He taped her other leg to the chair, which began to rock. Sara felt her stomach turn, but he stopped the rocking, then sat back on his heels, looking at her. "I want you to tell Possum I'll send him money when I get settled. He's worked his ass off to get that store, and I'm not going to have him lose it because I jumped bail."
Sara strained her legs against the tape, feeling her circulation being cut off. "Robert, please don't do this."
He fed out another strip of tape. "Put your hand on the arm of the chair."
Sara did not move, and he lifted her arm by the wrist and put it on the chair for her.
"I can't do this," she said, feeling like the life was seeping out of her. "I can't do it."
He stared at her with curiosity, as if she was overreacting. He offered, "I won't tape your mouth if you promise not to yell for help."
She broke into tears again, so grateful for this small concession that she would have done anything for him.
"Please don't cry," he said, taking out his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She thought of Jeffrey and his handkerchief, and how gentle he was with her. Sara started to cry even harder.
"Jesus," he whispered, as if Sara was punishing him. "It won't be long," he said. "Don't be like this, Sara. I won't hurt you." He looked startled for a moment, saying, "You cut your eye."
She blinked, just now noticing the blood clouding her vision.
"Damn, I'm so sorry," he said, wiping the blood. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean for anybody to get hurt."
She swallowed, feeling some of her strength come back. Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe she could talk him into stopping now. She would promise not to yell, not to call anyone, if he would just leave her arm free.
Robert folded the handkerchief into a neat square. She tried to think of a way to get to him, to make him see that she was not a threat. "I'll tell Possum about the money," she said. "Who else? Who else do you want me to talk to? What about Jessie?"
He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and picked up the tape. "I tried to write a letter, but I've never been much good at that kind of thing."
"She'll want to know," Sara insisted. "Tell me, and I'll tell her."
"Jessie doesn't care about me."
"She does," Sara pressed. "I know she does."
He exhaled slowly, using his teeth to cut off a strip of tape.
Sara bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
"I tried to make things work," he told her, taking her wrist. Sara tried to jerk away, but he forced her hand down to the arm of the chair.
She stared at his fingers as he taped her arm, feeling such deep despair that it almost took her breath away.
He sat back on his heels again. "That's not so bad." He reached out his hand to touch her mouth. "You bit your lip," he told her. Sara jerked away without thinking, and a look of hurt flashed in his eyes, as if he had not been the one responsible for all of this.
"I'm not what you think," he said. "I really did love her."
"Please let me go," she begged.
He rubbed his hands on his thighs. The gun was on the floor beside him, but Sara was hardly in a position to reach down and grab it. He had taped her tightly to the chair.
He repeated, almost to himself, "I really did love her."
Sara stared at the gun as if she could will it into her hand. She tried to fight the tremor in her voice when she said, "You say that like you don't anymore."
"I don't know what went wrong." He gave a weak smile. "What tells you in your heart that you love Jeffrey?"
"I don't know," Sara answered, unable to take her eyes off the gun. Finally, she forced herself to look at him, saying, "Robert, please. Don't leave me like this. I can't do it. I can't take it."
"You'll be okay."
"Not like this," she said. "Please. I'm begging you."
"Tell me what it is that makes you love Jeffrey," Robert asked, as if striking some sort of bargain. "What is it that makes you know?"
"I don't know."
"Come on," he said, and she realized that he was trying to help her calm down so that it would be easier for him to do what he needed to do.
"I don't know," she repeated. "Robert -"
"Has to be something," he said, giving her a forced smile, as if they were a couple of good people brought together under bad circumstances. "Don't tell me it's his sense of humor and great personality."
Sara racked her brain for something to tell him. There had to be a right answer, an answer that would make him free her from the chair and let her go, but she could think of nothing to say.
"You don't know?"
She told him the only thing she could think of. "It's the little things. That's what Nell says it is with Possum – the little things."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she echoed, trying to keep her panic down, trying to remember what Nell had said. Sara's voice sounded muted in her ears, as if she was talking underwater. "He's always home when he says he'll be and he doesn't mind going to the grocery store for her."
Robert gave a sad smile as he stood. "Maybe I should've gone to the grocery store for Jessie."
Sara felt her brain trying to make a connection but she could not understand why. Still, her mouth kept talking. "I'm sure you did sometimes."
He spooled out an extra-long strip of tape, using his teeth to tear it, letting the roll drop to the floor. "Never did," he told her, wrapping the tape around her chest and upper arms, fixing her back flat to the chair. "She said she liked doing that stuff. Made her feel like she was taking care of me."
"You never went to the grocery store?" Sara asked. Something Jeffrey had told her the night before clicked into place, and she felt an eerie sort of calmness spread over her.
He looked around for the tape. "Damn," he said, wincing as he knelt down in front of the bed. He put his hand to his stomach where he had been shot. "Rolled under the bed," he told her, bracing his hand against the mattress as he bent to retrieve the tape.
"You never went to the store for her?" Sara repeated, watching him kneel in front of the bed. His hand was still on the mattress, and in her mind she saw the bloody outline around Luke Swan's hand on the bed.
"Never went to the store," he assured her, sitting back up, breathing heavily. "Shit, that hurt."
Despite the fact that she could not move, Sara suddenly felt herself gaining some control over the situation. "Did she drive your truck much?"
"That's a funny question," he said, but still answered, "Yeah. She hated to, but if I parked behind her in the driveway, it was easier than backing them both out."
Sara strained her wrist against the tape, trying to see if there was any give, saying, "It wasn't you who went out to the store that night, was it, Robert? It was Jessie. She went in your truck."
He stretched out another long piece of tape. He would not look at her, and instinctively she knew that he wanted her to continue.
"The night Luke was shot," she said, almost dreading his answer. "Sunday. Was Jessie in your truck on Sunday?"
The strip was too long and the tape had folded on itself. He tried to pick it apart. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Jessie was in your truck," Sara told him, more sure of herself now. "She went to the grocery store that night. There was milk and juice in your refrigerator. I saw the grocery list in your truck."
He continued to pick at the tape as if it could be saved.
"If it was Jessie who went to the store, then it was Jessie who came home. You told the truth, but you swapped things around. It was Jessie who came home, and it was you -" She stopped, astonished. "It was you in the bedroom," she said. "You were with Luke Swan, not Jessie."