Chapter 9
I looked down at the mud spattered across my skirt and kept my voice low.
"Now," I said.
"And back up every piece of public footage of me from all these years.
"The sooner the better."
The line stayed quiet for a few seconds, as though he had heard something under it.
"Ms. Winters, are you planning to..."
I raised my head, looked at the gray sky over the fields, and laughed.
"I'm planning to do what Richard told me.
"Be good.
"He wants me to pick out the next man.
"So I should pick the one that pleases him most."
After I hung up, I looked down at Clover in my arms.
She lay very quiet.
Like she was just taking a nap.
I carried her out behind the barn.
Rain ran down my chin, soaking into her fur.
I dug a hole for her.
While I was burying her, memories from my childhood flooded back.
My sister had crouched by the mound of dirt, crying while she asked me a question.
"Stella, is it going to be cold down there?"
I couldn't answer her then.
And I still can't answer her now.
I pressed the dirt flat over Clover and smoothed it down.
Then I stood up and walked toward the car.
The rain was coming down in sheets.
I didn't bother with an umbrella.
Halfway to the car, I glanced back.
The little mound of dirt was so small.
Just like the one from years ago.
I looked at it for a couple of seconds, then turned away and kept walking, not looking back again.
This was the last time.
It was the last time I would let something I wanted slide out of my hands because I was afraid of being an inconvenience.
Richard and Emily were married on the seventh day after Clover died.
In those seven days Richard sent me three messages.
The first came that night.
Richard: [Fitting done yet?]
The second came around noon the next day.
Richard: [You back yet?]
The third came the day before the wedding.
Richard: [Driver picks you up at nine tomorrow.]
He never once brought up what happened that night.
He never even asked why I hadn't answered.
The whole thing had apparently been a small mood on my part, hardly worth mentioning.
I never replied to a single one.
The next morning at 9 AM, the driver was right on time, waiting downstairs.
When I got in, the driver gave me a quick look in the rearview mirror and spoke softly.
"Ms. Winters, Mr. Stanton asked me to bring you breakfast."
There was a thermal bag sitting next to me.
It came from the breakfast place I always went to.
That was just how Richard was.
Whenever he cared, he never forgot a thing.
I lowered my head, picked up the bag, and peeked inside.
Along with the oatmeal there was a hard-boiled egg already peeled, and the spoon was the small one I always used.
My stomach used to keep me from eating in the mornings, and Richard would sit on the edge of the bed with papers in one hand and a spoon in the other.
Around the third bite I would keep my mouth shut and tip my face up at him.
"Richard, you're turning into my dad."
Richard would glance up at me.
"Say that again."
I would laugh myself sideways across the bed, and halfway across he would haul me back, blanket and all, and pin me against his chest.
I honestly thought those mornings would keep going for years.
The egg in my hand had gone completely cold.
I closed the bag and set it aside.
The driver asked, "Ms. Winters, aren't you going to eat?"