Page 78 of The Compound

“Thirty k each.”

“Can I try?”

“Sure.”

I took hold of one, and though I braced myself I could barely lift it. Tom watched me, pitying, but a bit pleased, too. I put it down again.

“Wow,” I said. “It’s heavy.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“You must be very strong. You’re really strong, Tom.”

“I must be, Lily, I must be.”

I turned to leave. He called my name and I paused. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the house.”

“Why don’t you stay in the house, for the rest of the day? Better you don’t go wandering off, again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Stay in the house, Lily. I’m warning you.”

I went to my postbox, my hands trembling with excitement. The box containing the earrings was small and velvet, the brand’s name stitched insilver thread. I opened it and found two perfect square-shaped diamonds nestled in a silver backing. I took them out and held them up to the light, delighting in their sparkle. They were beautiful, finer than anything else I owned—though I had envisioned dangling earrings, the diamonds huge and oval shaped. But it was a good sign of what was to come, once Tom and Andrew were gone.

—

That night, feelingtoo confined by the linen room, I settled into the living room, bringing my blankets and slippers as well as my nightclothes. If I could have, I would have spent all my time on the L-shaped couch. Besides the garden, it was the spot that reminded me most of Sam, and I fancied that I could even smell him there, a little. I was lying there, thinking of Sam, of lying in the crook of his arm, his hand stroking my hair, when Tom knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for my answer.

“Get out,” I said.

“I thought you might want to sleep in the bedroom tonight.”

“I definitely do not want to.”

“Be that as it may, you’ll need to sleep in the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“Because Becca tried to strangle me last night, and you stood there and did nothing. I can’t trust you.”

“You think I’d strangle you in your sleep?”

“No. But then, I didn’t think Becca would either.”

“I’m not sleeping in the bedroom.”

“Fine,” he said, and left. He came back a minute later, with blankets and a pillow. He settled on the rug.

“Absolutely not,” I said. I tried to keep my voice irritated rather than frightened.

“I don’t want to sleep on the floor either. But I need to keep you in sight until I decide what to do with you.”

I lay still, as though to avoid being seen. My heartbeat picked up. “What do you mean, ‘what to do with’ me?”

He didn’t say anything. I got up and went to the bedroom, taking my things with me. He followed: I heard his step like a lumbering dog behind me. I went to my bed, and lay very still. I kept my sheets tucked low, so that I could see him clearly. My heart was beating loudly.

---