“Quietly. You know James. He doesn’t say much, but he thinks lots.”
I laugh but not with humor. While my husband brandishes his reputation like a weapon, James keeps his off the radar. The deafening killer and the silent killer. They’re quite different like that, and yet scarily similar.
“I don’t want him to worry about me,” Beau goes on, and this time I am laughing with humor. What planet is she on?
“Next to killing, Beau, worrying about us is what our husbands do best.” I frown at the windshield. “Actually, given they killed the wrong man, I think they worry better than they kill.”
Beau lets out a bark of laughter, and it’s so great to hear, even if our humor is warped. “Do not let him hear you say that.”
I scoff. “What will he do? Kill me? We just established our husbands are terrible murderers.” I’m talking shit. They’re frighteningly talented at ending lives. They just got the wrong life on this occasion.
“Anyway,” Beau goes on. “Husbands? I’ve not married my killer.” She smirks at the road.
“Why don’t you just say yes?” I know he’s asked,morethan once.
“Because he killed Lawrence’s husband,” she says on a shrug.
What?I stare at her, my mouth open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I only found out last night before dinner, and in case you missed it, a lot of shit has hit the fan since then.” She gives me a high eyebrow, and I sigh. “It’s going to be okay, you know that, right?” Reaching for my hand, she gives it a comforting squeeze. I don’t know what Beau’s had, but I want some.
“How do you know?” This is like an unbearable, spinning merry-go-round, everyone’s emotions constantly being tossed from exhilarated to despair.
“Because you’re married to The Brit, and I am with The Enigma.” She takes her hand back to the wheel, smiling.
“Didyoumiss the shit hitting the fan last night?” I ask, completely bemused.
“I’m meditating. Lawrence insisted.”
“What, and now you’re all up for war?” I ask, sarcasm rife in my tone.
“Not up for it. Perhaps just accepting. You should try it.”
“Accepting?”
“Meditating. It might lead to acceptance.”
“I cannot accept raising my baby in the criminal underworld. I’m not becoming a mafia family.”
“Rose,” Beau sighs, reaching over and giving my belly a rub. “I hate to break it to you, but we’re already a mafia family.”
I pout and clench her hand, hoping one day I can feel my friend’s tummy and know there’s life in there again for her too. Family. We’re one big fucked-up family. Fucked up, yes, but we all have each other.
“What do you think it is?”
“Whatwhatis?” I ask, confused.
“The baby.” She laughs. “Boy or girl?” Her curiosity endears me and pains me. How happy she is for me, and yet so deeply sad for herself and James.
“I hope it’s a boy, because—”
“Imagine Danny with a girl.”
“Exactly.” We both shiver at the thought. He would never cope.
“What are we shopping for anyway?” she goes on.
Shaking my head, back to bemused, I pull out my cell. “I’m making that curry I told you about.” I show her the screen and the recipe I saw on TV the other day. Just watching TV. Chilling out. Being a vegetable. Eating. Drinking broccoli juice.Bliss.“I need every vegetable known to man and some goat.”