Until the Day I Die(51)

He lifts his eyebrows. Studies my face. I can feel myself starting to shake under his gaze, but I don’t look away.

“Okay.” He gingerly tucks the tie back into my bra, pushing it slowly, purposefully too far down between my breasts. His eyes rise to meet mine, but I can’t bear to hold his gaze. And, great. Now Deirdre’s on her feet, scowling at us.

Lach’s cell dings, and he releases me. He answers the call, spinning away from the campfire into the shadows. I drift away from the other two. The air is smothering me, and somewhere far away, thunder rumbles. I wish I could crawl in my tent and go to sleep.

“Come on, Dee, dance,” Jessalyn says, but Deirdre doesn’t move.

“I’m going to bed,” she says.

Lach steps back into the firelight. “Chickadees! The party’s just starting.” He scoots up behind Deirdre and gives her a little hip bump. “Come on, darling.” He runs a finger across her chest, down her arm, and to her hip. She doesn’t stop him or pull away. She just stands there, letting him run his hands all over her.

The hairs on my scalp and arms prickle. Something about this night is starting to feel very wrong.

“I can’t go back to them,” she says vaguely. “They know it, and I know it.”

Lach backs away from her, and Jess and I go quiet. For some reason, the jungle sounds have died too. The fire crackles between us, the only sound in the still, humid night besides Prince crooning about the rain.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing all this for,” Deirdre says. “I mean, my God, what’s even the point?”

“Come on, Dee. Buck up,” Lach says. “It’s a party.” He wanders around to the other side of the fire and plops back down on his log. He looks dejected.

“Okay, Lach, honey, I’ll buck up,” Deirdre snaps. “Anything to make you feel better.” She sways toward him. “I’m just here to make you feel better. You and all the men of the world. Because God forbid any of you motherfuckers feels the least bit insufficient.”

She pulls her shirt up and over her head and in her bra does a little shimmy for him. He watches her with his pale eyes. The firelight reflects off her skin.

“How’s that?” she says. “Good enough? Because you know, it’s my mission in life to make a man feel better about himself.”

She drops her arms and stumbles to the far side of the fire.

Whoa.

But she’s not finished. “I’ve been pulling down half a million a year, tax free, for him. Putting braces on my kids’ teeth, paying for their anxiety meds, their private tutors so they won’t get left behind at their private school my husband insists we send them to. But I’m the criminal here, right? Of course I am.”

Her voice ratchets up a notch. “He gets to come home from his honorable job as a creative writing professor at a rinky-dink college and announce that we’re going to the Vineyard for the summer. Oh, and that we’ve got to hire a trainer for the nine-year-old because the kid’s showing some promise in soccer, and what if the colleges of America don’t take notice? Do you know how much an ex–navy SEAL charges to make your nine-year-old son do push-ups in his own front yard?”

No one utters a word. We’re all frozen.

“Half my savings, that’s how much.”

Jessalyn, who’s now sitting on top of the picnic table and fiddling with Lach’s walkie, speaks up. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, getting a personal trainer for a kid. No dumb-ass kid deserves a trainer.”

“Tell me about it,” Deirdre says. She downs the rest of her beer. Her pale skin shines in the firelight.

“Okay,” Lach says. “Let’s get the dance party going again. Get up there and show me a Supremes thing.” He’s grinning.

Jessalyn doesn’t budge from her spot. Her eyes are cold. “This is Prince. Somebody needs to explain the difference between Wendy & Lisa and the Supremes to you.”

“What?” Lach says.

“Fuck you,” Deirdre barks suddenly. Her eyes are like slits, zeroed in on Lach.

“Fuck me?” He presses a hand against his chest. “Why? What are you so mad about?” She turns away. “Don’t be selfish, Deirdre. You can’t get all the attention. Besides, you already got a husband, and Erin here, Erin’s husband is dead.”

I point at him. “You need to shut your mouth.” My voice is unsteady, and I realize I’m quaking with anger.

“You know what—” Jessalyn starts to say.

Deirdre interrupts, pointing at Lach. “If you touch her. If you dare touch her—”

“Deirdre,” I say. “Don’t listen to him. He’s messing with you. Being an asshole.”

“You know,” Lach says to Deirdre, “I told Antonia I was gonna save you till last. Play with you a few days. But she said no. She said you’d be a problem, which indeed you have turned out to be.”

Deirdre cocks her head.

“Not a problem I can’t deal with,” he goes on. “But she called it, is my point. And that’s why she’s the boss, I suppose. So, I guess playtime’s over.”

The air between them crackles, but it’s not because of the campfire. Even Jessalyn is quiet now.