“We need to get ready for the baby,” Hale said. “We need to work together. You know we do.”
“We’re prepared,” she said, not looking at him. “We’ve got everything we need.”
It sounded like she was running through an inventory in her mind, and that worried Hale even more. “Do you still want our little boy?” he wanted to ask her. “Do you?” He felt angry and helpless. Because I do.
His anger dissipated as he saw how unsettled she really was. “You want a glass of wine?” he asked her as she stared into the middle distance. “I’m going to have one.”
“Okay . . .”
Returning to the kitchen, he pulled a bottle of cabernet from the built-in wine rack, which was part of the center island. Yanking open a drawer, he found the corkscrew and quickly twisted out the cork. Kristina moved slowly into the kitchen and out to the sunroom, where rain was running in rivulets down the panes. He poured each of them a glass, brought hers to her, then took a deep swallow of his own, more like a gulp.
“I know I’ve been distant,” she said as if feeling her way.
This was the first attempt she’d made to reach out to him, so he kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to go on. It was his fault, too, he knew. He’d been buried in work; the lawsuits alone took up more time than he wanted to think about, and Bancroft Development was deep into construction projects both at the coast and around the Portland area.
She suddenly turned her back to the window and faced him, forcing her lips into a smile that just missed the mark. Before she could muster up more words, the smile fell off her face entirely, clearly too difficult to maintain. Sensing that, she buried her nose in her glass and took a long swallow herself.
What does this say about us? Hale wondered as they both drank deep gulps of wine in silence. Nothing good.
When she finally took a breath and offered up something, it took him aback.
“Do you believe in sorcery?” she asked tightly.
He half choked on his wine, laughed, then swallowed back the immediate gibe that sprang to his lips. “Well . . . no,” he said carefully.
“I knew you’d say that.”
He lifted a hand in a “You got me” gesture.
“I know how crazy it sounds, but I feel like something’s got ahold of me.”
“Bad juju?”
“Hale, please . . .” She brushed past him back into the kitchen and over to the counter, setting the wineglass on the island and then bracing herself. “I’m trying really hard to be honest with you and open and sharing . . . and you’re just pissing me off.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he said, following after her.
“I’ve made some bad decisions,” she said after a moment.
“Like what?”
“Things I thought I would never do. Nothing . . . criminal,” she assured him, though a spasm crossed her face. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m fucking crazy!”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said, taken aback.
“Some stuff’s happened, and it wasn’t my fault. I made mistakes, but I honestly don’t think I was really in control at the time.”
“You gotta be more specific.”
“I think . . .” She struggled for a moment, choosing her words. “Well, maybe I am crazy, because it feels like I’m under a spell. Like I have no will . . . like I’ve been hypnotized.”
“At the risk of pissing you off some more, you seem pretty awake to me.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” she said, on her own track. She made a sound between a laugh and a hiccup. “Maybe I am losing my mind a little. I don’t know. What do you think?”