Here She Lies

now?”
    “Nothing. I broke it off that morning, under the tree, when you were photographing us. That’s why she took off with Lexy.”
    I could still see his photo-frozen look of vexation that morning. Had she threatened to take Lexy? Had he not believed her? The fool.
    “Okay,” I said, “I’ll help you clean it.” The knife was covered with my fingerprints. My fingerprints, anda tangible shadow of my blood mixed with Zara’s — frozen blood, but still mine. “Let’s do it upstairs, in a bucket, with some bleach.”
    “All right.” He smiled, softened. “That’s a good idea.”
    I edged past him through the dark, grim basement, aware of how risky it was to have my back to him now. I heard him following me and when we came up the stairs into air and light — windows and doors, avenues out — I started to breathe.
    He locked the basement door behind us and I set Lexy down on the floor. Still holding the knife, I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink, got the bucket and set it under a fast stream of hot water. My hand shook as I poured in a copious amount of bleach. I set the open bottle on the counter, thinking I could throw it at his face, blind him, and get out of here — but there was Lexy, crawling between the kitchen and the dining room, pulling her toy dog on a long string as it clacked across the linoleum.
    “Put the top back on the bottle,” I told him. And he did it, just like that. In that moment I understood how afraid he was and that he wanted to be told what to do. Bobby’s passivity had often annoyed me, but only now did I comprehend its hidden danger.
    I dropped the knife vertically into the bucket and angled it so the whole thing was submerged in the bleachy water. The pinkish residue that had edged the spine of the knife vanished. I rinsed my hands and dried them on a dish towel.
    And then I turned to my husband, who was leaning on his elbow, looking into the bucket like it was a welldeep enough to bury secrets. It wasn’t, because now I knew the truth, and that hard kernel of knowledge would grow and blossom in my mind for the rest of my life. In the natural light of the kitchen Bobby’s skin had taken back its healthy tone and he looked weirdly confident, as if everything would be fine between us now that the problem of the knife had been cleared up. He looked almost handsome, almost kind, almost right; almost my Bobby — but not him. What came next was what I had to do; it was the most strength I could pull out of myself to build a simple bridge — a bridge to safety — for me and my children.
    “I’m going to ask you to do one thing for me,” I said. “Only one. But it’s very important.”
    “Anything.” He touched my arm with what was supposed to be affection but felt like assault. I didn’t flinch.
    “I won’t turn either of you in. Just don’t stop me from leaving and don’t try to find us.”
    His eyes clouded with surprise, panic, disappointment, a parade of emotions too cacophonous to control. He looked as if he might cry, but he didn’t. He nodded. And that was the last communication between us, ever.
    Just as he had last spring, he stood by and watched as I loaded Lexy’s and my suitcases into the car and buckled her into the car seat. She didn’t like being strapped down. She wanted to roam free and fast every waking minute, but today she had no choice. I started the engine, put the car into Drive, and inch by inch, mile by mile, devoured the road away from him.
    It was all over now. Over. And I was gone.