Page 11 of The Kill Clause
I stare at the phone. The last time Julian and I talked, he was calling from Istanbul.Lately, I’ve been thinking about some of the things you said. I—miss you.But the line went dead, and he didn’t call again, and I didn’t call back. I thought about asking Nora if he was okay, but in the end, I just didn’t want to know. I don’t know if she knew about us or approved. It had never come up.
Bryce meets me at the door wearing a hooded cashmere sweater and a pair of tattered sweatpants torn at the knee. It’s his stealth-wealth look.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. “We have a bit of a problem.”
“Oh?”
Stepping inside, I see her. Apple is lying on the couch, zoned out and staring at her iPad. She has that pale, exhausted look that unhappy children get. Just the sight of her drawn face, the way she’s curled up in her fuzzy robe and slippers, makes my heart ache.
Bryce gives me an elaborate eye roll. “Her mom decided that she wanted to spend Christmas Eve with her boyfriend. She dropped the kid off; all her presents are in the garage. I can’t get her to go to sleep. She’s in a mood.”
Imagine that. And what with these sterling examples of parental devotion.
Standing there in the foyer, the totality of my fuckedness dawns cold and hard. I am not going to kill Bryce tonight. And I am going to have to answer to Nora. It’s not going to be pretty.
Something Dr. Black said to me rings back.In abuse situations, eventually you will run up against a hard place. You can’t continue under conditions that harm you. So you have to find a way out, no matter the consequences.She saidthis in reference to my mother, when I told her that I wished she’d just stayed with my dad, that she should have known he’d find her and kill her. Surely, I posited, a punch in the face or a grabbed arm, his occasional drunken rages, would have been better than the alternative.She was probably motivated to save you. And she did.
Did she, though?
“I’ll take care of her,” I say. Bryce visibly sags with relief, like the idea of trying to comfort his unhappy four-year-old is more than he can bear.
“That’s great,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll make us a drink. You try to put her down for the night. Tell her Santa won’t come if she’s not sleeping or something.”
The world is full of parents who have no desire to parent.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, approaching her. She side-eyes me, glancing reluctantly away from the screen. The device emits manic sounds and circus music. I put my hand on it, and she releases it easily. I click it off and place it on the glass coffee table. “Merry Christmas.”
She hugs a tattered bunny. “My mommy had to go on a trip,” she says sadly.
“I’m so sorry. But your daddy’s here, and so am I. Do you remember me?”
She nods. “Zoey. You like to color.”
“That’s right,” I say, sitting next to her. She scootches over and drops her head into my lap. I stroke the silken white-blond strands of hair. Her head is heavy and warm.
“You must be tired.”
“I’m not. I’m never tired,” she says sleepily.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. Let’s go into your room and read for a while. And I’ll get you all tucked in. You have to at leastpretendto be asleep so that Santa comes.”
She looks up at me. “Is he still coming? I was supposed to be at my mommy’s house.”
“Oh, of course,” I tell her with a smile.
“How does he know where I am?”
“Santa knows everything,” I say with a wink.
She lets me lead her to her bedroom, after a trip to the bathroom, then a stop in the kitchen for a sippy cup of water and a kiss from her father, who’s already drinking. He does seem to love her, gives her a big bear hug.
“Love you, little monkey,” he says as she clings to him. “Santa’s going to be very good to you because you’re the nicest little girl in the world.”
“Good night, Daddy.”
I search through the books on her shelf and don’t find what I’m looking for. So I download a copy ofThe Night before Christmason my phone, turn the lights off so just the night-light is glowing, kick off my shoes, lie beside her, and start to read. She tucks herself into my body, and she’s sound asleep before I reach the end. Then I just lie there, wishing I could stay with her. Fantasizing for a moment that Bryce is my husband and we sneak out to the garage to get all her presents, arrange them around the tree. That we have a peaceful, imperfect life where everyone is safe and reasonably happy.
I am going to walk out of here without killing Bryce. And then I’m going to have to go on the run from Nora. I know this. And I know she will hunt me down. Julian laid it out for me that first night:With the things you’ve done and what you know, you can never be allowed to leave the Company. You must see that.
