Sparrow(74)

“I’ve been studying you for a while now,” he said. “Every day is a class day, each conversation is homework, and I think I know by now what I would have picked if we had known each other before we got married.”

My heart fluttered in my chest, my pulse picking up speed. It was a moment of true, raw happiness, and it scared me beyond repair. I knew a long time, maybe even forever, would pass before I’d have this kind of moment again.

I opened the box, a part of me still scared I’d find something offensive. Last time he gave me a gift, on our wedding day, I almost threw up yesterday’s lunch on his lap. In the box sat a ring. It was very different from my engagement ring—monstrous, attention-seeking bling. No. This was a simple red ruby. It looked like a drop of fresh blood. Basic, beautiful, special and original. More than anything, it was very, very red.

It dawned on me that the ring was exactly how he saw me. This was Troy’s version of trying, and he was doing it for me. This was him being thoughtful. I looked up, a mischievous grin on my face.

“My original engagement ring has a diamond the size of the moon. Some would call this a downgrade.”

“Trust me, it’s an upgrade.” He took the ring and slid it on my finger, brushing his thumb over it. “Besides, the diamond in your first one ain’t real.”

My grin collapsed into a startled oh.

He laughed. “I’m kidding, kiddo.”

When the evening rolled into night, we took things to bed, and I writhed beneath him, screamed his name, just like he told me I would on our wedding night. Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion” played from the stereo, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.

I was in love with a murderer who didn’t love me back, who never explained why he took me for his wife. It wasn’t fine, wasn’t okay, but it was the ugly, embarrassing, uncomfortable truth.

Considering how f*cked up my truth was, I began to understand why Troy gave me something far more convenient and beautiful.

He gave me lies, and I ate them from the palm of his hand.

He gave me lies, and for him, I closed my eyes.





SPARROW


I TOOK A LITTLE break to watch the birds overhead as they migrated out of my rainy city.

That was my first mistake.

I only paused for a second, and it was a second too long, because as I plucked out my earbuds, “Monster” by The Automatic playing, to watch the birds flee from the rain, my fate was sealed.

I smiled to myself when I thought about how, for the first time since I was probably born, I wanted to stay put and not take flight.

My happiness cracked, collapsing into a frown, when I spotted him. Brock stood in front of me, blocking my way on the narrow pavement between the tall red-brick buildings.

This time I was scared. It started to look less and less like a coincidence and more like the stuff Fatal Attraction was made of. Boston was not that small, and he’d shown up where I was four times.

It was almost like Brock knew where I’d be. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was all too eager to follow Troy’s suggestion—okay, order—and keep my distance from the guy. He leaned against a lamppost, one foot bent, as he puffed on a cigarette. When he saw me, he pushed off the lamppost, his face cracking into a smile.

“Oh, hey,” he said through an exhale. I twisted back to where I came from, trying to resume my run, but he grabbed my arm, his voice still easy. “I need to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t,” I said, “unless it’s work-related.”

Things at Rouge Bis weren’t going as planned. Pierre still hated my guts, no matter how hard I tried, and Brock still tried to get close to me. Still, I knew they wouldn’t fire me, though a small part of me wanted out of the place just so I could look for something better.

Brock tucked his free hand into his heavy wool jacket. “It’s about your husband.”

“No,” I stated, scowling. Why was it that every time Brock talked about Troy, I felt like my heartbeat slow and my breathing got more shallow?

Because I knew that he knew. Knew whatever it was that I didn’t about why he’d married me.

I reached for my phone inside my hoodie pocket with every intention of calling Troy, but he yanked it from my hand and tossed it into an open dumpster. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and I felt the blood draining from my face.

“What the hell?” I roared.

He didn’t answer, but his face changed. He looked seriously and royally pissed. He pulled me into his body, my chest bumping into his. No more easy and cutesy for Brock, I gathered. He was done playing nice with me.

“Come with me,” he growled.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, *.” And then I felt it. He shoved the barrel of a gun deep into my stomach, so hard I was sure it’d leave a mark. But my fear numbed my pain.

“My car’s down the street. Be quiet, and don’t make me hurt you more than necessary.”

Shit. Even his accent changed. Suddenly, he sounded local. He sounded…Boston?

I looked around me, frantically trying to spot someone on the street, but there wasn’t a soul within earshot. My fault for running every morning right before dawn. I hadn’t seen anyone else for at least ten minutes, and then it was a woman walking her dog in the opposite direction.

I was alone. No, worse—I was with Brock.