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Two Couples

Page 80

by Cathryn Grant

My hand was still resting on Jordan’s leg, to calm her, I hoped. To comfort her. Now, Jordan gripped my wrist so hard, I thought she might fracture the bones.

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” she whispered. “Take it back.”

“I can’t, because it’s definitely possible. I hate saying it, but if you take a breath, it makes sense.”

The more I let the idea sink into my mind, the more I realized it provided a logical explanation for what had happened. There was no evidence of anyone breaking in. More than that, Linda had a motive. If Jordan considered how her mother was fighting for her life, desperate to hang on to the only person she appeared to love, the only person who loved her back, the story would seem entirely plausible.

Until we arrived to spend ten days in our vacation home, Linda and Jordan had been here alone. It was possible that before we changed the locks, Linda might have left a window open that we didn’t notice. That she found a way to get a copy of the new keys. She knew this house better than anyone. And she could do whatever she pleased on this isolated property. Her only chance of being caught was by her daughter, and how easy it would be to avoid that, for a mother who knows the tiniest details and habits of her daughter’s life.

“But she loves me. She made me feel guilty, yes. But she’d never do that. She’s not a killer. She’s gentle and kind.”

“She’s also quite resilient. She’s incredibly strong and determined.”

“Yes, but she’s still not a killer! She wouldn’t tie him up and drown him! That’s the most cold-blooded thing I can imagine. It’s not her.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew the more she fought the idea in her head, the more she would see that it didn’t matter how gentle and kind her mother was. The gentlest people can be pushed to their limits, beyond their reason. She was a woman who had emphatically said she couldn’t live without her daughter. If she knew she was about to lose her daughter, she would do anything to stop that. Anything.

We sat in silence for a long time. I waited for her thoughts to adjust themselves. She was a woman who wanted what she wanted, Jordan would realize that Linda might not let anything get in her way.

“I don’t know,” Jordan said, finally. “It might be true. If she found out about Todd, she would have hated that. She would… I don’t know. I need to talk to her.”

The way she said it made it sound as if she was going to run back home right that minute and accuse her mother of murder.

“I don’t want it to be true,” I said, “but it’s possible.”

“Will you come with me?” Jordan asked.

She’d finally released her bone-crushing grip on my wrist. I pulled my hand away and rubbed my arm. “Why?”

“You said I’m not safe in my house. I’m accusing my mother of murder! And she said—You’re next. Who else could that mean except me? Maybe she’s like an abusive husband who thinks—If I can’t have her, no one will.”

I didn’t say anything, waiting for her to settle her thoughts out loud.

“I can’t do this by myself. I’m scared. I’m… she’s my mother! I feel guilty even thinking about confronting her. Even thinking she could do that makes me feel so guilty I can hardly breathe. I need help talking to her!”

“Okay. I’ll go with you. I’ll bring Patrick, too.”

“No.”

“I’m not doing this without him. What if she has a gun or something?”

“She doesn’t.”

“I just don’t think I want to do this without him.”

“You can’t bring him. He accused me of murdering the man I love! I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

“He didn’t really accuse you, he just… He wondered…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Will you promise to come with me? Without Patrick! If you don’t, I might be next. And then my blood will be on your hands.”

FIFTY-NINE

SAMANTHA

When I woke the next morning, Patrick was in the shower. I’d told Jordan I would be there at eight. It was already seven and I needed coffee before I could be Jordan’s support animal. I needed food. I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to block the sound of splashing water that felt as if it was drowning my will.

The bathroom door opened and Patrick stepped out. He wore a black T-shirt, green cargo shorts, and the aroma of cedar-scented soap. I opened my mouth, longing to ask him to go with me.