beer. “Wow. That sucks.”
Beside him, Dave froze. Slowly, he lifted his head. “That sucks? My wife has a miscarriage and you say that sucks?”
Billy felt indignation spread through him like a flame. He was the one with the right to be mad, not Dave. “Kids are hard, man. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise—give you guys some time to get ready.”
Dave sat motionless, his eyes fixed on Billy’s. Then, to Billy’s surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. But it wasn’t the same laugh he’d had in high school, full of mirth and mischievousness. This one was hard, bitter. “Wow. You are unbelievable, Jacobs. I knew you could be an idiot sometimes, but I didn’t know you were such an asshole.” He shook his head. “A blessing in disguise? You’re the luckiest guy in the entire fucking world and you don’t even care.”
“Right,” Billy snapped. He had a job where the work never stopped. He had a wife who was restless and discontent, and a son who seemed to hate him. January was his only real bright spot, but he could already see glimpses of the teenager she’d become. In a few years, she’d stop running to him when he walked through the door. “I’m the luckiest guy in the whole wide world.”
“God,” Dave scoffed. “You have no fucking idea, do you?”
Billy stilled. “What’re you talking about?”
Dave gazed at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Forget it.”
“No. What’d you mean?”
“I said forget it.”
But a dark, nebulous suspicion was blooming at the back of Billy’s mind. “No.” His voice was hard. “Tell me what you fucking meant.”
“It’s nothing, Billy.” Dave turned to the steering wheel and twisted his key in the ignition. “Let’s just call it a night.”
“Dave, if you know something about my family, I have a right to fucking know. Okay?”
Dave heaved a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.” He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, he turned to Billy. “Did you ever notice how Krissy pushed me away after the twins were born? Did you ever stop to think about why?” He looked to Billy for a reaction, but Billy stayed quiet. “The twins,” Dave said. “Have you ever noticed how the twins look like me?”
* * *
—
Five minutes later, Billy wordlessly got out of Dave’s car and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t move as the sound of tires on gravel faded then disappeared. He stood in front of his home, staring up at the dark window of the bedroom where, for seven years, he’d slept next to Krissy—his lying, cheating wife. Rage radiated through his body.
He thought back to that night so long ago now, when he’d gotten down on one knee and held out his grandmother’s ring. He’d been so full of hope then, a soon-to-be father and the future husband of Krissy fucking Winter. But now he understood that her acceptance of his proposal was a lie. He’d thought she loved him, but in reality, she’d been sleeping with his best friend. He’d thought she loved him, but she’d only ever used him.
Billy walked slowly up the porch steps and through the front door, his hands flexing by his sides. Inside, he gazed around at the dark and quiet house, at the hallway lined with family photos, all of which were lies. Their entire home was a lie, their entire life. All because of her—that bitch, slut, whore.
Billy made his way into the kitchen, then froze. He’d heard something. Footsteps, soft and distant. He looked around, his gaze snagging on the basement door. It was open, swung out into the kitchen, which was odd. They never kept the basement door open. Then he heard it again: footsteps coming from deep within the house followed by the high-pitched creak of the dryer door. A fresh wave of fury erupted through him. Krissy. Apparently, his whore wife wasn’t asleep after all, and a sudden fantasy began to swirl in Billy’s mind.
What if Krissy took a tumble down the basement stairs? What if she cracked her head open against the cold concrete floor? What if she bled out down there, moaning in pain, but with no one to hear her because he and the kids were sound asleep two flights up? She was probably so doped up on her sleeping pills and wine that no one would second-guess her misplacing a step in the dark.