“What didn’t you tell me?” Sarah’s red-faced, dug in, monolithic in confused rage.
Willa’s shaking her head like a school principal with a recalcitrant student opposite her desk, and Oria looks as if she wants to turn the color of paint and disappear into the wall.
“Sarah.” Do I sound too stern? Is she open to a command? “You need to go sit down, and I’ll take care of this.”
“Am I your wife?” She answers my unspoken questions. It doesn’t matter if I sound stern. She’s not open to being told what to do, and she’s not going into my apartment without a fight in front of people. “Yes or no, Dario.”
I lock my eyes on hers as if I can use that connection to tell her it’s okay, that I adore her and she’s the only woman I want. But that’s too stupid to even be a wish.
“Jesus,” Oria mumbles like some disgusted and shocked innocent who doesn’t know a goddamn thing. She knew everything from jump. Everyone knew but Sarah because that was how it had to be.
“Yes or no!”
How do I explain this, and why the fuck do I have to right now?
“Yes or no!” Sarah’s fists are balled, white-knuckled, tight enough to crack walnuts. I taught her to expect something from me, and now here I am, betraying her in front of Oria and Willa.
How did I end up surrounded by so many women?
“Yes and no,” I say. “Now give me a god damn fucking second to explain.”
Less than a second passes.
“No.” She moves for the elevator, but I block her way. “I’m tired of your explanations. They’re just piled on top of lies and excuses.”
“You’re my wife.” Truth weighs my voice. “You.”
Willa scoffs, and suddenly, I’m nothing. The wedge of fact will not be used to displace the stone of truth.
“What have you done?” Willa asks. “What did you become while I was gone?”
“He’s a monster,” Sarah answers. “It’s what he’s always been.”
She slips away to the only exit I’ll allow, walking into the suite at the end of the hall. I bark her name like a sergeant who expects obedience and discipline, but she doesn’t even look at me before closing the door. I rush to it, but as I push against the wood, the latch snaps.
“Let me in!” I pound my fist against the door, expecting her to open it because obedience is the rule, along with truth and loyalty. But the lock snaps with a gentle crack. “Do you think this door’s going to stop me? This is my door. I own it. I can open it any time I want.”
“Leave her be,” Willa says from a mile down the hall. “She’s traumatized, and all you’re doing is making it worse.”
“Open up.” Cheek and shoulder to the wood, I smack the door. “I can get in, Sarah. I have every code and key to every lock in this building. I don’t want to do that. You need to let me in because you want to.”
My ears are ringing, but I can just hear the sound of something heavy against the floor. A piece of furniture being moved. She’s barricading herself in. I punch the code, but it’s too late. The door won’t budge.
Willa lets out a half chuckle that turns into a scoff.
I turn away from the door. Life in the Caribbean sun has made Willa’s skin darker. Richer. Her light brown eyes are as clear and incisive as ever—taking no bullshit from me or anyone.
Good. I have no bullshit to offer.
“Who called you here?” I ask.
Willa answers by turning to Oria.
“She wasn’t going to St. Eustatius on her own.” Oria’s bent into a curve of regret, shifting her body and gaze like a defendant who never bothered to plead innocent. “Not with you doing…” She waves in my general direction.
“Doing what?” Willa asks.
My wife of the law came here for Sarah, my wife of scars and blood. Willa does not like having her time wasted. Messes are dealt with. Glitches are stamped out like roaches.
We had this in common, and I appreciated it. Now I’m the hiccup in the plan. If she tries to brush me aside or wipe me out I’m going to regret hurting her, but I’m not sure I’ll have any choice.
“Your apartment’s empty,” I say. “If you need a new key—”
“I have it, but I—”
There’s a deep scrape, then a thud from the other side of Sarah’s door. Furniture.
“When I need you, I’ll call you.” I rap on Sarah’s door, speaking sweetly enough to attract a swarm of bees. “Let me in.”
Silence. I can’t sense her. How is that possible? How can I not know what she’s feeling at this very moment? How can she be so quiet when the noise in my head is so loud?
There are too many distractions. The questions and the looks. The intonations in what’s said and the clarity of what’s unsaid.
“What is wrong with you?” Willa’s brow twists in confusion. She’s living the reality of weeks ago, when we agreed to take certain risks and not others. I can’t pretend she’s not there.
“Sarah Colonia is staying with me. Period. You can get on a plane now or you can go downstairs, to your studio, and rest first. You can eat raw meat and spit nickels for all I care. Just get out of this hallway.”
“Give her time,” Willa says.
“Fuck off,” I murmur when I can’t shout.
Oria rests one hand on Willa’s arm and hits the elevator button with the other. “I’ll fill you in.”
The elevator slides open. I want them to get sucked into it and be gone. I want to be left here waiting for a sign that I’m not alone. None comes. It’s just me, this door, this hall, and the inaccessible woman close enough to touch.
“It’s not what you think.” My fingertips stroke the wood as if it’s her skin, and my forehead leans against it as if I’m sharing my mind with her. “Willa is… she was…”
The wall next to me rattles and hisses as if a nest of snakes is trapped behind the plaster.
It’s the pipes.
She’s in the shower.
I’m talking to a slab of wood, not a woman.
My forehead’s pressed to the door as I consider whether I should saw off the knob, pry away the jamb piece by piece, or go down to the garage and grab the chainsaw in the storage cage. I don’t think it has any gas in it, but I have cars I can siphon from.
Sarah now knows what I’ve pretended wasn’t true. She’s not my wife and never was. I started out fooling her and ended up fooling myself.
I close my eyes and replay the moments before Willa walked out of the elevator. Tamara is worried about the NYSD swatting greenhouses, and Oria’s worried about Nico. I’m worried about both, but I can’t think around this. Fucking. Door.
With Oria and Willa gone, I am left alone—worshipping an unseen goddess, waiting for a sign.
And it comes.
Tamara opens the door on the other end of the hall, and that sign arrives with the whistling speed of a missile.
CHAPTER 3
SARAH
I don’t know how I had the strength to move the armoire, but no one’s getting in until I move it again. It’s turned the long way so that it’s wedged between the door and the wall of the front closet.