Page 137 of What Doesn't Kill Her

She placed the ladder on the lean-to roof, leaned it against the shed’s wall and wedged it into place with her colored pencils. With her heels tucked in her belt and the clippers in one hand, she got to the top of the ladder, to the last step that warned, “Danger! Do not step on me!” And she stepped on it. That got her chest height to a window. She dug her fingernails under the bottom seal and tugged. The hinge moved; the glass shifted a reluctant inch.

Yes! Yes! Why lock a window up so high?Using a deliberate motion, she opened it as wide as it would go, stuck her head in and listened.

There. She could hear Rae’s voice saying, “My mommy and daddy are going to come for me, and you’re going to besorry.” She gave the word a loud, whiny emphasis.

Kellen loved it. Her little girl was alive and defiant.

She pulled out her phone and to Max and Birdie, she texted,Wine blending shed.Then she waited, wanting to tell them who they were facing. She had expected to hear Arthur’s voice. But while this voice was familiar, it was definitely not Arthur.

A man spoke. “The only part I’m sorry about is—” He stopped in the middle of his sentence, as if he was trying not to be goaded.

Kellen froze.

Who was he?

No matter. Rae was alive, and it wasn’t going to be easy, but Kellen could get herself inside.

She texted,Not Arthur, slid her phone back into her pocket, hung her pruning shears on the wall, one handle on either side and out of her way. She placed both her hands on the sill, and using all of her upper body strength, she raised herself to the full extension of her arms. Now. This was the tricky part. She maneuvered herself sideways, crooked one knee and never mind the damned heavy skirt, got her leg inside. After that, everything else was easy. The turn, the rotate, the slow drop onto the top of the giant oak wine cask...

It was like killer Olympic gymnastics, only in slow motion and with death as the punishment for failure.

Her toes touched, barely, and she lowered herself to stand flat-footed. She took a moment to balance herself on the sloped oak.

“What was that?” The man’s voice echoed up to the high ceiling and around the bare metal walls.

Kellen held herself carefully still and released her grip on the window. The wood was rough; it snagged her hose.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Rae’s voice was blasé, then rose with excitement. “Wait, I did, too. That rustling noise?”

The sound of Kellen’s skirts.

“Yes.”

“That’s amouse.”

“A what?” He sounded horrified.

Big tough man, killer of women and children, scared of a mouse.

Rae sensed his weakness. “Maybe a lot of mice. Or a rat!”

“You little brat.” Loathing filled his voice. His familiar, almost recognizable voice...

Kellen took the pruning shears in one hand, slid to her knees and crawled, first hand, one knee, then the other hand, other knee, to the front edge of the cask. Her voluminous skirt made every movement an ordeal. The silk rustled and whispered.

In extravagant Di Luca–voice volume, Rae said, “I like mice. And rats. My science teacher says rodents carry fleas and disease, like the Black Plague. All these people dying of pimples exploding all over their skin. Gross! Don’t you think it’s gross?”

Rae was making life difficult for the man, working on his nerves, and doing a good job of it, too, while she waited for her mommy to arrive and rescue her. She had learned so much on their trek through the mountains...or perhaps she had a knack for annoyance.

Kellen grinned. That was her kid.

When Kellen got to the front of the cask, she found herself at the middle aisle that cut through the blending shed, high over the long table where she and Max had talked and made love. Directly below was the tap and the wooden bucket placed to impress the tourists. Facing the door were two figures, a balding brown-haired man dressed in a white suit and white shoes with no socks—okay, that was weird—and her daughter in her too-ruffly gown with the purple accents, holding her plastic princess doll case. Pink, of course.

The Triple Goddess sat on the table, her eyes facing forward, facing backward...and facing up, watching Kellen, demanding action.

“I’m not afraid of mice. Are you?” Rae’s voice was now innocent.

“No!” The man tightened his grip on Rae’s arm.

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