Chapter 9: Salt Water

Brent crossed the garage slowly and took the vial out of my hand.

He held it under the bulb.

His lips moved as he read the label.

"Garner, Elise," he said. "That's your name."

"Yes."

"These are your shots."

"They're the shots she gave me every night."

He looked at the open refrigerator, at the stacked white boxes with their sealed tape.

He picked one up and turned it over.

"This is full," he said. "It's all full."

"It's all full."

"It's a year of it."

"Fourteen months."

He put the box down on the shelf, and it slid against the others.

Then he reached for the clear bags at the bottom and read the printed label out loud.

"Sodium chloride. That's salt water."

"Yes."

"That's what she put in you?"

"I don't know what she put in me, Brent. I only know what was in her refrigerator."

His whole face changed.

I had watched that face for ten years.

I had seen it embarrassed, tired, hungry and lying.

I had never seen it afraid.

"No," he said. "She wouldn't. She sat with us in the waiting room. She held your hand when you cried. She told me you needed more time."

"She told you that?"

"Every time I wanted to talk to you about the treatment. She said you were fragile. She said I had to wait."

"And you waited."

"I thought she was helping."

"While you were sleeping with her."

He winced.

The words landed, and he did not argue with them.

He sat down hard on an overturned crate and put both hands in his hair.

"I'm going to be sick," he said.

I stood over him in the cold, with my phone still in my hand.

I should have felt triumph.

All I felt was tired.

The front door slammed, and quick footsteps crossed the kitchen.

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