SCOTT STASHED his overnight bag in the back of the SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat, painfully conscious of Nina and Aurelia watching solemnly from the doorstep. Being careful to keep the sleeves of his shirt from riding up over the scorched surface of his skin, he reached through the car window to wave.

“Bye,” he called. “See you soon!”

Neither waved back.

Pulling his arm back inside, he turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. The usual relief washed through him as he pressed his foot against the accelerator and the car began to move over the driveway, carrying him inch by precious inch away from Querencia.

He felt wrecked. Every part of his body hurt. The previous evening was a blur … he remembered emptying the contents of the liquor cabinet then scorching himself with the end of the barbecue lighter but had no recollection of anything after that. He’d woken up that morning facedown in Aurelia’s playroom.

On the passenger seat next to him, Emily sat with her arms crossed protectively over her body. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d felt oddly shy around her all morning. She’d been in his dreams, her face so close he could count her eyelashes. At least, he assumed they were dreams.

He suddenly regretted his decision to have Emily replace Yves as his ride to the airport. Having spotted her scribbled jobs list the day before, he’d known she needed to do a grocery run, so he suggested they kill two birds with one stone. He’d figured the car journey would provide an opportunity to talk. He’d wanted to discuss the weekend and find out what she was thinking. Now, though, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

They drove through the gate and over the bumpy dirt track in silence. While Emily pressed buttons on the dashboard, searching in vain for a radio signal, Scott snuck a look at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Along with the rising bruise under his left eye, there were two thin scratches on his right cheek and a big one down the length of his nose. Emily hadn’t yet commented. In fact, she’d been uncharacteristically quiet. His unease grew.

They reached the end of the dirt track, the canopy opening up like the roof of a cabriolet, and Scott put his indicator on. A song, some cheesy eighties hit, fought its way through the static. They pulled out onto the main road, and Emily sat back, her head turned to the window. All the markers of normal life began to rush past them—picnic benches, roundabouts, road signs, street lamps—and Scott wondered if they were both thinking the same thing: how shocking it was to find everything just as they left it. In that respect, Scott thought, Querencia was a little like Narnia. You could spend weeks there without ever leaving, months even, and on your return to the real world it seemed that no time had passed at all.

Scott cleared his throat. He had to say something; he had to fix this mess and get Emily back on his side. “So,” he said. “That was quite a weekend.”

He hesitated, wondering which angle to take. She was definitely spooked, either by Nina’s shitshow yesterday or by whatever he’d said or done last night. Or both. Or something else entirely.

They drove on, gliding smoothly down a slip road and joining the traffic on the autoroute. Scott waited, sensing that Emily wanted to say something but couldn’t, or wouldn’t. At one point, she opened her mouth, but then seemed to think better of it.

“Look,” he said, “about what happened yesterday—I know it was a bit weird.”

Emily bowed her head. She wasn’t going to give him anything. So where to begin? The most important thing, he decided, was that Emily kept her faith in Nina. Ultimately, she and Nina had to take care of each other. Maybe he should just tell the truth, or the best version of it.

“Look, there’s something you have to understand about Nina. She’s been through a lot. Her childhood was, uh, difficult.”

Emily frowned. “She said it was boring. She said she grew up on the beach, some rich suburb of Sydney. White bread, she called it.”

“Yeah. That’s what she tells people. There’s a lot more to it than that.”

Emily fell quiet. Shook her head.

Scott thought for a moment. “Having kids was important to her, but it was hard for us. We had a lot of issues and there were many failed attempts. Many procedures. We’d all but given up hope. So, Aurelia … she was a miracle.” Signaling right, he changed lanes. Nina’s words echoed in his head: She likes you.

“But then Aurelia got sick.” He stole another quick look at Emily. “We got through it, but the experience left its mark, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She likes you.

“Nina always talked about living in France, somewhere far away, by the ocean, so when we found Querencia it seemed ideal. A place where we could start afresh.”

She likes you.

“But for a while now, I’ve worried that the isolation is taking its toll. My wife has always been sensitive, but lately…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess we’re all human. We all make mistakes; we all overreact. And we all do whatever we can to protect the people we love. Right?”

She likes you.

He stole another look at her. What would a life with her look like? If they had an affair, if they ran away together, would they make each other happy? Would they turn out to be soul mates? He conjured memories of early holidays with Nina, erasing his wife and inserting Emily in her place. Sipping cocktails in a private villa, her head on his shoulder. Her slick body moving against his. Her tongue tracing his lips, her hands in his hair.

But, no. He could never leave. Not ever. A blank, hopeless feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers.

“Try not to judge her too harshly, Emily. She loves you.” He paused for effect. “We all do.” To his immense relief, Emily nodded.

“You’re part of this family now,” he went on. “You’re our missing piece. Whatever problems we’ve had in the past, you’re helping us fix them, and we hope we can help you in return. I’d like to think we can all face our issues together. But we can only do that by accepting each other for who we are, warts and all.”

His words hung in the air. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Emily brush something from her cheek.

“Warts?” she said, after what felt like a long time. “Gross. I didn’t sign up for that.”

Scott grinned, and relaxed his grip. He had her.

I can’t be sure, but I think I’m in heaven.

I’ve never seen so many beautiful people. So beautiful and so friendly. I want to ask them what they’re doing here, but when I open my mouth, a spider crawls out. I look around but remember that my eyes are shut.

I can hear voices close by. Two people; two beautiful doctors. They’re talking to me, asking questions, picking at my skin, peeling it back, trying to see what’s inside. But the doctors are trying to trick me. They’re pretending to be my husband so that I’ll talk to them. So that I will give them information about … something. Something important.

But the joke is on them. I won’t talk, especially not to him. I hate him. He wasn’t there. He left us. He’s always leaving us. And he won’t swap bodies with me. He refuses to trade places, so he’ll never know what it’s like to be me. He’ll never understand.

The beautiful doctors give up and go away.

My mother is driving me home. We drive down a long stretch of road. I’m small and angry. My mother is yelling. I’m yelling louder. I’ve had enough. I reach for the door.

My mother yanks the wheel.

There’s a tree.

The car explodes. All the pieces break apart and go spinning into the sky. I am flying. And then I am not.

I sit and wait. A twisted lump of metal lies at my feet. Shards of orange glass. I look down and see my mother’s swollen, lumpy head in my lap. She looks uncomfortable. I try to move her, but my arms and hands are slippery with blood. She makes a wet sound. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” she says. “Everything’s okay. Mummy’s here.”

I stroke her pulpy face. I’m so sad, and so sorry. Everything is my fault. “Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll make you better. I’ll take care of you.”

Bright lights, blue and red, flashing in the distance. A tramping, stamping noise. Leather boots pounding the asphalt.

I look down again. My arms are clean and empty. I am alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EMILY