Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Eugene Farley had built the manor for me, a courtyard house in the old style.

Gray tile and white walls, wind chimes hanging from the eaves. In the yard there was a small pond where I kept the water lilies I'd carried back from Ashboro.

In the warm room of the west wing, Pip was curled asleep on my kintsugi worktable. The moment it heard my footsteps it came stumbling over and rubbed the half-missing right ear against my palm.

I crouched down and pressed my face into Pip's soft fur, holding on to that little warmth.

Eugene stood under the covered walkway on the phone, his voice gentle. "Isabel, did you take your medicine? Mm, I won't come over tonight, I'm having dinner with her. Be good, I'll come see you tomorrow."

I listened, my fingers moving through Pip's coat until I found the old scar at the back of its neck.

That was from when Pip's previous owner had abused it. It had taken me two years to make it trust people again, to let it come near me.

"Pip," I said softly, "we're leaving."

As if it understood, Pip gave a small meow.

Eugene had made dinner himself. He worked in the kitchen with an apron on, and the back of him lined up exactly with every evening he'd ever cooked for me. Once I'd thought that was happiness. Now it only made me sick.

I sat at the table and watched him bring out dish after dish of my favorites.

The last one was sweet-and-sour fish.

I picked up my chopsticks and took a small piece of the fish.

Eugene's phone rang. He glanced at it, his face changed, and he looked at me, flustered.

"Candice, let me take this call."

He walked out under the eaves. I heard him lower his voice. "What? Isabel slit her wrists again? All right, I'll be right there."

When Eugene came back he hadn't even taken off the apron. He snatched up his car keys and hurried for the door.

"Candice, something happened on Isabel's end, I have to go over. Eat without me first, I'll be back soon."

I set down my chopsticks and looked at him.

"Eugene, today is our wedding anniversary."

"I know, but Isabel, she—"

"She slit her wrists, is that it?" I smiled. "She does it twelve times a year, and every single time you go. Eugene, has it ever crossed your mind, what if today it was me doing something foolish?"

Eugene frowned, a thread of impatience in his voice. "Candice, don't make a scene. Isabel isn't like you. She isn't as strong as you. She actually would die."

"And you," he paused, as if it were beyond doubt, "you're so soft, so good, so sensible. You wouldn't."

I looked at him, and suddenly I couldn't even summon the will to hate him.

I only said, calmly, "Then go."

Eugene looked pardoned. He pressed a hurried kiss to my forehead. "Wait for me. I'll make it up to you with a better anniversary."

He turned and walked out into the night, without looking back once.

I sat in the empty dining room, wiping the spot he'd kissed with a tissue, wiping until the skin went red, listening to the wind chimes clatter under the night wind.

I got up and dragged the suitcase out from under the bed. When the packing was done, I realized how pitifully little of it was mine. Just as well. There was nothing worth keeping.

Then I went into the warm room, scooped up Pip, and took one last look at the home I'd lived in for three years.

The warm room was filled with the porcelain Eugene had fired for me, every piece inscribed with the two characters for our names joined together. Once I'd thought it the most romantic vow in the world. Now it only stung my eyes.

From the toolbox I took the rosin and raw lacquer I used for kintsugi. They made excellent tinder. I splashed them over the curtains, over that sky-blue glazed porcelain, over the sandalwood furniture we'd chosen together.

Then I lit the lighter engraved with his initials and mine.

"All that came before is like a death yesterday."

The instant the flames rose, I held Pip and walked into the curtain of rain in the back courtyard without looking back.

I'd already had a car waiting there.