Mortal Fear

She shakes her head silently.

“Drewe?”

The sight of my wife bowing her head into her hands to hide tears is something I haven’t seen in a very long time. I come to my feet, my stomach churning with anxiety. “What’s going on? Did somebody die? Is it your parents?”

She shakes her head violently.

“What then?”

She drops her hands from her wet face and stares at me as though pleading for an explanation. “Patrick beat up Erin.”

“What?”

“Patrick hit Erin! Last night. More than once.”

“But… why? What happened?”

“She won’t tell me. I stopped by their house on my way out of Jackson. I saw the bruises the second she answered the door.”

I cannot think. White-hot rage blots out all reason. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve snatched Drewe’s car keys off the counter and started for the hall.

“Where are you going?” she asks, grabbing my arm.

“To rip that son of a bitch a new asshole.”

“Harper, don’t! That’s not the way!”

“It isn’t?”

“What would it solve?”

“He won’t hit her anymore.”

“You don’t know that. If I wanted revenge, I’d tell Daddy what happened and he’d drive to Jackson and blow Patrick’s head off. Then where would Erin and Holly be?”

I stop trying to pull free. “Where is Holly? Is she okay?”

Drewe drops her arm and retreats back into the U of the kitchen. “Patrick wouldn’t hurt Holly. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything. Where is she?”

“Home, I’m sure.”

“Is Patrick there too?”

“I assume he’ll go there after he finishes his rounds.”

“Drewe, what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know. They had an argument last night, the worst yet, but she won’t say what it was about. All I know is that Erin believes the beating was her fault.”

“Nothing justifies beating your wife.”

Drewe meets my eyes with a piercing gaze. “Erin says she deserved it.”

How quickly anger can give way to fear. This can only be about one thing.

“Harper,” she says quietly. “I think she’s having an affair.”

I have stopped breathing. My effort to look normal is wasted. Drewe has turned away and begun poking listlessly through the refrigerator, seemingly oblivious to the thunderclap reaction in me.

“Did she tell you that?” I ask.

“No, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. We all know how she used to be.” A plate of leftover chicken rattles on the counter. “The only thing I can guess is that after three years of trying to be faithful, she found she couldn’t. What else could make her feel guilty enough to stay with Patrick after he beat her?”

You don’t want to know.

Drewe shakes her head again. “Still… Patrick is the last man I would expect to lose control over something like that.”

I nod like a robot.

“Harper….”

Jesus.

“I want to ask you something.”

I am looking straight into the most vulnerable expression I have ever seen on my wife’s face.

“Are you sleeping with Erin?”

The directness of the question almost breaks my composure. For three years I have prayed this suspicion would never be voiced; now it cleaves the air between us like the blade of a guillotine.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to deny it.”

“You think I am having an affair with her? How can you even ask that?”

Drewe’s face is pale. “It’s the only thing I can see making Patrick mad enough to hit Erin! Once the thought got into my head, I couldn’t make it go away. And you and I haven’t been making love because of… of me getting off the pill.”

“Jesus, Drewe! I’m not sleeping with your sister.”

“I know she’s attractive. Sexually, I mean-”

“Drewe!”

“Don’t lie to me, Harper.” Her lower lip is quivering. “That’s all I ask. Just don’t lie.”

Just don’t lie. How many times have I heard that phrase, and from how many women? Drewe is poised like a teacup on the edge of a table. The slightest touch will shatter her into irrecoverable fragments. When I answer, I enunciate each word, my voice filled with the conviction of an apostle.

“I’m not sleeping with Erin, Drewe. I wouldn’t screw her if she climbed naked into my bed at three in the morning.”

Like sunlight burning through fog, belief lights Drewe’s eyes. She bows her head again and wipes away new tears. “God, I don’t know what I’m saying. I think seeing those bruises just about did me in.”

I hesitate, then lean forward and hug her as tightly as I can. “It’s going to be all right,” I murmur, rocking her gently. “They’ll get it straightened out.”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it may have gone too far.”

Please God no. “You can’t do anything about it tonight. Why don’t you take a Valium or something from your bag? Just climb under the covers and blank your mind.”

“You know I never take sedatives.”

“Maybe today rates an exception.”

She shakes her head and pulls back enough to look into my eyes. “You know what would make me feel better?”

“What?”

“If you’d sleep with me. Forget about those damned murders and just curl up with me.”

I feel about as sleepy as a strung-out addict, but I am not stupid. “That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in a month. Go on and wash your face. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Shouldn’t we eat something?”

“I’ll make some sandwiches and bring them to the bedroom.”

She smiles.

As she walks down the hall, I sag back against the counter. For the first time, calling the police after Karin’s death feels like a mistake. Though I see no connection, it seems that my involvement in the hunt for Brahma somehow accelerated the implosion of Erin and Patrick’s marriage-to the point that I stand here now in fear that my own will not survive the week.

Just don’t lie to me. That line should be added to the Three Biggest Lies in the World. All women say it, but none of them mean it. They think they mean it. But what they really mean is that they want there to be nothing for you to have to lie about. More sobering still, this plea forms the rationale for a very dangerous act. Just come clean, says your conscience, confess now, and everything will finally be all right. The way it used to be.

But it won’t.

Women are human beings, and it’s not human nature to forget any more than it is to forgive. Once the soft