I stand up as Jessica mumbles something unintelligible. “I think she might need to go to the hospital,” I say urgently.

“She’ll be fine. Just get her another drink.”

“What?”

“It’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

“She’s blue!”

Travis turns the lights to full illuminative power as Jessica moans in protest. He strides over and picks up her arm, stares at it for a second, and then drops it back down on the bed. “Her coloring is fine, or at least it’s good enough. Do you want a drink, Jessica?”

“Yesss,” she whispers.

“Get her a drink.”

I stare at Travis, unable to move. “I . . . I can’t.”

“You were a bartender, Bell, you know how to do this.”

“No, I mean . . .” I stare down at Jessica. I hate this woman. I really hate her, and I knew she might commit suicide when I took the job. I practically counted on it, but now that we’re here I . . . I just can’t be an extension of his cruelty. I can’t be the one who kills her!

“Your kids are here,” I remind him, a little desperately.

“I told the nanny to take them out for pizza. Really, Bell, she’s just going to pass out. I don’t see what the problem is. But if you’d rather she suffer through this, fine. She can get her own drink. Regardless, I need to talk to you, now.”

I look from him to her and then to him again.

Sara was right. He wants her to die. It’s why he’s so intent on regularly humiliating her. Like me, he wants her to disappear.

But now that we’re here, in the moment of truth, I realize that he has the advantage. Travis is simply more merciless than I have ever been or ever could be.

And now I don’t know what to do.

Travis walks back to the bedroom door. “Shall we speak in the office?”

“Yes—I mean . . . I’ll get her a drink and meet you there.”

He registers pleasant surprise. “Fine, be quick.”

When he walks out I count to fifteen and then rush to the kitchen, where I pull out a double-old-fashioned glass, throw in some ice cubes and a small slice of lemon, and fill it with water. In less than a minute I’m back by Jessica’s side. “Here,” I say, pressing the glass into her hand.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“Vodka.”

A small smile plays on her lips and she manages to prop herself up and sip from the glass.

“I can’t taste the alcohol.”

“It’s there, you’re just too drunk to notice it. Drink more.”

She nods and sips.

“I have to go talk to your husband now, but I’ll get you another before I leave, okay?”

“That’s so kind of you.”