Free Cartwheel by Jennifer Dubois Page B

night.” Beatriz pursed her lips momentarily as if wanting to stop herself, then unpursed them and went on. “I know she stayed over there when we were out of the house. Also, she was arrogant. She was always telling us things she’d learned about the city, as if we didn’t already know them. It was nice she was interested, I suppose. But it was also so silly. She just didn’t think about other people, that’s all.”
    Eduardo nodded. This was his impression, too, though, of course, he would not say so. “And what was Katy like?” he said.
    “She was a sweet girl. Quiet. We didn’t know her that well, either. It’s absolutely horrific, what happened to her. Is that your wife?” Beatriz was looking at the picture of Maria on Eduardo’s desk—one of the two framed ones he’d allowed himself to keep. It was taken four years ago, at a beach, and she was doing a handstand. Her hair was whipping around her face and she was smiling, her mouth like a peony. She was the only adult Eduardo had ever known who could do a handstand.
    “Yes,” he said, because he always said yes.
    “She’s beautiful.”
    He looked up at Beatriz quickly. “Did you have any difficulties with Lily?”
    “Difficulties?”
    “She was obedient? She was respectful? She followed the rules?”
    “Difficulties. Well. I suppose there were a few.”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, I caught her going through our papers.”
    “When was this?”
    “Maybe two weeks,” said Beatriz. “I mean, maybe two weeks before.”
    Eduardo nodded. “And you confronted her?”
    “Yes.”
    “And how did she react?”
    “Well, she was not sorry, I’ll tell you that. She didn’t even pretend to be sorry.”
    Eduardo made a note on his pad. “And what else?”
    “And then she took that awful job at the club, meeting God knows what sorts of people. She started coming back even later. I’d lie awake waiting to hear her come in. I was so afraid of having to call her parents and say that something had happened to her. Funny, I never worried about anything happening to Katy.” A little fork of wrinkles appeared on Beatriz’s chin. “And then she got fired from her job and lied about it.”
    “She did?”
    Beatriz nodded and bit her lip. The fork on her chin deepened.
    “Do you know why she was fired?” said Eduardo.
    “No, but I also can’t imagine why they hired her in the first place. She could barely find the kitchen sink at our house.”
    “That’s very helpful,” said Eduardo, making a note on his pad. “Was there anything else?”
    Beatriz covered her mouth and nodded.
    “What happened?” said Eduardo. Between them, the air felt heavy, salt rimmed; Eduardo could smell the cilantro edge of her sweat, the tang of an insistent perfume. He should not be attracted to her, of course, given his role and hers. What was troubling was that he actually wasn’t.
    “She—laughed—at my husband’s depression,” said Beatriz finally.
    “She laughed at it?” Eduardo did not blink. His own depression was a thing with claws and teeth and eyes, its own set of tics and preoccupations and prejudices, its own entire integrated personality. The trick to not killing yourself was to convince yourself, every single day, that your departure from the world would have a devastating effect on absolutely everyone around you, despite consistent evidence to the contrary.
    “Yes. She’d seen my husband in a state of extreme—depression—”Beatriz looked at her lap. “He was drunk, I mean. And when I spoke to Lily about it, she laughed.”
    Eduardo nodded again. “Nervously, perhaps?”
    “That was another thing about her. She was never nervous. She was oddly flat. Her—what?”
    “Her affect?”
    “Right. Her affect was flat.”
    Eduardo leaned forward. “This next question I’m going to ask you is not the most important question,” he said. “Even though I’m asking it last.”
    “Okay.”
    “Did you ever think she could do something like this?”
    Beatriz