Page 99 of The Quiet Tenant

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YOU LIE AWAKEthrough another night. Force yourself to remain lying down, pin your back to the mattress. An electric current pulses through your legs; a restlessness tickles the inside of your chest. You did your exercises earlier, while he was away. Tired your calves, your arms. It’s not your body keeping you awake. It’s your mind, like a broken compass, spinning and spinning in vain.

A party. There’s going to be a party. People—lots of people.Right here. In the yard.

He will be busy, so busy keeping track of it all. Focused on making sure people stay where he needs them to be. Focused on making sure his plan, whatever it might be, unfolds as he wants it to.

And there will be eyes. Eyes everywhere.

Your brain thinks, thinks, thinks itself into overdrive. Like your brother’s Lego when the two of you were kids—try it this way and that. Put two things together and break them apart. Build and build and watch it all collapse and start building anew.

She wore your necklace.

Emily. Her name rises through you, over the buzz in your ears.

It’s her. It has to be her. The object of the party, the reason he’s letting everyone in. He has been circling her, casing her like a bank to be robbed.

The women in the boxes start clamoring.You know what you have to do,they say.Are you going to let her die, too?You want to tell them,Please stop, just for a second—let me think,but you can’t, you can’t because your fingers are burning and your throat is burning and there is a woman out there and she was in the living room and you saw her, you met her and she seemed nice, and even if she’s not, she should still live. She should still live for as long as possible.

You roll onto your side and bring the pillow over your head. With your free hand you push, apply pressure until you can barely breathe, until there’s nothing in your ears but the pulsing of blood and the faint rush of oxygen at the back of your trachea. You open your mouth, teeth against the sheet, and bury a silent scream into the mattress.

CHAPTER 67

Number eight

His wife was dying. Again.

So was I.

When the doctors told me, I thought of only one place.

The cove by the Hudson, hidden from the rest of the world by rows and rows of trees. You had to know it was there. If you did, then you had the keys to heaven.

There was ano swimmingsign, but no one listened. This was a place to dive underwater. This was a place for sand and kayaks and coolers full of beer.

It was where I wanted to spend the time I had left, wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a straw hat.

He found me one evening.

I was focused on other things. I was dying, and I was trying to come to terms with that.

I didn’t expect a man like him would take matters into his own hands.

I know. I know. I was always going to die sooner than most.

Still, it matters, what he took from me.

After a lifetime of running around, trying to please other people, this was my last chance.

It was supposed to be my time.

CHAPTER 68

The woman in the house

You can’t explain. You can’t tell her anything.

You have to trust that she will get it.

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