Page 73 of Absolution

Nineteen

Kerry

I’m putting the casserole in the oven when my phone chimes. I let the oven door slam closed and glance at the clock. In thirty minutes Rebecca and Gayle will arrive, and in about an hour Mom will come and pick up Cecilia. They adore Cece and have demanded to always meet her at least a little before we throw ourselves into our girls’ nights.

My kitchen counter is a mess, with remains of cut fresh herbs, slices of tomatoes, and the skin of a salmon tossed to the side. My hands stink of fish. I find the phone beneath an oven mitten. It keeps chiming. I don’t recognize the number.

“Yes?” I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I rinse the spoon and quickly lather and rinse my hands.

“Ker?”

I drop the cell. It slides down my chest. The wooden spoon flies through the air and water splatters everywhere as I manage to catch the phone. The spoon bounces as it clatters to the floor.

“Evan!”

“Oh thank God. I wasn’t sure it was the right number.”

“How’d you get my number?” I pick up the spoon, turn off the faucet and regard the mess as I drop a towel on the floor to soak up the worst of it. The front of my blouse is wet and… fucking Evan!

“Ehh… at the center for autistic children, they—”

“They aren’t allowed to give away my phone number!”

“I… might have introduced myself as your husband.”

“What?” I shriek. “Why’d you even do that? And why wouldn’t you have my number if you were my husband? Why are you calling, Evan? I can’t give you more money, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, can’t I call as a friend?”

No, I want to scream, but manage to moderate my answer somewhat. “I don’t think we can be friends, Evan, I’m sorry, but that ship sailed a very long time ago. Honestly, I hope you’ll solve your shit, but don’t pull me into it, I’ve got enough as it is.”

“Cecilia—” he says, “is she a Russo?”

Everything goes absolutely still. The only noise that is heard is the oven fan that gives off a slight humming sound.

My voice doesn’t sound like my own as I answer him. “What makes you say that?”

“So she is. Whose? Did you fuck a Russo, Ker? What the fuck?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business,” I hiss. I try to disconnect, but I tremble so hard that I keep missing the button. I hear him speak, but I don’t hear what he’s saying.

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!

Finally I manage to cut the call and fall to my knees, right into the puddle of water, clutching my constricting throat. How did he know? No one can know! I can barely breathe.

‘Did you fuck a Russo, Ker?’

I crawl over to the couch and climb up, hugging my knees. Why does this shit keep happening to me? But I know why. I’m in their claws. I danced with the devil, even if it wasn’t by choice, and these are the consequences. This is my life.

Christian’s words from two nights ago ring loud and clear in my head. They’ve been eating away at me since he left, all through classes, conversations with classmates, all through the nights—again with the sleepless nights.

‘You are.’

I’m his. His property, the mother of his child, his to do whatever he wants with.

‘Did you fuck a Russo, Ker?’

No, I didn’t. But a Russo fucked me.

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