Big Swiss(74)

“You shouldn’t provoke me,” Greta said. “You might not like what happens.”

Big Swiss snorted. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Ladies,” Luke said. “If you’re going to fight, use your fists, okay? Or wrestle. But please stop bickering like… sisters.”

“We’re more like mother and daughter,” Big Swiss said. “In my view.”



* * *



SHE TRIED PLOTTING HER ESCAPE in the powder room, which was difficult because the powder room was prison themed, or at any rate the walls were institutional green and decorated with Luke’s collection of shanks and shivs, all carefully mounted in black shadow boxes. Each box held five or six little weapons, some clearly very old, with a great patina, such as the shiv that was half a scissors, and another with the shank of a screwdriver and a doorknob for a handle, but most looked newish, more crude and brutal, the handles wrapped tightly in electrical tape, plastic bags, and filthy Ace bandages, with little blades scavenged from safety razors. To die, Greta would have to stab herself eighty-six times. So, that was out. But it seemed like the perfect tool for phantom lice removal (PLR).

Forget the shivs, Greta told herself in the mirror. Grow up. Go home. Tell Sabine everything. Confess, unburden yourself, take responsibility. Then what? End this insanity and get on with your life. Try Tinder. Date dudes if you must. Go back to being numb. Dumb. Numb. Mom?

Big Swiss opened the door, shut it behind her, and immediately fastened her mouth onto Greta’s neck. Greta felt teeth and pulled away.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“It’s been impossible not to touch you,” Big Swiss said. “I thought I would explode. I felt envious watching Silas lick your feet.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Cunty,” Greta said.

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you,” Big Swiss said. “I think Luke’s cheating on me, and I’m losing my mind. I’ve never felt so… lost. One minute I’m relieved, the next I’m enraged. Then I feel ashamed—”

“Shame is good. Hold on to that,” Greta said. “And it’s you who’s cheating, not him. Projection!”

“I don’t want to go to Ecuador,” Big Swiss said. “I was livid when he booked the tickets without asking me.”

“You were goading me in there. It seems like you want me to tell your husband we’re dating. That’s the vibe I’m getting.”

“We’re not dating. Don’t be disgusting,” Big Swiss said. “I love you.”

“Okay,” Greta said.

“Okay?”

“I love you, too, but you should ask yourself what you really want,” Greta said. “I’m too old for this.”

Which was confusing, of course, because Greta had never felt younger. Or more… boyish. Maybe she would start playing video games or take up mixed martial arts.

“Can I steal one of these shivs?” Greta asked.

“Don’t touch that.”

“I’d like to get out of this house now,” Greta said. “Okay if I crawl out the back door?”

“I’ll tell Luke you’re having an allergic reaction.”

“To your horrible personality?”

“To the histamines in hard cheese,” Big Swiss said. “It’s very common. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. For three hours. Would you like that?”

“Maybe,” Greta admitted, screaming inwardly.



* * *



ON THE WAY HOME, Greta drove with the windows down. Thankfully, the phantoms flew off her head and into the stiff wind. Now that she was clearheaded, she rehearsed her confession. It was long, and she’d have to deliver it right away, possibly with her eyes closed, as soon as she set foot in the house, before Sabine could get a word in edgewise.

In the kitchen, Sabine was hunched over the sink. The sink had a deep basin but no faucet. To do dishes, they filled a dishpan with the hose outside and then carried it back to the kitchen, water sloshing everywhere. If it was warm enough, they simply did the dishes in the yard. Otherwise they collected water from the bathroom. Yes, it was a huge pain in the ass, but the plumber—never mind.

“I have a shameful secret,” Greta announced.

“Not as shameful as this,” Sabine said, peering at something in the basin. She was holding a magnifying glass. “Yep,” Sabine said. “Yep, yep.”

The dishpan held a few inches of filthy water and a few pieces of silverware. Floating on the surface, a smelly yellow sponge. Clinging to the sponge like it was a life raft, a poker-chip-size black lace weaver. Greta was accustomed to seeing these spiders in the house, but this one looked crippled and strangely out of focus. It also seemed to be moving, even though it was standing still. Was it having a seizure?

Sabine wordlessly passed Greta the magnifying glass.

Greta peered through the glass and gasped. The giant spider was in fact standing still, but hundreds of baby spiders were crawling all over it in a frenzy.

“She’s being devoured,” Sabine said. “By her own children.”

Greta covered her mouth.

“Pretty much my worst nightmare,” Sabine said, and yawned. “I was just about to go to bed, but I suppose we should deal with this now. They’re almost done eating.”