Cal’s lips thin. “I’m not going to fire him, Lake. It’s just causing me more work, that’s all. I’ll talk to him.” Cal clears his throat, stands, and throws his plate in the garbage. “I’ll check on the boys.”

“So,” Laken says, “you going to be all right here by yourself?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Corrine’s got a guy coming tomorrow to install a security system.”

Laken nods. “That’s good. Make sure you lock the doors tonight before you go to bed.”

“I’ll be careful. You don’t think whoever killed Jay would come back for me?”

She sips her wine, looks away from me momentarily. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to scare you. Whoever did this is probably a thousand miles away by now.”

Does she really think that, or is she just trying to make me feel better? Probably the latter, but that’s okay. I don’t have the energy to worry about it. In some part of my brain, I think that being dead alongside Jay wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me.

“Hey, why don’t you come into the shop tomorrow? How about a massage and a facial?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Laken shrugs. “What’ll you do all day? You’ve got to get out.” She glances around the kitchen. “You’ll go crazy if you stay in all the time.”

“I’m thinking I’ll go back to work in a few days.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

I don’t want to do anything. I want to stay in the house, burrow on the sofa, and pull a blanket over my head. That’s what I want to do. “What else can I do, Laken? Go back and live with my parents? I’d rather die.”

Her dark eyes widen under her perfectly sculpted brows.

“Sorry,” I say, “that was melodramatic. You know what I mean. Going back to live with my parents is not an option.”

She places her hand on mine. “I read you shouldn’t make any major life decisions right after a traumatic event.”

I manage a thin smile. “Exactly. So going back to work might be the best thing.”

* * *

Laken, Cal, and the kids left at eight. I watched them from the porch pile into their big SUV and disappear into the night. I stood outside awhile, my arms clutching my sweater around my chest, and shivered in the dark. Sleety snowflakes pinged against my face like small razors. When I turned and went into the house, I felt utterly alone, knowing that Jay was truly gone forever.

I turn on all the lights downstairs and walk from room to room, checking corners and closets, double-checking that the lock Jay put on the cellar door is fastened. There’s a little room tucked behind the kitchen. Jay said it was probably a larder years ago, and I picture rows of mason jars lined up on the shelves, their chunks of onion and cucumber swimming in briny water full of floating herbs. I picture some ghostly woman in her long dress and apron lining them up there, and it makes me think of how quickly life passes. I wonder about the people who have lived in our house and how many of them are probably dead. We have no need for a larder, so we use the room for storage and the washer and dryer. I pull a chain that controls the bulb hanging overhead, and the room is filled with sickly light.