A hand was tapping at her cheek, softly at first, then harder. She shook herself awake and swung out with a fist, striking a thigh.
She heard loud laughter, then Eric’s chiseled face swam into her vision, his breath sharp with the smell of French cigarettes, his eyes looking into hers.
“She’s up,” he said, and straightened so that she was now looking at the crotch of his jeans, a wide leather belt, a half-tucked-in flannel shirt.
Abigail took deep breaths through her nostrils again. It made her feel better. She rotated her head on her neck, pain radiating down her shoulders and back, and the world stayed level. I feel better, she thought, but lowered her head back down anyway, not wanting anyone to know that she was more conscious than they thought she was.
“No, no,” he said, his voice oddly gentle as he tapped his fingers against her cheek again. “Stay awake for us.”
“Where am I?” she said, trying to make her voice sound slurred, although it was coming out that way pretty much on its own.
“It’s all just a dream,” Bruce said, stepping forward to stand next to Eric. She watched him turn back to the men huddled around the fire, gauging their reaction to what he’d just said. They were all grinning, and Bruce turned back to her, a smile of satisfaction now on his face.
“It’s like a terrible dream,” she said, making her voice sound small, wondering if there was still a chance that she could gain some sympathy from her husband, or maybe even from Eric. But Eric was smiling and Bruce laughed, the same merciless sound she’d heard coming from him earlier by the plane. A barking laugh, like rocks being clapped together.
“Yeah, we all know about terrible dreams,” came a new voice, and Abigail refocused her eyes on the speaker. It was Chip with his reedy voice, and all the other men, including Bruce, now looked at him. “How does it feel?” he said, pointing his finger at her.
He seemed to be waiting for an actual answer and Abigail shook her head slowly, suddenly panicking, as if she’d been asked a question in class that she didn’t know the answer to.
“How does it feel?” he asked again, his voice louder. He took a step toward her. The fire was behind him, his shaggy beard and sloping shoulders outlined in flickering orange light. Next to him was the blond pilot, now holding the mask he’d been wearing earlier down by his side, tapping it rhythmically against his thigh as though it were a tambourine.
“How does what feel?” Abigail said, and the words came out loud and clear, although her voice sounded strange in her own head.
“How does it feel to be a modern American woman, to live an entirely privileged life, to be able to do everything you want to do, everything you feel like doing, and get away with it?”
Abigail said nothing.
“How does it feel to finally have to own up to your actions? Both of you.”
Chip looked over at Jill and so did Abigail. They’d been moved closer to each other, although they were still about ten yards apart.
“Alec, please,” Jill said, her voice almost a wail.
“Jill Greenly,” Chip boomed. “You are charged with infidelity and wantonness. How do you plead?”
Abigail watched Jill, her head swiveling, her eyes wide. She looked like a panicked cat searching a room for its exits.
“How do you plead?” Chip said again, stepping in her direction, now pointing at her, his arm held high, almost above his head.
It’s a trial, Abigail thought. We’re on fucking trial. She felt a laugh rising in her that she knew was partly hysteria. She tried to suppress it, but it came out anyway. The eyes of all the men shifted toward her.
“We’ll get to you, Abigail Lamb,” Chip said.
She laughed some more, and Bruce said, “Keep your mouth shut.”
She kept laughing, her shoulders hitching up and down almost spasmodically. Finally, with tears streaking her face, she said, “You bunch of fucking cowards.”
Bruce bent and took a wild swing at Abigail’s head with a closed fist. She leaned back and the punch missed, and because Bruce was bent over awkwardly, the punch spun him and he twisted to the ground, landing hard on his side. Eric helped him up, then held him back.
Abigail felt the laughter rising inside her again, but suppressed it, thinking that Bruce might just kill her on the spot if she laughed again.
“I trusted you,” Bruce said, still being held by Eric.
“You set me up,” she said. “People who trust each other don’t do that.”
“You fucked another man on a weekend to celebrate our wedding. On a weekend that I paid for.” In the light from the fire she could see spit spraying from his lips as he spoke.