And if Mrs. Bennett were gone, that would fix everything too.
Despite my churning stomach, I lick the remainder of the ice cream off my spoon. I’m glad for the discomfort, because I want to feel something besides the ache in my chest. But the loss of the love of my life is not the only emotion I’m feeling right now. Almost overwhelming that sadness is another emotion: Hate.
I hate Mrs. Bennett. I thought I hated her before, but I didn’t even know the meaning of the word. She is the worst person I have ever met. She is ruining both of our lives, and it’s like she doesn’t even care.
If she were dead, I could still have my job, and we could still be together.
I could never do anything to hurt her though. I mean, yes, I was responsible for my father’s death, but that was an accident. I would never…
I could never…
No. No way. Out of the question.
But one thing I could do is try to reason with her. She probably thinks Nathaniel is taking advantage of me, but that’s not true at all. Maybe I could explain it to her. Maybe if she understands how much he and I mean to each other, she’ll finally get it. It’s not like she even wants him anymore if she kicked him out.
I have to believe that Mrs. Bennett has a decent bone in her body. After all, she did try to help me in math class. She didn’t turn me in for cheating, and she helped me to find a tutor.
Maybe she’ll listen to reason.
After all, I have to try. It’s my only hope.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Fifty-Three
EVE
THIS ENTIRE DAY FEELS SURREAL.
I caught my husband kissing one of his sixteen-year-old students. He was having sex with her. Now I have thrown him out, and as soon as I can, I’m going to file for divorce. I don’t need a lawyer. He’s going to give me everything I want—everything I deserve.
Or else.
I can’t celebrate the end of my marriage though. I skip dinner entirely and end up grabbing some Neapolitan ice cream to soak up the alcohol in my belly. I turn on a movie on Netflix, and three hours later, I am feeling much more sober, for better or worse.
I thought there was a reasonable chance I would spend the entire night awake, but the combination of alcohol and dairy is making me extremely tired. My eyelids feel like they have lead attached to them, and almost against my will, I find myself drifting off on my sofa.
Until I get awakened by a crash.
I scramble off the sofa, tossing aside the container of ice cream. I only finished about half of it, and the rest has turned into ice cream soup. But that’s the least of my problems.
What was that noise?
I never quite appreciated how nice it was to have a man in the house when things went bump in the night. And this was more than just a bump. This was definitely a crash. And it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
I look over in the direction of the kitchen door. Did I imagine that sound? I was almost asleep and also watching television. The noise might have come from the TV, although it really did seem like it was coming from the kitchen.
But I don’t hear anything else.
I collapse back down onto the sofa, my heart still pounding. Okay, first thing on Monday, I am getting a security system in this house. One of those systems where if you don’t punch in the code within five seconds of entering, the National Guard will show up at your door. I don’t need Nate.
Really, the only person I wish were here is Jay. I would feel very safe from intruders if he were in the living room with me. Nobody would mess with Jay. But Jay and me living together is so far from being a possibility, it’s almost laughable.
Just as I’m searching for my phone to search for companies to install a security system, I hear a clanging sound.
I didn’t imagine it this time. It was definitely coming from the kitchen. And now there’s another sound.
Footsteps.
Oh God. There is definitely somebody in this house.
I scan the coffee table, searching for my phone. I don’t see it anywhere. There is a fairly good chance that I left it in the kitchen when I was grabbing the ice cream. And we don’t have a landline, which means there’s no way to call 911 without going into the kitchen.
I should get out of the house. That’s what they say in horror movies, right? That the stupid victim is always running toward the intruder rather than out the front door like a normal, rational person. And yet I feel reluctant to leave. This is my house, and the last thing I want to do is leave it unguarded while I run off without even my phone.
But I don’t want to go anywhere near the kitchen either.
I finally make up my mind. I grab my purse, cursing the fact that I left all my shoes upstairs. All I’ve got by the doorway is a pair of dirty sneakers, which I really don’t want to put on. I only wear them when I do chores out on the lawn. I don’t want to leave the house behind with all my beautiful shoes upstairs. What if somebody steals my Christian Louboutin pumps? If I’m going to make a run for it, can I bring my shoes with me?