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Of course, old Mrs. Fisher, who lives catty-corner across the street, has offered to babysit, even to pick the kids up from school, should that be necessary, but the woman’s eighty-four years old, for God’s sake. He’s not about to entrust the lives of his children to someone whose license probably should have been taken away years ago.
“I noticed we’re running low on coffee and Cheerios,” Olivia says.
Sean tenses. His wife never makes a direct request for him to go grocery shopping. She just “notices” they’re running low on various items. Can she not just come out and say what she really means? “I’ll pick some up this morning,” he says.
“Oh, and Zane was requesting macaroni and cheese for supper. How does that strike you?”
Right between the eyes,Sean thinks, but doesn’t say. “Sounds good.”
“Great. I might be a little late getting home,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “We have this presentation in Fort Lauderdale this afternoon, and with the traffic…well, you know. So if I’m not home by six, just go ahead and start dinner without me.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll call you when the meeting’s over, so if you haven’t heard from me by five-thirty…”
“I’ll know to start without you.”
“Okay. Thank you. Kids,” she calls, “let’s go!”
Immediately, their children are at the front door, laughing and wrestling with their backpacks. Sean struggles to find a trace of him in any of their faces, but finds only their mother. Dark-haired and hazel-eyed, all of them, while his eyes are the same sandy brown as his still-thick head of hair.At least I have that going for me,he thinks.
“Bye, sweetie,” Olivia says now, kissing his cheek. “Wish me luck this afternoon.”
“Good luck this afternoon,” he replies dutifully.
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you, too.” He watches his family from his usual spot at the living room window as Olivia backs her Honda Accord out of the driveway and disappears down the main street.
In his mind’s eye, he pictures a truck come flying out of nowhere to crash head on into the car, the old Honda collapsing like an accordion as his wife’s head snaps back, then forward, and the steering wheel disappears deep into her chest. He sees two uniformed police officers walking solemnly up the concrete path to his front door, mouths downturned, eyes downcast. “We’re so sorry to inform you…”
God, what’s the matter with me?he wonders, banishing the horrifying images.I love my wife.Where are these thoughts coming from?
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?his father whispers in his ear, another of the sayings he was so fond of.
Sean glances at his watch and is only vaguely alarmed to realize that almost an hour has passed. “Guess time really does fly when you’re having fun,” he says with a laugh, watching a silver Tesla turn onto the cul-de-sac and pull into old Mrs. Fisher’s driveway. “Uh-oh,” he says as both front doors lift into the air and a man and woman emerge simultaneously. The woman pulls at her short, tight skirt as the two march purposefully toward the front door. “Looks like trouble.”
