Wine and firelight have soothed my nerves. Heat wafts across me. It feels wonderful to be warm. We’re in Dana’s living room, stretched out by the fireplace. It’s late at night. The kids are all in bed. Jazz plays softly on Stan’s fancy-ass sound system.
Dana’s on the sofa, staring at her tablet. I’m on the floor. She passes down the tablet. “Check the account again,” she orders.
I type in the details. The money from the sale of the Cleggs painting is supposed to show up in my grandma’s account. She’s got dementia and lives in a care home. I have power of attorney. It’s a risk, but Dana and I couldn’t work out how else to do it.
I lean back against the sofa. I press Account Balance.
“Holy shit,” I say. Dana shipped the Cleggs two days ago. The guy actually paid. I wasn’t sure he was legit, not that we had much choice. The police know about Stan’s regular art broker. I look up at Dana and smile. “The money’s there.”
She leans over to stare at the tiny screen and smiles in relief. “Thank God.” She raises her wine glass and clinks it against mine. “I’m not broke anymore.”
“To Stan’s art.” I take a sip of wine. It’s delicious, from Stan’s wine cellar. Dana’s husband may have bought a bunch of shitty art, but his taste in booze was stellar.
I squint at the small screen. “God, it’s weird,” I say. “To see my grandma’s name and all those zeros.”
Dana sighs. I look back at her. The firelight’s lent her face some color. I expect her to look happy, but she doesn’t. Her forehead’s creased with worry. She upends her glass. “I still don’t know if I should pay the blackmailer or not.” She’s had a lot to drink and is slurring slightly.
I turn to watch the fire again. The urge to stare into flames must be wired in our DNA, passed down from cavemen. Fire’s a threat and a comfort. My eyes feel heavy. “Maybe we should just run away,” I say. “Head for Mexico, become outlaws.”
“I wish,” says Dana. She snorts. “Chad would give us away by texting. And imagine Owen. He doesn’t cope well with changes. If we run, the cops will know we’re guilty.”
I nod. I didn’t mean it for real. It’s just nice to imagine. Maybe this is how my dad felt before he took off; like he was trying to swim in heavy clothes that kept dragging him under.
“Three million dollars,” I say. My cold’s gotten worse. My voice is throaty. “Jesus. That’s a lot of money.”
“It is and it isn’t,” says Dana. “If Stan left me broke, it’s a small fortune. But he must have some secret accounts. I just have to find them.”
I yawn. “I’m wrecked. I’m off to bed, Dana.” I stand and pass her the tablet.
Her face tightens. “Shit. What happens if the police check this? If they get a search warrant. Will they see the link to your grandma’s account?”
I should have thought of that. They can trace everything, can’t they, these days? If they get a warrant, they’ll check all her devices. “Damn,” I say. “I guess so.” The wine and this cold have left my brain numb.
“It’s old anyway,” says Dana. “I need a new one. It’d be better to get rid of it.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “Smash it? Or toss it in the ocean?”
I twist to stare at the windows facing the sea. More junk in the ocean. The broken vase, Stan’s plastic tarp and iPhone. Now this. We’re the opposite of eco-friendly.
When I look back at Dana, I see her pretty mouth twisting like she’s chewing on some dilemma. “Dana?” I say.
She won’t meet my eyes. Instead she stares, glassy-eyed, at the tablet.
I hold my breath. I know her so well that I know what she’s thinking: she has no proof the cash in my grannie’s account is hers. She’d have no recourse if I took it. She couldn’t go to the police.
My stomach feels hollow. She doesn’t trust me—not entirely. It’s a bad feeling, like being unwanted. Doesn’t she know how much I’ve sacrificed for her, how much I love her?
She sits up, decision made. “I’m tired,” she says. “And I’ve had too much wine.” Her smile’s pretty. “Please, Jo, can you get rid of it for me?” She hands me the unwanted tablet.
* * *
I walk onto the back patio. Dana’s tablet is in my coat’s pocket. It’s a cold, clear night. The ocean is black satin. Stars dot the sky. Despite my quilted jacket and scarf, I’m freezing. I can’t get over this cold. I should be in bed, not clambering around Dana’s dark garden.
Rather than head for the dock, I walk to the guesthouse. I pick my way across the rocks that separate it from the ocean. Below the high-tide line, they’re slippery with seaweed. I drank less than Dana but am far from sober.
At the water’s edge, I smash the tablet with a stone. It takes several tries before its screen shatters. I pry the motherboard out and break off all the pieces. I throw the remains into the sea. My heart pounds.
I retrace my footsteps back to the top deck.
I should go to bed, but I’m wired. And those stars! I sink onto a deck chair. I lie down and stare up. The stars are pinpricks in black velvet.
I let my eyes soften until constellations take shape: the W of Cassiopeia, named for the vain queen whose boasts unleashed a sea monster and forced her to sacrifice her own child. Ursa Major, transformed into a bear by the jealous wife of her lover. Orion, the rapist god of the hunt, plus his loyal dog, its heart Sirius, the brightest star in the sky.
Down the hill to my left, there’s a noise. I look sharply toward the Reeves’ mansion. Its chimneys rise over the treetops. The sound comes again: rustling down the path to the boathouse. I think of Ryan.
Moving quietly, I swing my legs off the deckchair and stand. I step off the deck and cross the first terrace. My legs feel unsteady.
The slope’s steeper, the path slippery. A koi plops in the pond. I stop, startled.
The fish keep getting picked off by herons and crows. Dana wanted to net the pond, but Stan refused, saying it would look bad. I must remind her to net it. Those poor fish must live in terror.
Somewhere closer, a twig snaps. I spin in panic. Something’s in those black bushes. Dry leaves rustle. It’s too loud to be a mouse or frog. It’s coming closer . . .
Panting, I stagger back up the hill.
Back on the top deck, I can’t stop shaking. Why am I out here, putting myself in additional danger? I keep digging myself in, deeper and deeper. All for Dana.
I recall her face in the firelight. Her hesitation. No matter what I do, deep down, she mistrusts me. Do I trust her?
It takes all my strength to pry open her back door.