Connor, who was now dead and draining blood on the floor of his living room.
I peeled off my sweatshirt and dumped it in the river, leaving me wearing only my tank top. It was warm for October, just under sixty degrees, but I was shaking with chills. I splashed some of the water over my arms to rinse the blood off them. I’d never touched Hudson River water before, always kind of skeeved out by it, thinking of the possibility of dead bodies floating beneath its surface. And here I was, confirming my own suspicions about it as I disposed of my bloody clothes.
Eventually, I had no choice but to walk home. Clara would be bound to wake up soon, if she hadn’t already; I’d been gone for nearly three hours. I fervently hoped that she was still asleep so that I wouldn’t have to concoct some story about a late-night walk to Tim, as I’d planned to if needed.
When I got home around two—terrified I’d see someone else in my elevator, and relieved beyond measure when I didn’t—I yanked off the rest of my clothes and put them straight into the washing machine, which was conveniently right by our door. I walked naked down the hall and into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. I took a “real” shower: I shampooed my hair, scrubbed my body all over, and shaved my legs and underarms for the first time in at least a week, cutting myself several times because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. But I wanted every trace of Connor’s blood, and what I’d participated in, off my body. I have no idea how long I stayed in there, but my skin was practically purple with heat when I finally got out. I couldn’t help but think of the fact that the night that I met Connor and the night that I participated in his murder ended pretty much exactly the same way: scalding myself in a shower, wondering how I would face my family and my life in the light of day.
I fumbled in the dark for sweatpants that I knew would be on the floor and pulled them on, walking over to Clara’s bassinet to check on her. She was fast asleep, as was Tim in the bed a few feet away. I couldn’t touch her. I felt like there was still blood on my hands, even though I’d probably never been cleaner, physically.
I crawled into bed, but as bone tired as I was, I doubted I’d be able to sleep without knowing what had happened with Louise and Vanessa. And police could be discovering Connor’s body at that very moment. A neighbor could have heard something and called it in. I was sure that any minute, I’d hear pounding at our door and it would be the police, knowing exactly what I’d taken part in, ready to cuff me and take me away from my family and to jail forever. And Clara would grow up with a mom who was in prison. But perhaps Clara would be better off without me. Tim would be a great dad to her. He’d probably get remarried to someone sweet and fun, someone normal. They’d have another baby, or two, and his new wife would handle early motherhood with ease, laughing off the exhaustion and enjoying the long days of sweet cuddles. And she’d be the kind of woman to make sure to treat Clara like her own daughter. This was the kind of wife Tim should be with. Uncomplicated and good. He shouldn’t have been saddled with a woman like me, an absolute mess who’d kept the truth from him and was now entangled in a murder. Whatever consequences awaited me, I deserved them.
Tim stirred as I tried to get settled in bed and shake away these thoughts. “Did you just shower?” he mumbled.
“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. Thought it might help.”
“Clara doing okay?” He really was dead to the world, including our daughter, when he slept. I was so grateful that my absence hadn’t even been discovered—one less lie I’d have to tell. It was too long a list, at this point. Thank you, Clara, for not making me have to lie again, I thought.
“Yeah. She’s good.” At that exact moment she let out a desolate, desperate-sounding wail. We both sighed. “Can you please give her a bottle?” I asked Tim. “I’m too tired.” Really, I couldn’t face her; I didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and sweet. I might ruin her.
“Okay.” He sounded surprised but completely willing. “We’ll do it in the living room so that you can sleep.” He got back out of bed, walked over to her bassinet. “Hi, baby girl. Hungry?”
I closed my eyes and thought I would never fall asleep, but when I opened them again, light was filtering through our window. Clara was asleep on the DockATot beside me, grunting blissfully, occasionally pursing her lips in a sucking motion as she slept, one hand out of her swaddle with her finger pointing at me as if accusing me of something.