Page 65 of In a Haze

In one swift motion, he closes the door to the basement, muffling her cries—and then I see the gun in his hand. What is my husband doing with a gun? “You can’t do that, Anna.”

I don’t know why, but I ask, “Why not?”

He is ever the consummate politician, polished defense attorney getting ready to smear the black and white into gray, just like the duct tape binding the girl downstairs. He didn’t use that tactic on me very often, but I knew from experience that it could be effective. “I need to explain to you what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that girl is tied up and injured.”

“I know that. Let me explain—and if you’re not satisfied with my answer, I’ll call the police myself.”

I’m clenching my jaw so hard my teeth hurt, but I’m considering his words. Wouldn’t it be a relief if he has a good answer, a rational explanation for something so strange, so horrifying? This man is the father of my babies, the man who took me in when I had no family left and no money save a tiny estate left to me by my middle-class parents—and he has provided well for us. Already from wealth, Don managed to amass more, first as a lawyer and then far more in politics. Only recently have I begun to connect the dots between outside interests buying votes. But Don wasn’t there for the money.

He was there for the power.

And he has a gun. I can give him a few minutes to talk.

“Let’s discuss it over a drink.”

I nod. It’s easier now that the girl’s voice is muffled by the door. I can concentrate a little more easily—but Don had better have a good explanation, and I’m giving him five minutes. Otherwise, I’m calling the cops, no matter what he says. Just inside the living room is a small dry bar and, as he pulls two glasses off the tray, he says, “Have a seat.”

I don’t know that I want to, but I move to the sofa just the same as he takes the ice bucket into the kitchen.I don’t need ice now!I want to scream, but the girl downstairs isn’t making as much noise, so I’m able to think a little.

From what Don’s said, I think he’s the one who’s tied up the girl. She looks like a teenager, but I still wonder if he’s having an affair.

Or maybe…

The other thought is ugly. Gruesome.

But possible.

He better have a damn good explanation. I can’t remember where I set my cell phone, so I won’t have a choice but to use the landline when the time comes.

And I promised to give him five minutes.

He’s back, dropping ice cubes into a couple of glasses—and the gun is out of sight, helping me breathe a little easier. Finally, I say, “Start talking, Don. Who is that girl? What’s she doing in the basement?”

“It’s not what it seems, Anna,” he says, turning, handing me a glass. I don’t know what’s in it. Probably brandy, because he knows I prefer it to whiskey. I take a sip, because Idoneed something to calm my nerves. They’re fraught, and I need to be as calm as possible to hear what he has to say.

“So explain, Don. I’m giving you five minutes starting now.”

It looks like he almost smiles. “You know why I was such a good fucking attorney, Anna?” I shake my head, wondering where the hell this is going when he continues. “Nothing is ever as it seems, and my job—my only job—was to show the jury that. If they knew my client wasn’t guilty, they couldn’t convict.”

I want to ask what this has to do with him, but I know he’s getting there. After decades of giving closing arguments, this kind of speech is in his blood. I’ll indulge him.

But I take another drink. This time, a larger one.

“Things are never what they seem.” I’m starting to lose patience when he says, “You want to know why that girl is in our basement?” He takes a deep breath and swirls his drink, staring at the amber liquid but not sipping from it. The ice cubes clink against the sides of the glass and I take another drink of mine as he continues. “She was breaking into our house when I got home. She was getting ready to destroy our things and then steal from us. Maybe I went overboard, but I panicked.”

Oh. That wasn’t true. I thought about myself that I didn’t panic, but that isn’t me. That’s my husband.Henever panicked.Never. I guess I’ve started believing the same about myself.

I know now that anything else he’s going to say is a lie.

“She had a gun that I managed to take from her.”

“Agun? Where is it?” Now I was definitely feeling skeptical.

“Let me find it. I made sure I put it out of her reach. I just had it.”

Don leaves the room then, but I don’t hear him opening the door to the basement. Soon, I don’t even know how much time has passed, and I’m starting to feel sleepy.

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