Page 116 of Quiet Beautiful Things

His eyes snap to me in surprise.

“You don’t have to do this. We can work this out.”

His lips turn into a sneer. “Shut her up,” he says to Tara. “She sounds like an idiot.”

“I called the police as soon as I got Sierra’s text. They’re on the way.”

Two steps forward and my face burns with the slap he delivers. When I recover and look back, he’s got the gun to Tara’s head. “Shut her up or I’ll kill you.”

Tara turns to me with terror filled eyes.

I don’t speak again.

He backs up but keeps the gun trained on his wife. “Get her phone,” he says.

I pull it from my pocket and hold it out.

His lip twitches and he leans close. “Type in the fucking code.”

I can smell the alcohol on his breath and his pupils are pin pricks. He’s totally bombed.

I do what he asks and hand the phone over. A minute later, he laughs. “You’re a liar. Do you know what I do to liars?” He narrows his eyes. “Are you reading my fucking lips?” He turns to Tara. “Tell her what I do to liars.”

Tara doesn’t say anything, she shrinks into the couch.

“Just my luck,” I think he says. “I’m stuck with Deaf and Dumb.” He touches the gun to Tara’s temple. “Make me some food. I was driving all night.”

She gets up and goes to the kitchen as if his request was the most natural thing in the world. Grant doesn’t look at her as she walks away. It’s like he knows she won’t try anything. Was this how it was with my mom? Does he beat them down and strip them of who they are until they just become robots?

He points the gun at me, motioning for me to follow Tara.

In the kitchen, Grant smirks and immediately moves the knife block to a top cabinet out of my reach.

I’m helping Tara get cold cuts from the refrigerator when I spy the large pot of coffee I brewed before. It’s full and steaming hot. Without giving it another thought, I grab the handle, spin around and throw the hot liquid at him. He dodges most of it, but a good bit lands on his arm and I see him wince in pain.

“You bitch!” he yells. It’s easy to read his lips. Bitch is often a word that gets yelled.

I’m certain I’m about to be shot. I brace for it. I inhale what could be my last breath as I think about what this will do to Blake. To Maisy. To Mom, Dad, and Beth.

Instead of putting a bullet into me and ending my life, Grant smiles. I can see a few blisters already forming on his arm, yet he’s smiling. It’s the most sinister smile I’ve ever seen. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn.

“Sit the fuck down,” he says, motioning to a kitchen chair with the gun.

He has words with Tara that I can’t understand, then he sits opposite me as she puts a sandwich down in front of him. She cleans up the coffee on the floor, retrieves the coffee pot that miraculously didn’t break when it landed on the living room carpet, and goes to brew another batch.

Good. Maybe drinking coffee will sober him up and make him realize what he’s doing. Because, seriously, what does he think he’s going to do? Kill me and walk out of here with Tara? He’d be caught. It doesn’t matter if he’s a cop. We have evidence now. The texts will prove he knew she was missing. There are witnesses. Surely someone saw him take Tara from the school. Regardless of what happens to me, he’ll be caught.

There is a chance he may realize all this when he sobers up, though. And that has the potential of making things worse. If he knows he’s going down, he’ll have no problem taking everyone in his way down with him.

But if he stays drugged up or drunk, he’ll make poor decisions. Yes, he could decide to shoot me, but his aim might be off. And his reactions will be slower. I have liquor in the cabinet, but how can I get him to drink it without him suspecting it’s part of a plan?

When he eats, he does it with one hand, using the other to keep the gun on the table, a finger on the trigger. But when he looks down at his food, I take the opportunity to use my eyes to motion to the liquor cabinet. It takes a few times for Tara to see me, but when she does, I bring my hand up to my face in a quick drinking motion and then wipe my nose in case Grant catches a glance.

He stiffens and says something to Tara when she goes for the cabinet. Then a smile spreads across his face when he sees my liquor collection.

He turns to me. “See what a good wife I have? She knows I like my coffee Irish.”

Tara puts the bottle on the table. Grant unscrews the top, sniffs it, and takes a giant swig.

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