This Story Might Save Your Life(63)

“What did Xander do?” When she didn’t answer, I asked again. “What did he do?”

I hated him then. More than I’d ever hated him before. My blood was rising magma, thick and sticky. He didn’t deserve her. I’d shown so much restraint over the years, put up with so many of his snide comments, his condescending looks, and now I felt as if I could violently explode. I trembled as I took her hand and said, “What did he do to you? What did he do? If he hurt you, I swear to god I’ll kill him.”

She yanked her hand away.

“Joy—”

“Just go, Benny.”

The microphone was still on.

I don’t remember what happened next. Only that I was no longer welcome. I must have stood. Must have walked away. Must have let myself out and stumbled home and poured the first of too many drinks before begging her via text to forget what I said.

That was the last time I saw her. She never returned my texts, and the episode is gone.



* * *



I’M LOST IN this memory when my cell rings.

It’s Keller. My head is swarming. It takes me a second to recalibrate. I put her on speakerphone so Sarah can hear. “Is there any news?”

Keller doesn’t waste a beat. “There’s no easy way to say this, Benny, but we found a body.”

I’m buzzing all over. Why is she saying it like that? “Please tell me it isn’t Joy.”

“It’s not Joy.”

Sarah drops her head onto my shoulder. I exhale so hard it nearly flattens me. “Oh, thank god. Thank god.” It’s as if I’ve been carrying this tension around for months. Years. My entire person is trembling with relief. “Listen, I found something Joy was working on. Her memoir. There’s a lot of messed-up stuff in there about Xander. He was abusive, and I think it’s pretty clear he must have kidnapped her, or—I don’t know. It’s really bad. Can I forward it to you?”

“I don’t think you understand.”

A second, hour, lifetime passes before she speaks again. I know what’s coming next.

“We found Xander.”





Part Two





Joy Moore


Day Three

I wake to a hammering at my door. Three sharp raps. My head whirs, and I roll toward the wall, every inch of my body protesting the effort. The pillow rubs against my swollen cheekbone and I nearly yelp from the pain, but I manage to remain quiet as I wait. My heart pounds uncomfortably into the mattress. Sure enough, rap rap rap.

Two attempts, three raps each. It’s the only way I know another day has passed.

In this room, I’ve lost all sense of time.



* * *



I WAKE WITH a sour taste in my mouth. My body is heavy as I roll back around. If I didn’t know better I might believe I weigh five hundred pounds. I open my good eye a slit and my headache flares. I close it again.



* * *



IT’S DARK NOW and my muscles protest as I stumble forward. One, two, three, four. Five steps. I listen for voices, for the scuttle of feet. Hearing nothing, I open the door and retrieve my tray.

A bottle of water. A muffin in plastic wrapping. A banana.

I set the food on my nightstand and return to bed.



* * *



I SIT UP so fast my vision swims. Squinting, I focus on the untouched muffin. “Naturally flavored wild blueberry” coated in unnatural shine inside its plastic sheath. I reach for it, and it crinkles beneath my fingers. I watch my hands as if they’re separate from my body, trembling with the effort of opening a simple wrapper.

The sticky scent of baked goods fills my nostrils the moment the muffin is free, and my swollen eyes water. Exhausted, I sag back onto my pillow, but I don’t sleep.

I lie motionless, Benny’s words playing on repeat. Because she knows I’m in love with you. My heart aches as time reverses itself, all the way back to the flaming margaritas, to the first mention of TSMSYL. In hindsight, it’s clear how we ended up here, but who could’ve known back then? We didn’t throw a pebble into a lake. We shot a rocket, and that rocket hurtled us into the stratosphere. Before we knew it, we were all trapped in space.

I sit up and stare at the muffin, determined this time. Pinching off a piece, I bring it to my mouth. Everything hurts—my jaw, my eyeballs, my skin—but I force myself to chew until I have no choice but to swallow, and then I break off another crumb, stopping when I’ve had enough.

Tomorrow, after I hear the knock, I’ll do the same, even though food is the last thing I want. I can no longer think only of myself. I need to stay strong for the baby.





Benny Abbott


Day Three

The temperature in interview room three is alternately too hot or too cold. Presently, the air conditioner blasts, but soon it will shut off, and the outdoor heat will seep through the soundproof walls like odorless poison.

So far, all I’ve learned is that Xander was found dead beside his MG deep in Angeles National Forest. At some point on Tuesday night he drove off a curve and crashed in a location not visible from the road. A hiker discovered him this afternoon. I receive this information with rising dread. “What about Joy? Was she in the car with him?”