Ella hit the car park and didn’t slow down.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eddie Foxall had a love-hate relationship with Monday nights.On the one hand, it meant three to four hours of the NFL interspersed with Monday Night Raw during commercials.But on the other hand, it meant he was only one-fifth through the week, and these days, every day carried that sour taste that only dissipated come five o'clock on Friday.
He pulled into the driveway well after eight, late enough for the street lights to flicker on and the neighborhood to turn in.The football had already started, and it’d been one of those days at work.All Eddie wanted now was a beer and some easy TV until he had to think about the fact he had to do it all again tomorrow.
He turned off the car and just breathed for a minute.Since he was already late for the football, a half-formed thought about hitting the gym floated through his brain.He could already feel his glutes screaming at him; punishment for skipping leg day three weeks running.But as he rummaged through the pile of fast food wrappers he realized his locker key was missing in action.He was going to lie to Sheila and tell her he'd been at the gym even though he hadn't, because she, too, was getting sick of these late nights.
Crap.Sheila.
His stomach twisted into a knot, but realized he was overreacting.She was working late tonight and probably wouldn’t be back for another hour.But this morning’s argument ran through his head again – they’d become so common that he barely remembered when they were arguing and when they were fine.They’d been at each other’s throats for months, ever since the doc broke the news that pretty much shattered her soul for the rest of her life.
Eddie had tried to stay optimistic, but Sheila had taken it hard.She’d stopped smiling or laughing at anything about a year ago, and she had a constant sag to her posture that made her look ten years older and thirty pounds heavier.
This morning had been a new low, though.He’d woken to the sound of Sheila’s muffled sobs from the bathroom.When she didn’t emerge after half an hour, he’d knocked lightly.Then he’d found her sitting on the edge of the tub, face splotchy and the tiny plastic window of a test in her fist.
She hadn’t said a word but he knew.Another month, another letdown.
Things devolved into a screaming match from there, a toxic back and forth of who bore the bigger burden.Him for continuing to smoke and drink despite their efforts or her for walking around like a hollowed-out husk of herself.Cruel things had been said; low blows about manhood and demanding jobs.
He’d ended up slamming out of there with nary a goodbye.
Eddie scrubbed his palms down his face.Tonight, he was going to make it up to her.Cook her favorite meal, uncork the good wine, maybe light a candle or two.He was going to be the husband she deserved instead of the waster he saw in the mirror each morning.
He heaved himself out of the car and ambled up the walk.Her car was in the driveway, but sometimes she got the bus to work.
‘Babe?You home?’he called as he shrugged out of his coat.He locked the door behind him.
No answer.
The house was dark save for the soft glow of the standing lamp in the living room.The one Sheila always left on day and night regardless of how bright it was outside.Another one of her neuroses, Eddie guessed, but he’d long stopped questioning her odd decisions.In sickness and in health covered a lot of territory, and leaving a lamp on was near the bottom of the list.
‘Sheila?’
Eddie moved into the kitchen.There was a bottle of her Barefoot rosé sat uncorked on the counter.Eddie’s unease ratcheted up a notch.
He pulled out his phone and hovered his thumb over her contact photo.It was from their trip to Cabo two years back, back before this fertility nightmare had body-snatched his wife.
But then a thought struck him.What if she was home after all?Sitting in the dark, wallowing in her grief like she was prone to doing these days.Or worse, what if she was upstairs, curled into a ball on their bed?The image made Eddie’s heart clench, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d found her in such a state.
He pocketed his phone and moved towards the sunroom.In five years of marriage, Eddie had learned that what women really wanted was space.They wanted you to match their grief and validate their misery, often by doing the same thing they did, just in a different room.If Eddie went upstairs and rubbed her back, Sheila would retreat.But if he stayed down here and festered in their shared heartache, Sheila might feel that kinship with him again.
Eddie flicked on the light and scanned the room.This was his unofficial mancave.He was about to collapse and flick the TV on when something caught his eye.
There, on the plush ivory carpet, muddy footprints.
Eddie squinted.A prickle ran up his spine.Had Sheila gone for a walk after all?Maybe she’d forgotten to take off her shoes in her distracted state.It wasn’t like her, but then again, nothing was like her anymore.
He took a step closer.Something wasn’t right.Sheila never came in here, and he’d never leave muddy footprints in his favorite room.They certainly weren’t there when he left this morning.
And then, in a whirl of motion and pain, the world upended itself.
A shape surged at him from the side and sent Eddie crashing to the floor.All the air whooshed out of his lungs, and then a pair of hands clawed at his throat.
He had a split second for confusion to register before a final blow turned everything to static.
Sheila was going to come home to an empty house and an open bottle of wine and she was going to think he’d gone out drinking again, and he’d never be able to tell her that he hadn’t, that he’d been coming home to fix it, that he’d been coming home to her.
