Page 88 of Two Couples

“She was crushing you, trying to gag you.”

“But I⁠—”

“She was going to kill you, Samantha. I did what I had to.” People didn’t understand what a tough shell a nurse develops. You learn to take quick action without a lot of mental debate over whether you’ve made the right decision. You act on instinct and training. You have to. If someone’s having a seizure or a heart attack, you can’t stand around discussing whether or not you should call the doctor first, or what procedure takes priority. You move. You get the job done. That trait, which developed over years as part of my personality, but also through my career, had made me a valuable part of the care team at the hospital. People respected me. They looked to me for wisdom and guidance and experience. They looked to me for quick, accurate decisions.

Now, Samantha was acting as if I’d had a choice. Didn’t she realize she might have been dead while I considered possible ways to handle the situation?

Finally, Samantha pushed herself into a sitting position. “She wasn’t going to kill me. She was hurting me, but how would she have killed me?”

“She could have strangled you, or crushed your chest. But I’m not going to stand here and debate what I should or should not have done. I couldn’t get her off you. She was too strong. You should be thanking me.”

“I’m not going to thank you for killing someone.”

I shrugged. “You need to help me get rid of her body and clean up the kitchen.”

Slowly, Samantha got to her feet. “I’m not doing this again. We made a terrible, terrible mistake not reporting that man’s death.” She seemed to choke up for a minute, which confused me. Then I understood it was probably delayed emotion from the trauma she’d just experienced.

“No, we did the right thing then. And I did the right thing now. Sometimes⁠—”

“No. We did not do the right thing. And this is a chance to learn from our mistake.” She put her hand in her pocket.

“Samantha, no! Please don’t. You have to listen to me. You’ve been my best friend for almost my entire life. Can we please talk about this? So I can explain? All this”—I waved my hand over Jordan’s blood-soaked body—“happened because she wouldn’t slow down. She wouldn’t talk about what we should do.”

“We’ve talked about this to death.”

“Not this. Not everything,” I said.

“You’re out of your mind. We need to call the sheriff. There’s a dead woman’s blood all over the tiles and a man buried near our front steps. This has to stop!”

I stepped around Jordan’s body and moved closer to Samantha. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Not now.”

“Yes, you have. All my life. We’ve kept each other’s secrets and helped each other grow up. We were together for every important part of our lives, and all the little things in between. Isn’t that true?”

She nodded, but she looked angry, or upset, or something.

“You have to help me,” I said.

“I can’t. It’s not right. And it’s not like you can hide this. Linda will be here by this evening, asking if we’ve seen her.”

“Linda doesn’t know. She would already be here if she’d heard Jordan scream. She would have been with her if she knew Jordan found his body.”

“I told you, I’m not doing this again. I’m not a killer. Patrick will be home soon and he’s going to lose his mind.”

“Which is why we need to get busy.”

She stared at me again as if I’d lost mine.

“Please wait. Please listen to me. I have something to tell you,” I said. “Something… awful.”

She took several steps away from me. I wondered if she knew, or had guessed.

I grabbed her wrist, holding it firmly, looking into her eyes. “You have to understand. The same way you’ve always understood me. And you can’t ever tell! Not a single person. Ever. Not Patrick.”

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Todd was squatting in this house. When I came for the furniture delivery, he was here. Jordan had let him in. He was living here as if it was his house.”