The Hunting Party

by Lucy Foley

Remove all of the distractions, and here, in the silence and solitude, the demons they have kept at bay catch up with them.

Some people, given just the right amount of pressure, taken out of their usual, comfortable environments, don’t need much encouragement at all to become monsters. And sometimes you just get a strong sense about people, and you can’t explain it; you simply know it, in some deeper part of yourself. That’s the lizard brain, too.

But honestly, when some people have kids it’s like they’ve had a personality transplant. Or a lobotomy. Maybe I should count myself lucky that I don’t seem to be able to get pregnant. At least I’ll remain myself for Christ’s sake.

it’s like this sudden epidemic of fertility.

As it turned out, my husband could be exactly that fucking stupid.

It’s the promise of the snow in the air, he’s sure—the scent sharpening, metallic, strange. There has been nothing in the forecast, but in a place like this you learn to trust what you can see and smell over any supposed science.

Oh my God, was I flirting with my best friend’s husband?

So I was always on the lookout for particularly colorful personalities, like a parasite searching for a host.