Conspiracy

20

Amanda Rauci got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. Her eyes had finally stopped burning, but her head still felt as if it were filled with straw. Her whole body did.

The bottle of Tanqueray had only a finger’s worth of gin left in the bottom.

God, she thought, did I drink all that?

Jerry, Jerry, Jerry.

Amanda rubbed her forehead, then poured the last of the gin into her glass. She hadn’t gone out of the apartment since coming back after discovering Forester’s body. She hadn’t even gone to the funeral.

She couldn’t have trusted herself. She was sure his ex-wife had driven him to this.

Amanda drained the glass in a gulp. Then she went to the window in her living room and pushed it open. The air smelled damp, as if it was going to rain soon. A motorcycle revved in the distance. As it passed, she heard the soft chatter of some children walking on the trail that ran behind her condo.

Why would Jerry kill himself?

He wouldn’t. She knew in her gut that he wouldn’t. There was just no way — no possible way — that he would kill himself.

Maybe if he didn’t think he’d see his boys.

But he’d never do this to them. Never.

Or to her.

But what other explanation was there?

A fresh wave of self-pity swept over her. Even though she knew that’s what it was, even though she hated the emotion more than anything, it left her helpless. She stared blankly out the window, eyes unfocused.

“He didn’t kill himself,” she said finally. “He didn’t.” Amanda pushed the window closed. If she’d said those words once, she’d said them a thousand times in the past week and a half.

Amanda’s vacation had a few more days to run; then she’d be back at work. She had to pull herself together before then. She had to stop drinking.

“I’ll try another shower,” she told herself. “And then make a plan.”