The Dead Husband Carter Wilson (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

“Wonder where I got that from?”

“Take the desk chair and bring it over here.”

“I don’t like that chair. It’s too hard.”

She’s a child, I think. She’s a volatile and dangerous child trapped in a woman’s body.

“Take my seat,” I say, getting up. “I don’t mind the desk chair.”

Cora immediately slides into the leather chair without saying a word. I bring the desk chair and position it facing the two of them so we form a triangle in the center of the study.

My father stands and walks over to the wet bar. “What can I get you, Cora?”

“Cab sauv.”

“I have a merlot here.”

“Whatever.”

He returns, hands her the glass, and takes his seat again.

“Well, then,” he says. “Here we are. Just like old times.”

The second he says this, I remember I wanted to record this conversation. Ever since I recorded Cora at the trailhead, I told myself to do the same thing with every subsequent conversation. It could be the only thing that saves me.

“Hang on,” I say. “I need my phone.”

“Why?”

I think fast. “Max is having a sleepover. He’s supposed to call at some point.”

My father waves his hand at me, gesturing me to hurry. I head out of the study and back to the living room. My phone is on the table next to the couch where I slept, and I grab it and swipe it open. No calls, no texts, twenty-eight percent battery. I select the audio recorder and turn it on, then shut off the display.

Back in the study, I place the phone faceup on the small table between our chairs. Trying to appear as casual as possible, I turn it so the phone’s microphone faces Cora’s direction.

“All right,” my father says. “Everyone has what they need? Drinks? Phones? Canapés?”

“Yes,” Cora says. “We’re fine. Other than the fact that I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You’re here,” he says, “because you’re a problem. And we need to figure out what to do with you.”

There is no easing into this conversation. No soft opening jabs.

I take a sip of my drink, let the vodka settle on my tongue, and then it all begins.

Fifty-Six

“I’m the problem? Oh, I don’t think so. Not at all.”

“You are,” my father says. “The way you’ve reacted to…all this is unacceptable.”

Cora’s perched to launch a verbal assault but instead stops herself, sips her wine, and leans back into her chair. I see the change wash over her. She’s shifting away from her petulant-child persona and slipping into the coolness she wore at the trailhead. Calm and chilling.

“Funny,” she says. “And here I thought I was trying to save all of us from Rose’s terrible decisions.”

“By slitting a dog’s throat?” I say.

She shifts her gaze to mine. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yes,” I say, “you do. You know what you did. You’re trying to set me up for what’s happened.”

“Oh? And what has happened, Rose? I want to hear you say it. Because all I know is the police were out here talking to you about your dear departed Riley.”

I think about what’s being recorded on my phone. It’s not like it’s only selectively capturing what Cora says.

“I didn’t kill him,” I say. “And I’m through talking about it. That’s my problem, and I’m dealing with it.”

“Oh, and how are you doing that?”

“I’m leaving Bury. Going back to Milwaukee.”

My father snaps his attention to me. “Why would you want to do something like that? You’ve got everything you need here.”

“All I’m doing here is hiding from my life. I’m not happy. Max isn’t happy. I don’t want to raise him here.”

Cora crosses her legs. “You mean in a good private school and in a house rather than a hovel? Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

“When are you leaving?” my father asks.

“Soon as I can. Hopefully within a week.”

“I’m trying to help you, Rosie. How am I supposed to protect you when you’re not here?”

“Dad, you have this idea we need to hide behind that huge front door. That we’re only safe inside this house. Yet the worst thing that’s ever happened to me happened right here.” I nod toward the foyer. “Right over there.”

He takes a drink. “Yes, it did. And I took care of the problem. You girls did what I told you to do, and I took care of the rest.”

“Until now,” Cora says to me. “Until you wrote that fucking book.”

“Exactly what I wanted to talk about.” My father sips with conviction, and he’s nearly finished with his drink. “Why I called this family meeting. So let’s stay focused. Back then, we worked together, and we’ve made it this far. Now we need to do it again. Renew our vows, as it were.”

Cora jabs a finger at me. “She broke our vows. We were doing fine. I hadn’t told anyone. And now she decides to tell the world about all the horrible things she’s done in her books. First, her husband and now…now what happened in this house. She’s the problem, not me.”

As calm and reasoned as I want to be, my brain has other plans. It tells me to stand and tower over Cora, assume a threatening stance. So I do.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” My hands are shaking, fury, not nerves.

“Sit down,” my father says.

“I don’t?” she says. “You think you’re innocent? Oh, I don’t think so.”

I want to smash my fist right into her cheekbone, batter that perfect face.

“You can pretend you didn’t kill Riley, but how about The Child of the Steps?” Cora continues. “I suppose that’s also a coincidence?”

“Rose, sit,” my father commands.

I do not sit. “I’m human, Cora. A human with a conscience. With guilt and regrets. But neither of you know what that’s like because you don’t seem bothered by it at all.” I place my hands on each arm of her chair and lean closer to her face. “We never talked about it. After that night, we all pretended like it never happened.