Page 71 of Mic Drop

“Well, Lissa already is saying she was pregnant by you. Maybe now Michelle will claim you wanted her to get implants?”

I rear back. “How about a threesome between her, me and Lissa?” Sounds more like me. And, before Jenna, not that far off the mark.

“Yeah. That would work, too.”

She picks up her tea again like my suggestion doesn’t affect her. I guess it doesn’t. Still. “A lie, of course.”

“Clearly.” She continues to stare into the ocean.

I lean forward. “Look!” I point. “Dolphins!”

Out on the horizon, a pod of dolphins emerges from the water, enjoying their afternoon in the sun. I usually don’t get to see them in the wild and excitement buzzes through my body. For her part, though, Jenna barely bats an eyelash.

When she doesn’t say anything after a full minute, I ask, “Did you see them?”

“I did.”

No inflection. No enthusiasm. Monotone.

I sidle against my wife. “Jenna,” I begin.

In response, she stands. “I’m going inside. I’m a bit chilled.” Turning her back on the ocean and the dolphins, she walks into the house. Alone.

How am I going to get through to her? If Faith were still here, I’d hit her up for guidance. Kara’s in the City, but it’s not the same.

As if a gift from above, my phone rings. Maybe this call will be my salvation? When the first strains of “Cleanin’ Out My Closet” begin, I realize thegiftwas from a much darker place. Considering I threw her to voicemail yesterday, I guess it’s time to pay up. Might as well get all the bad shit out in one afternoon.

Bracing myself, I pick up. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Mom,” she mimics. “Seriously? I have to read online that my only son married some sort of murderess, who’s killed both her ex-boyfriend and now her own mother?”

“I’ve been busy.” I sigh. I should have listened to Jenna when she begged me to call my mother and tell her about our wedding. I was so busy with the band and gigs and putting plans into place about Lissa that I ignored her pleas. This is the result.

“Whatever tabloid you’re reading, they’ve got it all wrong. Jenna had nothing to do with either one of those deaths. Darren, as you know, overdosed. Her mother just died of pancreatic cancer—the funeral was yesterday. My wife is going through a tough time.”

“When your father died, I wasn’t responsible either.”

Wow. A sane thought. I tread lightly. “That’s very true.” I clamp my lips shut, hoping she doesn’t go off the deep end again.

“Tell me, how is it you got married and I didn’t know about it?” Her discombobulated voice reeks of pain.

I swallow over a lump. “It was fast because Jenna’s mother was dying. We wanted her with us.” Oh no. Wrong thing to say. The words hang above my head as if in a bubble with no way for me to retrieve them.

“You wantedherwith you? Her? Not me, yourownmother. The woman who gave you life, despite your having killed your sister?” Righteous anger has overtaken whatever pain was there before.

“That’s not what I meant. Her mother was sick. Hell, she died two weeks after the ceremony.”

“Yet I’m still here and you never bothered to tell me you got married. That I finally have a daughter.”

Oh, fuck. She can’t have glommed onto Jenna as a replacement for the twin who didn’t survive long enough to be born. My fingers squeeze my thigh. With dread, I reply, “Well, I suppose you do now.”

With a lethal strike, she pounces, “Who’s as much of a killer as you are. Sounds like you two deserve each other.”

My gaze searches the sky. “Listen, a lot is going down now with wrapping up after the funeral, as you can imagine. I have to help Jenna.”

“Clearly you don’t have time for me. You never have time for me.”

Out of desperation, I ask, “Is Ramona there?”

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