In this excerpt, Sue tells her boyfriend Nate, who she just killed, of the escape plan she'd made.

Lynn and I got to talk a few minutes before you interrupted. See? That’s her address. I’m driving over. Crashing for the night. Then just try to find us! We’re heading out to her place on the shore. To catch up and talk and relax. It’s been years since she called. Not since college.

Strange thing about friends. You always expect they’ll be there. That they’ll understand. You know I — I ran into her a few years ago. At checkout. Embarrassed. Both of us. I mean, it wasn’t my goal to work at a grocery store. But she’s chirping away. Like always. Talk talk talk talk talk. Eyes on her wallet. Pen. Receipt. Poster — of a can of lima beans. Everywhere but here.

(Points to her eye.)

The only thing that was different. That I couldn’t — cover up. The manager. Twenty minutes later. Tells me to break down the boxes in back. Nothing else. No glance. Except to the poster. Of lima beans. So I’m back there. In the dim. Fluorescent. White mung. Hum of the refrigerators. Ripping boxes. Tossing them in a dumpster. Rip and toss. Growing accustomed to the dark. Routine. Smell of spilled milk. Forgetting everything out there. Till I turn, peer back through the door, and — and see EVERYTHING. Lynn going to car. To man. To house. Kids. Bigger car. Bigger man. Till she’s old and stooped and surrounded by kids and rooms and — and bigness, and forgot she ever stood next to me and avoided my BIG. BLACK. EYE. The manager, oh, she forgets what I look like. Why she made me work in back. Away from the customers. Why she suddenly feels more optimistic about everything. And the customers, they already rushed out and forgot the questions they never asked. “How could she —?” “Why doesn’t she —?” “What’s
wrong with her?” What’s wrong —!? What’s wrong with her!?

(Pause. She gains control of herself.)

Let me tell you something, Miss Sorority Girl Manager Cart-pushing Soccer Mom. Everything’s folded. Flattened. Put back. Under control. I took care of everything. Didn’t I? Didn’t I, Joey?

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