Novel.13.The.Tenth.Circle.2006 by Picoult Jodi

Author:Picoult, Jodi [Picoult, Jodi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

The Tenth Circle

for the orange juice.

Laura glanced up from the table, where she was poring intently over the newspaper - looking, Daniel assumed, for a story about his brawl with Jason last night. “Morning,” Daniel said hesitantly. Their eyes met, and they passed an entire conversation without speaking a word: How is she? Did she say anything? Do I treat this as an ordinary day? Do I pretend last night never happened?

Daniel cleared his throat. “Trixie ... we have to talk.” Trixie didn't look at him. She unscrewed the Tropicana and began to pour some into a glass. “We're out of orange juice,” she said.

The telephone rang. Laura stood up to answer it and carried the receiver into the living room that adjoined the kitchen. Daniel sank down into the seat his wife had vacated and watched Trixie at the counter. He loved her, and in return she'd trusted him and her reward was to see him turn into an animal before her eyes. It wasn't all that different, really, from what she must have experienced during the rape - and that alone was enough to make Daniel hate himself.

Laura came back into the room and hung up the phone. She moved stiffly, her features frozen.

“Who was it?” Daniel asked.

Laura shook her head, covered her hand with her mouth.

“Laura,” he pressed.

“Jason Underhill committed suicide last night,” she whispered. Trixie shook the empty container. “We're out of orange juice,” she repeated.

* * *

In the bathroom, Trixie ran the hot water for fifteen minutes before she stepped into the shower, letting the small space fill with enough steam that she wouldn't have to see her reflection in the mirror. The

news had taken up residence in their house, and now, in the aftermath, nobody seemed to know what to do. Her mother had slipped out of the kitchen like a ghost. Her father sank down at the table with his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. Distracted, he didn't notice when Trixie left. Neither parent was around to see her disappear into her bathroom or to ask her to leave the door wide open, as they had for the past week, so that they could check up on her.

What would be the point?

There would be no rape trial anymore. There was no need to make sure she didn't wind up in a mental hospital before she took the stand as a witness. She could go as crazy as she wanted to. She could secure herself a berth in a psych ward for the next thirty years, every minute of which she could spend thinking about what she'd done.

There was one Bic razor hidden away. It had fallen behind a crack in the sink cabinet and Trixie made sure to keep it there, in case of emergency. Now she fished for it and set it on the counter. She smacked it hard with a plastic bottle of bath gel, until the pink caddy cracked and the blade slipped out. She ran the tip of her finger over the edge, felt the skin peel back in an onion fold.

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