The Winters(76)

“But I’ll say this, without the benefit of a lawyer present. My lovely, ill daughter did not see her dead mother. My daughter saw a dead kitten. How it died, we don’t know. But I do know she did not kill it. She doesn’t have that in her. She loved the little thing. But she was wasted and upset. Our wedding was a happy day for us, but it was not a happy one for her. What I suspect is that she found the kitten dead—a lot of cars came and went from here yesterday, and it was raining heavily. And she wanted to bury it somewhere dry. But if you insist on indulging her sad and drunken delusions, then come back with a warrant. And I will get my lawyers involved so at least I can protect her, since you two officers don’t seem to be doing that.”

They stood there blinking at Max, each waiting for the other to say something. I was speechless, too.

“Well,” the male officer said finally, “we’ll be on our way, then. We’re very sorry to have bothered you.”

“Will you be around later today, Mr. Winter?” the female officer said, as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

Max inhaled deeply. I tightened my grip on the back of his shirt.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, much more calmly. “Forgive me. It’s been a long night. But we’ll be here. Until my daughter gets better, we’re not going anywhere.”

They said their goodbyes and he closed the door. Then he bent forward, his hands on his knees.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay, Max.” I peered through the peephole, watching as the detectives got back in their car. “They’re leaving.”

He straightened his back and looked at me, letting out a strangled sort of cry, as if it had been stuck in his throat and now it was safe to let it out.

“You’re worrying me.”

He capped his head with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

“What is it?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I said, placing a hand on his flushed face.

“Leave Asherley for the day. Don’t ask why. I’ll call Louisa and tell her to expect you.”

“I’m not going to do that, Max. Tell me what’s going on.”

He walked towards the kitchen. I trailed after him as he spoke.

“Go there now. Stay there until you hear from me. I’ll meet up with you tonight. We can have dinner somewhere, the four of us.”

“Slow down. What’s wrong? I don’t think the police are going to come back, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, even if they get a warrant, all they’ll find is a little dead cat!”

“Ha. God, you are naive,” he spat.

This felt like a slap. The man who said those words to me wasn’t my kind, caring husband, understandably distraught at his daughter’s breakdown. This man was a stranger to me. Reluctantly, I followed him into the kitchen, where he began to throw open drawers, lift and toss lids, kick out the stools.

“Where’s my phone?” he grumbled, stalking about. “I have to call Eli.”

I joined the search, waiting for normal Max to resurface. But he was gone, replaced by someone frantic, cornered. He kept pacing, muttering unintelligibly, pinching the skin between his brows as if to dig out a solution from inside his own skull. Finally, he patted himself down, finding his phone in his front pocket, something we might have laughed about any other morning.

“Max, tell me how to help.”

“I told you what you can do,” he said, scrolling his contacts. “Leave. Right now.”

We had only been married one day and he was throwing me out of his home.

“Talk to me. I love you. I want to help.”

“You think you love me. But you don’t. You won’t.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. I’d spent days, weeks, worrying whether he might wake up and realize the mistake he was making in marrying me, but for me to stop loving him? Impossible.

He tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear, avoiding my eyes, which were now brimming with tears. When he began to speak, the sane, reasonable Max surfaced.

“Eli. Max . . . To be honest not a wink.” He recounted the events of the night before, wincing at the part about Maggie, ending with the visit from the police. “Look, I don’t know if they’re going to make a big deal about it. I fucking hope not . . . Well, I wasn’t nice. But Dani’s so fragile right now . . . No threats. Just your usual pressure. I just don’t want this to get out, not after yesterday . . . No. Just need a day or two, long enough to figure out what happened . . . Yeah. She’s okay. She’s going to Louisa’s. She’s had a rough couple days . . . Yes, a trouper. No, no, no, don’t come out. We’re fine.”

He sounded so loving on the phone with Elias. But when he hung up, he sunk down onto a stool, exhaling as though he’d just spent the last vestiges of his energy on that call.

“Okay. Where were we? Yes, you’re going to pack a bag and drive to Louisa’s. I’ll meet you tonight.”

“I told you. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“We’re not fighting about this.”

“I know that.”

He looked at me plainly. “Do you love me?”