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“She threatened to kill herself on the phone to Adam. Told him it was imperative they get out of town and start a new life together, away from you, away from Derek Steele. Said if he didn’t want to, she wouldn’t survive the night. He wasn’t in a good headspace. About you and Derek. About his uncle. His grandmother. All of it. He hung up on her. She’s made self-harm threats before.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Gracie said you’re blaming Derek for Jeannie. Now… I have no respect for Derek, barely know him, but based on what I do know of that family and what he’s pulled in the last several weeks, I do not give two shits about him or what you think of him.”
“Okay…”
“Gracie asked me about Jeannie. Said you’re blaming Derek for her death. Asked me if I thought her brother did have anything to do with it. That lead to this call. A witness also provided dashcam footage. She jumped; nobody was with her. You blaming Derek for this means you’re also blaming yourself. Because you think Derek did it because Jeannie lashed out at you. It was a hundred per cent suicide.”
I don’t bother to add the fact that I think Derek blames Jeannie for his mother being in New York as part of the reason I assumed it was Derek. Because that doesn’t matter at this stage.
“Thanks for telling me that, Craig. I’m still so very sorry for your loss. She was a member of your family and I’m sorry you lost her.”
“Thanks, Chloe. And thanks for trying to get him to leave me alone.”
“Has he?” I ask.
“So far.”
“Good,” I whisper with relief.
“You hangin’ in there all right?” he asks.
“I… um… not really. But anyway, you’re a good guy, Craig. A good cop. I would’ve hated someone forcing you to be someone you’re not.”
“Wouldn’t have happened, Chlo. Being dirty just ain’t in me. Gotta go. Take care, okay?”
“Okay. You, too.”
I stare out the window, deep in thought for the rest of the drive to the cemetery.
“You’ll wait here to bring me back home afterwards?” I ask the driver.
“No, Mrs. Steele. I was told your husband would be taking you home.”
“That’s not… I… can you wait? Or come back for me in about an hour?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I have another client to pick up.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“One moment, I’ll open your door for you.”
I watch her step out of the car looking glammed up like an old Hollywood starlet, ready for a red carpet. Red lips. Dark hair falling to her bare shoulders in soft curls. Cat’s eye makeup. Body looking incredible in that gown.
My mother would approve. I assume my mother chose it for her. I know I approve.
Her eyes scan the crowd to find me immediately. And it’s satisfying as fuck.
Only the sight of my wife could soothe me right now. I need her. And more than that, I need her to need me. I need her to want me. To let me do what I want most to do – take care of her every want and need. So I can feel like I’m not powerless, the way I’ve felt the last few days. How the fuck do I get her to need me? To want me? To forget about the way I’ve gone about trying to be everything she wants.
Despite everything, I know I’d do it all again. Again and again. Because she’s it. The one. The one who makes me feel the closest to human, I guess.
A lump of something gross forms in the middle of my throat. I swallow it down and move toward her. Her eyes scan my face and then drop as her front teeth catch her bottom lip.
She’s not looking at me the way she did the last time I saw her. But that expression of hatred is already burnt into me; haunting my thoughts whether I’m asleep or awake.
I hold my arm out and she hesitates, but takes it. I press my lips to her temple and inhale her scent, hearing a shutter clicking in the distance. Fucking vultures.
