In fury, he drew his sword and cut the dead woman’s hand off.
Then he dragged the body up the stairs.
Lady Mary scooped up the hand and ran home as fast as she could.
The next day, they were to be married. Before the ceremony was a breakfast. Mr. Fox, Lady Mary, her two brothers, and their guests all sat down together at the table.
“I had a terrible dream last night,” Lady Mary announced to the company.
She told the story of her visit to Mr. Fox’s castle. She told them of the closed steel door, and of the corridor behind it, filled with bodies. She told them of the dead woman, whose hand was cut off for the sake of a diamond ring.
“It is not so,” said Mr. Fox. “It was only a dream, my darling.”
“But it was so,” said Lady Mary, and she held up the severed hand for everyone to see.
At once her two brave brothers drew their swords. They cut Mr. Fox into a thousand pieces.
* * *
—
“MR. FOX” IS my story, just like “Cinderella” was.
I am Lady Mary,
longing for love,
enraptured by a new romance,
protected by her siblings.
And Pfeff,
he is Mr. Fox.
* * *
—
BUT MAYBE I am Mr. Fox, too.
We can argue about it in hell.
PART FIVE
Mr. Fox
44.
IT IS LUDA’S night off. After supper, Tipper asks Yardley and me to help clean up.
The boys, Penny, and Erin disappear back to Goose, with Bess trailing them. My father and Uncle Dean pour themselves nightcaps and begin arguing. Something about financial ethics and business associates—nothing interesting. Tipper shoos them outside and they take themselves to the Big Beach. Tomkin goes into the Clairmont den to watch television.
Yardley and I are to help with the dishes, the dirty countertops, and so on. Tipper gives us aprons and Yardley grumbles as she straps hers on.
“I do this every night of my life, young lady,” says my mother merrily. “So get used to it. When you have a family, there’s no alternative.”
“I think I’ll be in the operating theater,” says Yardley. “My husband will feed the kids while I’m sewing up someone’s chest cavity.”
“My kids will eat in restaurants,” I say.
“Okay, ladies,” says Tipper. “We’ll see how that goes down when you have two little ones in diapers.”
“Oh, my children won’t wear diapers,” says Yardley. “They won’t poop at all. They’ll be completely hygienic and they’ll never smell, or I won’t even have them.”
“You’re very good company,” Tipper answers. “But I need you to put on the rubber gloves and make some progress in that sink.”
When we are finished, our hands smell of bleach and our cheeks are flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Yardley and I leave my mother, who brings her glass of wine over to watch TV with Tomkin.
By now, the others have been at Goose for at least an hour. As Yardley and I head in that direction, we run into Uncle Dean and Harris, coming from the Big Beach. There is tension in the air.
Harris doesn’t look at me but claps Yardley on the shoulder as he passes her. “Done,” he says. And keeps walking.
Dean looks at his daughter. “Lotta fuss about nothing,” he says.
“I don’t think so,” she tells him.
“You want to come talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Yard, come on.”
“Carrie and I are going to Goose.”
Dean shakes his head. “Harris has a stick up his you-know-what.”
“Yeah, well. You put it there,” she says, and walks on.
“What was that about?” I ask when Dean is out of earshot.
“Oh god. I should tell you the whole thing. Do you want to hear?”
“Sure.”
“We can sit out here,” says Yardley as we step into the Goose Cottage garden, which is mostly in darkness. Light shines from the living room. The grass is littered with beer bottles and Ping-Pong balls. We can hear music thumping inside, Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”
I’m heading to flop onto the grass so I can learn why Yardley’s mad at her father, when she grabs my hand suddenly. “Oh no,” she says.
I turn to look where she is pointing.
45.
AGAINST THE PING-PONG table, in the shadows, Penny is kissing Pfeff.
They are wrapped around each other, her hand in his hair. He has pulled her loose linen shirt up and his fingers are touching her pale pink bra.
They do not seem to hear us, they are so lost in the ecstasy of one another.