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Maybe.
After I fixed dinner, I went to take the tras
h out, only to realize that James had left the trashcan around front. I only made it three steps down the drive before I stopped dead in my tracks. Leo.
He was laying there on the drive.
As I squinted into the setting sun, I could see him stretched out, basking.
Eyes toward the sky, I exhaled, offering a silent thank you to the heavens.
Upon closer inspection, it became clear that my exhalation had been preliminary. Blood was coming from his head.
I thought at first that maybe he wasn’t dead, only injured. I set the bag of trash on the pavement, resting it against my car. I stroked his head gently with my finger, the way I’ve seen my husband do countless times. He didn’t move. I nudged him, turning him on his side. It was then that I saw. The contents of his stomach were gone, eaten away, leaving the cavity filled with maggots. Fat, white, slippery maggots…twisting, turning… I felt my stomach knot up—I knew I was going to be sick. It was so foul, so horrible—so grotesque.
I can’t get it out of my mind.
After I’d scooped the cat up with the shovel and buried him in the flowerbed out back, I used the garden hose to rinse the driveway.
I was worried I might not have time to put everything in its place, but thankfully James texted to say he had a late meeting.
He came home exhausted. As usual. Pronounced he’d had a long day.
If he only knew.
His “exhaustion” didn’t stop him from going for a long run. I was so afraid he might see something—some shred of evidence I might have left behind.
I was in the shower when he returned from his run. My second of the evening. Maybe it was nerves. Or maybe it was the guilt. Maybe I thought if I didn’t scrub myself clean, he’d know. Whatever the case, there I was, standing in scalding water, as though I could somehow wash away what I’d seen. What I’d done. I wasn’t even sure if it was the cat or my other sins I was trying to cleanse myself of. All I know is that even if I could wash Max Hastings from my body, I couldn’t seem to wash him from my mind.
James slipped in quietly. He asked if I was okay. I jumped at the sound of his voice.
“I’m fine,” I said watching as he soaped his body, long and lean and fit, before turning his attention to mine.
“You really need to eat,” he said, rubbing his hand along the side of my ribs. “There is such a thing as too thin, darling.”
I turned away. “Nice to see you too.”
“Come here.” He shifted me around. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“You aren’t happy to see me?”
“I’m happy,” I told him. I offered a faint smile, knowing I should do better. It was all I could muster. He moves toward me, and I flinch. He doesn’t seem to notice. He kisses me without question. “You don’t look happy.”
“Well, I am.”
“Good. Because I’ve set another appointment.”
“With the therapist?”
“No.”
My stomach flip-flopped. He was right. I did need to eat. But this wasn’t that. “By the way…” he said. “How’d that go?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it?” His brow knitted. “Just fine?”
