Jane Doe(54)

“You’ll need to be all packed and ready to leave.”

“Got it. I’ll be ready. I promise.”

“Bring some sexy underwear.”

“You’re so bad.”

I feel better now. I have a plan and it’s easy as pie. Go to a cabin in the woods. Kill him in the forest. Cover it up.

I even have several choices for how to carry this out. I can make it look like I stayed in the cabin and he accidentally shot himself while hunting. I can pretend he was teaching me how to use the rifle and I accidentally fired and killed him. I can stab him and bury his body somewhere deep in the woods, then find a way to get back to the city and pretend I never left.

It’s an embarrassment of riches, really. So many possibilities.

It’s crystal clear to me now. I wanted to destroy his world without putting myself in too much danger. But he has to die. I can’t let him go on with his smug little life. Meg deserves more than that.

It’s settled. Now I’ll be able to enjoy last night’s video with no regrets.

But I’ll wait until after work. Probably.





CHAPTER 36

Luke’s little brother is having an impromptu dinner party, and Luke wants me to come. I don’t have time. I need to find some hunting gear at the secondhand store. I can afford to buy new, but I refuse to spend that much money on something so stupid. Plus, I really shouldn’t leave any trace of my purchases. Better to hit the Salvation Army and pay cash.

Really, there’s no point in me going to this party anyway. My fun with Luke is over. After this weekend I’ll need to play the worried or grieving girlfriend full-time for a few weeks before I move on. I have to be back in Malaysia in a month.

I like Luke. A lot. He’s great in bed and he makes me feel normal most of the time I’m with him. I’m not ready to give him up, but I have to.

Those are the reasons not to go to this party, but I still find myself saying yes. Have I mentioned that I’m bad at resisting my impulses?

In the hallway at work, I whisper to Steven that I can’t see him tonight because I need to find a coat and boots. He makes a joke about women and shopping. I leave the office at 5:30 and head straight for the store.

The selection isn’t great, but I find boots that almost fit and an ugly camouflage coat that is too large but more than warm enough for November. Good enough.

I put on tight jeans and a nearly sheer gray T-shirt, wind my hair into a tight bun, then accent it all with bright-red lipstick and diamond studs. I told Luke I’d meet him there at 7:30, so I call up a car on my phone and head downstairs.

By the time I arrive, I know Luke has been at his brother’s for a good half hour, but as soon as I get out of the car, he is on the front steps of the little bungalow so I don’t have to walk in by myself. He really is a good guy. It makes sense. That’s why he can’t see how bad I am.

I didn’t have time to find him another gift, and I desperately wish I had something more in my hands than the bottle of wine I brought for his brother. But even when I don’t present a gift, he seems happy to see me.

“You made it,” he says, tugging me into a quick, hot kiss before he reaches to open the door.

“Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Ha. I think about you too much, to be honest.”

I grin at the attention and give him one more kiss as a reward.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“You have lipstick on your mouth.”

He laughs and swipes his mouth across the sleeve of his dark-blue shirt. “Totally worth it.”

Maybe he’ll miss me when I’m gone. That will be something nice to imagine when I’m alone in a sterile apartment somewhere. Without Meg in my life there’s no one who thinks about me, no one who wonders how I am.

Because I’m fine. I’m always fine. Not thrilled or anxious or joyful or heartbroken. Just fine. This grief is the most I’ve ever felt, and it will fade someday and I’ll be fine again and no one will worry. But maybe Luke will be out there somewhere missing me and I’ll be real for a few moments.

I hold his hand as we walk in as if I’m a normal girl.

Luke’s little brother resembles him, just an inch shorter and a bit stockier. His name is Johnny and his husband is Isaiah. The couple look like two versions of the same man, one white and one black. They both have short hair nearly shorn on the sides, and both wear square tortoiseshell glasses. Their wedding pictures must be cute.

I’m introduced to everyone and I put on my best charming face. Uncertainty is not a normal state for me, but as dinner is served, I wonder what Johnny and Isaiah think of me.

Gay men are more likely to notice that I’m not quite right. Sometimes I’m in the middle of trying to soften them up with flirting when I realize that mask isn’t a good fit for the moment. They can see the strings holding it in place.

Still, everyone likes flattery, regardless of sexuality, so I compliment their home and the cocktails and the dog.

Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. This is my last date with Luke. I let myself relax and try to enjoy observing. A dinner party is a bit like a book: people tell stories and the listeners picture it in their minds, and I enjoy the prose and performance of it all.

There’s an older gay couple at the end of the table, and they are a caricature of people who’ve been married too long. They finish each other’s sentences and share each other’s plates. One of them isn’t eating carbs and the other doesn’t like spinach, so they scrape and swap, clucking over the other’s dietary quirks.