be back in a couple of hours.”
“What the hell, really?” Jack said. “Can you tell me what you want from me? I just want to understand because I can’t see how making money is not the right thing.”
I tried to work out what to say. How could I explain when my head felt so cluttered and fragile? For a fraction of a second he looked like a little boy about to listen to a parent preach, and I saw how afraid he was that I was going to say something else, would question him further, something neither one of us had the energy for. I wanted to ask him why he’d tell me he took a cab when he got out of a town car, and if he was having an affair, but I wasn’t sure I really cared. His distance paled in comparison to whatever crazy I had living inside of me.
Hey, honey, welcome home! Guess what, there’s a demon trapped inside of our daughter’s head, and with every passing minute it’s getting harder to resist the temptation of jamming a sharp object into her fontanel.
“She cried all day, Jack. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
It’s because of the
demon.
“Did you take her out?”
You haven’t left the house in days.
“All she does is cry. Why would I take her out?”
The demon is making her cry. If I can get to the demon, everything will be okay.
“Well, what
did
you do?”
I didn’t answer.
Help me, Jack, help me. I’m afraid of hurting her.
“She doesn’t cry all the time, Estelle. She’s not crying right now, is she? She cries sometimes, all babies do, that’s how they communicate.” He plopped on the couch and opened his briefcase. “I havework to do; let’s talk later, okay?” Jack absentmindedly jabbed chopsticks at Chinese leftovers while hacking away on his BlackBerry.
“It’s okay,” I said more to myself than to Jack. I stared out the window, my reflection nothing but a distorted body in a sea of darkness.
Jack’s mood tended to improve the sleepier he became. Later, in bed, he caught me staring at the ceiling. He asked, his voice now soft and gentle, what I was thinking about.
“Dark, horrible thoughts,” I answered but kept my voice light and cheerful. “Demons, mainly.”
He brushed my words off with a halfhearted smile. “Well then . . . as long as it’s nothing serious. You can always get a sitter a couple of times a week. I’ll help out as much as I can.”
“Sure,” I said. Our conversations were nothing but a distorted reality we both chose to accept. There was nothing he could do for me.
“Well, then let’s not dwell on it.”
“Yeah, let’s not,” I said and felt a cold fist tightening around my heart.
“I’m sorry about earlier. How was your day?” Jack said, flipped over, and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
“Just the usual.”
Let me see. The thought of tomorrow being just like today makes me want to jump off a bridge. I feel as if I’m at the bottom of a dark well with my feet submerged in murky ankle-deep water, toad cadavers floating atop the slimy water’s surface, spiderwebs full of dried-up cocooned bugs and beetles. And that’s before I look closely.
Jack’s breathing was slow and steady. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was asleep.
But it really didn’t matter because even if he was awake, he couldn’t bear half of what I had living inside of me. And regardless of what people say, you can’t see the stars from the bottom of a well.
CH A PTER 8
I parked in front of Jack’s building and watched the traffic lights change and cars float by. When the security guard made his rounds, I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and found all the offices dark, except Jack’s.
As I listened to the contorted voices drifting toward me through Jack’s office door, I imagined what hands were doing, where tongues slithered like snakes, what pieces of clothing were draped over office chairs or bunched around ankles like turtlenecks, what the room smelled like. I observed myself in the glass door panel and
“What the hell, really?” Jack said. “Can you tell me what you want from me? I just want to understand because I can’t see how making money is not the right thing.”
I tried to work out what to say. How could I explain when my head felt so cluttered and fragile? For a fraction of a second he looked like a little boy about to listen to a parent preach, and I saw how afraid he was that I was going to say something else, would question him further, something neither one of us had the energy for. I wanted to ask him why he’d tell me he took a cab when he got out of a town car, and if he was having an affair, but I wasn’t sure I really cared. His distance paled in comparison to whatever crazy I had living inside of me.
Hey, honey, welcome home! Guess what, there’s a demon trapped inside of our daughter’s head, and with every passing minute it’s getting harder to resist the temptation of jamming a sharp object into her fontanel.
“She cried all day, Jack. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
It’s because of the
demon.
“Did you take her out?”
You haven’t left the house in days.
“All she does is cry. Why would I take her out?”
The demon is making her cry. If I can get to the demon, everything will be okay.
“Well, what
did
you do?”
I didn’t answer.
Help me, Jack, help me. I’m afraid of hurting her.
“She doesn’t cry all the time, Estelle. She’s not crying right now, is she? She cries sometimes, all babies do, that’s how they communicate.” He plopped on the couch and opened his briefcase. “I havework to do; let’s talk later, okay?” Jack absentmindedly jabbed chopsticks at Chinese leftovers while hacking away on his BlackBerry.
“It’s okay,” I said more to myself than to Jack. I stared out the window, my reflection nothing but a distorted body in a sea of darkness.
Jack’s mood tended to improve the sleepier he became. Later, in bed, he caught me staring at the ceiling. He asked, his voice now soft and gentle, what I was thinking about.
“Dark, horrible thoughts,” I answered but kept my voice light and cheerful. “Demons, mainly.”
He brushed my words off with a halfhearted smile. “Well then . . . as long as it’s nothing serious. You can always get a sitter a couple of times a week. I’ll help out as much as I can.”
“Sure,” I said. Our conversations were nothing but a distorted reality we both chose to accept. There was nothing he could do for me.
“Well, then let’s not dwell on it.”
“Yeah, let’s not,” I said and felt a cold fist tightening around my heart.
“I’m sorry about earlier. How was your day?” Jack said, flipped over, and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
“Just the usual.”
Let me see. The thought of tomorrow being just like today makes me want to jump off a bridge. I feel as if I’m at the bottom of a dark well with my feet submerged in murky ankle-deep water, toad cadavers floating atop the slimy water’s surface, spiderwebs full of dried-up cocooned bugs and beetles. And that’s before I look closely.
Jack’s breathing was slow and steady. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was asleep.
But it really didn’t matter because even if he was awake, he couldn’t bear half of what I had living inside of me. And regardless of what people say, you can’t see the stars from the bottom of a well.
CH A PTER 8
I parked in front of Jack’s building and watched the traffic lights change and cars float by. When the security guard made his rounds, I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and found all the offices dark, except Jack’s.
As I listened to the contorted voices drifting toward me through Jack’s office door, I imagined what hands were doing, where tongues slithered like snakes, what pieces of clothing were draped over office chairs or bunched around ankles like turtlenecks, what the room smelled like. I observed myself in the glass door panel and
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