Page 103 of The Last Mrs. Parrish

She must have given him an ultimatum. I heard him whispering on the phone in the bathroom last night, telling her he needed more time. She’d better play her cards right, I thought, or it could all blow up. Jackson was not a man to be threatened. I’d seen her the day before when I stopped by the office, and I could tell. She was definitely pregnant, at least three months along. I wondered if it was a boy or girl. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard for anything in my life since Julie died.

All of us walked on eggshells all through dinner. I could hear his phone pinging with texts from the dining room. At one point he got up, threw his napkin on the chair, and stormed from the room. Minutes later he was back, and I didn’t hear any more texts coming in.

After I put the girls to bed, we watched a documentary on penguins. Finally, around ten, he looked at me.

“Let’s turn in.”

To my relief, he washed up, got into bed, and fell asleep. I lay there in the dark, wondering what was going on between them. I had started my period last night and had just gotten up to take something for my dull headache, then got back into bed and fell asleep.

I thought I was dreaming. Something bright was hurting my eyes, and I tried to turn but found myself immobilized. My eyes flew open. He was straddling me, shining a flashlight at them.

“Jackson, what are you doing?”

“Are you sad, Daphne?”

I shielded my eyes from the light and turned my head to the side. “What?”

He pushed my cheek so that I was looking into the light again. “Are you sad that you got your period? Another month and no baby.”

What was he talking about? Could he have somehow found out about the IUD? “Jackson, please, that hurts.”

He turned the light off, and I felt the cold steel of the gun against my neck.

He clicked the flashlight on again. Then off. On and off while the hand holding the gun pressed against my neck. “Are you laughing behind my back every month? Knowing how much I want a son?”

“Of course not. I would never laugh at you.” The words came out in a whisper.

He slid the gun from my neck up to my face and positioned it over one eye. “It would be hard to cry without an eye.”

He’s going to kill me this time.

Then he moved it to my mouth and ran it around my lips. “It would be hard to talk about me without a mouth.”

“Jackson, please. Think of the children.”

“I am thinking of the children. The ones I don’t have. The son I don’t have because you’re a withered-up old prune. But don’t worry. I have a solution.”

He moved the gun to my stomach and drew a figure eight. “It’s okay, Daphne, if you’re too used up to carry a baby in here. I’ve decided we can adopt.”

“What are you talking about?” I was too afraid to move, worried the gun would go off.

“I know someone who’s going to have a baby, and she doesn’t want it. We could take it.”

My whole body tensed. “Why would we want to adopt someone else’s baby?”

I heard him cock the gun. He leaned over and turned the lamp on so that I could see.

He smiled at me. “There’s only one bullet. Let’s see what happens. If I pull the trigger and you live, we’ll adopt. If you die, we won’t. Sound fair?”

“Please...”

I watched in terror as his finger moved back and held my breath until I heard the click. The breath whooshed out of me, and a cry escaped my lips.

“Good news. We’re going to have a son.”

Part III

Sixty-Six

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