The Wrong Family(62)

“The car. It skidded on black ice. I had him in my sweatshirt.” She held a fist to the spot; she could still feel his heat against her, his tiny vulnerable body cradled to her chest. “I thought I could keep him warm that way. I was taking him to the hospital. The car skidded... I hit the barrier.” She raised three fingers to her hairline where her forehead had hit the steering wheel. There was blood, but only a trickle. “I think he died on impact, or I smothered him!” Her voice was hysterical.

Nigel grabbed her face, pinched it between his fingers and studied her with wild eyes.

“He’s dead. Oh my God!” She tore at her face, her nails ripping, but she could barely feel it.

“Winnie!” He shook her hard so that her head snapped back. “Did anyone see you take him?”

She shook her head, lips pressed together. “No, Jos—she was alone.”

“And the accident...?” His fingers bit into the flesh of her arms and she yelped.

“No one saw,” she sobbed. “You’re hurting me.”

“How do you know?” She could hear her teeth crack together as he rattled her like a doll.

“It was snowing! There was no one on the road.” She drew back, trying to pull herself from his hold, but he wouldn’t let go. “The car was still on so I drove home.”

“Where is it? Where is the body?”

“In the car.” She reached for his face and he pulled back, disgusted. “You have to bury him. She gave birth to him in a tent. She was a drug addict!” She screamed this last part into his face, spit landing on his cheek. He stared at her in disbelief.

“And that makes what you did okay? Fuck!” He pulled at his hair, shaking his head. “It’s not for us to decide. We have to go the proper route, tell the authorities...”

She could feel how labored his breathing was, could hear the thumping of his heart. Nigel was scared.

“No! Nigel, no. They’ll arrest me... I’ll lose my job. We can’t—please.”

Winnie clawed at his chest in panic. She never thought, not in a million years, that he would suggest turning herself in. She imagined herself in prison and let out a wail. Nigel grabbed her wrists, held them. She flailed, wanting to get away, but also wanting to be held until her hysteria passed.

“Stop it. Stop,” he commanded. She thought he was going to slap her again, but he didn’t.

“You killed it, Winnie. You stole a baby and you’re responsible for what happened to it after that.”

“It’s not an it, Nigel. It’s a baby boy.”

“Was!” he screamed so loudly Winnie stepped back, knocking into the fridge.

Nigel breathed through his mouth.

“A baby boy who belonged to someone else, someone who might one day come back looking for him.” In the pause that followed, Nigel dropped his eyes to the hollow at Winnie’s neck. He wouldn’t look at her. Turning away, she whimpered behind him, aware of the rejection.

“Nigel—please. I’m sorry.”

He spun on her so fast she covered her face like she was almost afraid of him.

“You’re sorry? You...you killed a child tonight! Because of your foolishness. Because nothing is ever enough.” And then he punched the wall beside her head, his hand beating through the plaster in one sharp jab. Winnie screamed and slid down the wall, her eyes closed and her hands flailing. She could see the hate in his eyes, feel it so profusely that in that moment she knew he’d never be able to come back from it.

“Please!” She grabbed the hem of his shirt, but he stepped away, ripping it from her hands. She gaped up at him, her mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. For better or for worse, was he forgetting that? “Help me. I love you. Please help me...”





      28


WINNIE

Nigel had left for a run, and he’d only been gone for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. Winnie was tidying up the kitchen, scooping the last of the crumbs into her palm and dropping them in the sink as the chimes sounded. She brushed her palms together and then headed for the door, glancing up the stairs as she passed them, wondering if Samuel was finished with his homework. She’d take him a snack in a few minutes, she decided. Before her husband had left, he’d given her a generous kiss on the mouth and when he pulled back he’d said, “You’re wearing your face, slim.”

“Oh...? And what face is that?”

He’d grinned knowingly, but Winnie already knew what he was talking about. Things weren’t exactly good, but they were better. She’d stopped pulling away when he reached for her, and Nigel had resigned from his job so he’d be away from Dulce and they could try to keep their marriage alive. As always, Winnie was optimistic. He’d given her one last kiss and squeezed her right breast, saying “Later...” And now the prospect that he’d come home early to do “later” things excited her. Though why would he ring the doorbell? Had he forgotten his keys? She hadn’t looked at her phone; maybe he’d been calling her.

Winnie did not gaze through the peephole as she normally did. She opened the door with a smile, ready for whatever quip Nigel would deliver.

At first she thought the woman was trying to sell her something. She was older, maybe in her sixties, with an expensive haircut, and had a determined look about her. Winnie mentally rolled her eyes; she had been meaning to get a No Soliciting sign to hang by the door. She straightened her face, trying not to look as put out as she felt. She had her own expensive haircut, and she felt confident as she gazed down at the woman.