Chapter 11: Dirty Hands

"Yes," I said.

Twenty faces turned toward me, and I said it again so no one could say they had misheard.

"Yes. She called me twice that night, and I didn't answer."

Ansley's mother made a sound in her throat.

"You killed her."

"I was exhausted," I said.

"For four months she had called me at midnight, at one, at three."

"She would say she was standing on a balcony."

"Geneva," Vaughn said.

"Every time, I picked up. I talked her down for hours while you slept next to me, and you never knew."

His head jerked.

"I never told you because she asked me not to. She said if you found out, she'd do it for real."

The room had gone so quiet I could hear the candle.

"That night I looked at the phone, and I could not do it one more time."

"I turned it face down. I have regretted that every day for five years."

"Murderer," Ansley's mother whispered.

"Maybe," I said.

"Or maybe a woman who threatened her own life every time a man left the room was very sick."

"And nobody around her was given the help they needed."

"That's enough," Vaughn said.

He took my elbow.

"We're leaving."

I let him walk me out through the hall past all those faces, and nobody tried to stop us.

Kendra stood by the dining room door with her hands pressed to her mouth.

"Vaughn," she said. "Please."

"Not now."

The cold outside stung my wet face.

He opened the passenger door of his car and I got in.

He did not start the engine.

He gripped the wheel and stared at the dark street.

"Four months," he said.

"Yes."

"She called you for four months."

"Yes."

"And I never saw you look tired."

"I made sure you didn't."

"Why?"

"Because you loved her once, and I thought it would break you."

He laughed, one raw breath.

"It broke me anyway."

"I know."

"So you let me say that to you in the parking lot. Our hands are dirty."

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