“Why don’t you go upstairs and have a drink with Owen,” Irene said to him.
Irene hadn’t hired anyone to do her hair or makeup. She sat at a dressing table, applying eye shadow. She saw Leo in the mirror, standing behind her. He put his hands on her bare shoulders.
“Good god, you’re so tense,” Leo said.
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to shrug loose his hands.
She wanted to say, Stop touching me, you disgusting pig, but she didn’t have the nerve. She couldn’t figure out why her natural bluntness was dulled around him. Her psychiatrist suggested it was connected to her mother’s response when Irene tried to tell her the truth.
Leo stopped massaging her shoulders, but he wouldn’t move. He stood right behind her. She could see the strain of the buttons on his dress shirt.
“Cold feet?” Leo asked.
“Could you get me some tea?” Irene said.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Irene shouted.
Luna leaned in. “You need anything? Owen sent me to get more booze.”
“Luna, come in. Please,” Irene said.
“Actually, if you could get Irene a cup of tea,” Leo said, “that would be wonderful.”
His hand was back on Irene’s shoulder. Irene was trying to catch Luna’s gaze through the mirror, pleading with an expression of sheer panic. At least, that was her goal. She couldn’t tell if Luna had registered it or not. When Luna turned around and began to walk out of the room, Irene’s heart sank.
The next thing Irene knew, Leo was shouting, “Oh god, what’s happening?”
Irene spun around to find Luna lightly convulsing on the floor. It was only a few seconds, then Luna went still.
“What’s wrong with her?” Leo said, annoyed.
“Go get help,” Irene shouted at Leo.
He didn’t move. He stood there, gaping at Luna.
“Leo,” Irene said. “Go get Owen.”
Leo ambled out of the room and slowly climbed the stairs, grunting in pain with each step.
Irene knelt on the floor next to Luna, who suddenly opened her eyes, wide-awake. Irene, stunned, fell back on her haunches. Luna sat up and put her finger to her lips.
“Are you all right?” Irene whispered.
“I’m fine,” Luna said. She jumped up and closed the door, securing the lock. “I was faking it. I had a bad vibe and I couldn’t figure out how to make him leave.”
After a moment of confusion, Irene said, “You faked a seizure?”
“I did. If I misread the situation, I apologize.”
“No. Thank you,” Irene said. Her eyes watered. “I can’t believe you did that. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
“Great. Because I haven’t gotten you guys a wedding present yet.”
Irene pulled Luna into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she said.
“Anytime,” Luna said. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“No. Not today,” Irene said. Not any day, she meant.
* * *
—
The second, real seizure occurred post-ceremony. The photographer had wanted a few casual shots of the groom with his female best man. Luna loosened her tie and the first button on her dress shirt. She felt like someone had finally quit strangling her. The photographer had to use a flash in the dim lighting of the barn.
Leo, looking on from the crowd, didn’t notice how different the second seizure was from the first. But he did have something to say on the subject.
“How is that woman allowed to operate a motor vehicle?”
October 16, 2019
Luna was too inebriated to drive back to the Sleep Chalet, but she had to get out of that house. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, to untangle the night’s events and the memories that had gotten snarled up with them. She took an Uber back to the motel, made a slurry of instant coffee, and opened her laptop, running searches on Scarlet Hayes for half of the night.
In the morning, she woke up lying on her laptop, fully clothed. Her eyes were blurry, her throat dry, and she wasn’t even sure where she was. Some, not all, of the details came back to her. After a shower and a trip to the lobby for fresh coffee, Luna returned to the motel room and reread the articles in her browser history. There was not one mention of what Scarlet had worn the night of her death.
Then the motel phone rang, startling Luna.
“Hello,” Luna said, tentatively and with a vaguely disguised voice, in case she needed an out.
“Luna, it’s Griff.”