Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I didn’t go home that Fourth of July.
I knew Mercer was waiting for me, but I didn’t go home and I did that on purpose.
That’s why what happened next he did on purpose too. And it was my idea, anyway. Wasn’t it? So I can’t even be a dick about everything that happened next. Because I was the one who planted that seed in his mind.
None of this is about Nova. Or Veda. Or Olsen. Or me and Nova or me and Olsen.
All of this—the entire fucking mess—is about me and Mercer.
And it’s funny. Like, almost laugh-out-loud funny. Because Mercer and I are still together. We live in the same house. Most of the time we sleep in the same bed. But it’s not love anymore.
It’s just loyalty now.
After Nova left, though, the fights got worse.
No. He got worse.
More withdrawn and unhappy.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve seen it coming.
And looking back with twenty-twenty hindsight, all of it could’ve been predicted. From this perspective it is very easy to see where our strategy went wrong.
Nova was absolutely the wrong recruit for the project. She affected us all in different ways. Both in and out of the lab. We all wanted her for different reasons and each of them was equally compelling.
It’s funny, too. Because she saw it way before we did.
She knew.
And she, unlike me, was smart enough to take her winnings and get the fuck out before it went too far.
FIVE YEARS AGO
July fifth.
It is its own kind of holiday. Especially when it falls on a Monday. Because you get Monday off. It’s like a reprieve. No. More than that. It’s like the governor just called up the prison, right before they were about to lethally inject you, and proclaimed you pardoned.
A whole day to recover from whatever debauchery you were getting up to on the Fourth.
This July fifth I wake up in Olsen’s bed. Someone’s got a leg thrown over mine, and when I peek one eye open, I see that it belongs to Nova. She’s in the middle, facing me. Olsen’s on the other side of her. Face down, arms kinda sprawled out.
I’m not even awake, so there is this moment when I think… maybe I’ll just go back to sleep.
And then there’s the next moment.
The one where I realize… I didn’t go home last night.
I let out a long sigh and cover my face with both hands.
“What?” That growl comes from Olsen.
“I spent the night.”
“So.”
“I know you don’t care, but I do.” And now it’s time to go. I get up, find my clothes, put them back on, and then leave without another word.
The morning is cool and crisp because it’s still very early. There’s a little bit of haze on the water when the lake comes into view and later today that will turn into an almost unbearable humidity. But right now, it still feels good.
I veer left on the dirt path I’m walking and one more left turn later Mercer’s modern behemoth comes into view. It’s only got four bedrooms, but there’s over five thousand square feet on three changes of elevation. It’s all the things you think of when someone says Frank Lloyd Wright. The flat planes, the woodsy color scheme, the large paned windows and sliding glass doors. There’s even a waterfall that spills over one of the balconies and drops into a pond covered in lily pads.
It’s a nice place. I like living here. I like living here with Mercer.
So why I do these things, I don’t know. It’s like I’m purposefully sabotaging it.
I enter the house through a side door. I’m not trying to be particularly quiet because there is no way that Mercer hasn’t realized I didn’t come home.
He won’t be mad that I spent the Fourth with Olsen. I always do.
In fact, there are lots of nights when I don’t come home. So that’s not even the issue.
The issue is that he has a regular date on the Fourth of July as well. Which is why my calendar was open when Olsen first invited me to spend the holiday with him. And Mercer’s date is not a particularly nice one. He’s not partying or grilling. He visits his sister at their family mausoleum.
She died on Fourth of July fifteen years ago.
Mercer was driving the car.
He wasn’t drunk. A trucker had fallen asleep at the wheel, veered over three lanes of highway, and hit them head on. Both Mercer and his sister, Dana, were thrown from the car.
He lived, she didn’t.
It truly was an accident but he never really got over it. And every year after that, he spent that day with his dead sister.
The family mausoleum is about three hours away in upstate New York. I’ve never been there, but I know the schedule. He leaves early in the morning on the Fourth, spends the day, and is home around nine.