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That’s his answer every time he thinks I’m on my period. As if life itself has a pause button that can be pushed whenever I’m not feeling up to functioning. “Sure.”
Glenn puffs up as if he’s just come up with the cure for hunger. Stepping closer, he pecks me on the cheek and grabs his keys from the top of the microwave beside the side door. “I’ll be back later.”
It’s Sunday, a day of rest, and he hasn’t offered any explanations. Unlike a caring wife, I don’t care how he is spending his time. I know where he’s going anyway. Church. Of all places a man like him might go, he spends every Sunday at the church. But not for the holy reasons one might think.
Glenn goes solely to skim a couple of dollars from the donation plate, then afterward he attends their luncheon for the poor. The families who can’t afford a regular square meal. Glenn clearly affords more than enough.
Just another reason for my loss of respect in my husband.
So, as I’ve reasoned before when I found myself in a moment of doubt, I will be doing not only myself a favor, but I’ll be performing a public service by getting rid of him, and when put that way, would any jury convict me?
Bolstered by that idea, I clean the house while connected to my earpiece for the job I don’t love but makes me the extra cash to spend on life’s little extras that make things bearable. Especially when my Sunday calls are least welcome of any I make during the week. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just as bad or worse than a bloodsucking lawyer.
The day speeds by, and I entertain all sorts of options to solve my little problem. Maybe I can rent a car and run Glenn down with it, wash it, and return it without anyone the wiser. But a call to the agency returns that I’d need a major credit card on file, so that’s that.
I then consider the off-chance that I can find a temporary lover, someone intense and prone to violence, sway him to my cause, and in a moment of passion, he could take out the trash and I could throw my hands up in innocence when the police questioned me, citing that I had no idea he was that kind of person, and our affair was simply a mistake that was never supposed to go so far. A murder born of a jealous lover. Hands clean, freedom secured.
But that seems like a lot of work, time, and patience that I just don’t have.
Would a push down the stairs leave a mark? Could a coroner pull latent hand or footprints from someone’s back? The idea has promise until I consider the odds of Glenn actually dying from a fall. I’d have to get it exactly right the first time, or the jig would be up.
Why is murder so hard? How do other murderers get away with it so easily? The simple fact is, they had a combination of lazy police work and good fortune on their side. I have zero faith that I have either of those things.
Later that night, as I lie there in bed, pretending to sleep, Glenn speaks.
“I have vacation hours saved up. What do you say we go to the cabin like we used to this weekend?”
The request is so unexpected, I’m at a loss for words. “I…” What can I say? The idea of spending a weekend with him isn’t attractive. It would be two days of one hundred percent focus on our relationship. How can I fake my feelings in such close quarters with no distractions? As it stands, he understands that our relationship isn’t at its best, hence the ultimatum, but Glenn doesn’t know how much I loathe him. If I have to fake a smile and love and affection, including the physical kind, I know I’ll fail miserably.
The bed jostles as Glenn rolls onto his side to face me in the dark. “Say yes. I think we need this. It’s only a weekend. Remember how relaxing it was to just sit outside and look out at the water? Listen to the birds sing? The wind in the trees?”
A fond smile springs to life as I recall those moments. They were some of my favorite in life.
Glenn must sense the change in me. “It’ll be great. Just you and me and the great outdoors again. What do ya say? We can go this weekend. The weather is supposed to be great, and I can rent a little boat, do some fishing. We can grill lakeside and east s’mores as the sun goes down.”
I consider all the pros and cons in the silent moments that pass between us and reach the conclusion that, as much as I would love to experience all of those things again, they would be better without him. Everything would be better without him.
Just as I open my mouth to offer an excuse not to go, Glenn continues.
“Just think, no work, no nosey neighbors. Just you and me. No one else for miles.”
No witnesses…
I turn onto my side, facing my husband, and reach across the small expanse of the bed to grasp his hand in mine. “I think it’s a great idea. Let’s do it.”
Thirteen
~Declan~
I’m in a terrible mood—a killing mood. Have been since Saturday night when my client crossed lines that I refuse to cross.
Usually, things like that don’t faze me, but I’m fit to be tied. My feathers have been ruffled. I’m seeing red, and no amount of coffee or exercise will stymie it. I nearly took off John’s head this morning when the man located me in the downstairs gym.
I had been lifting weights, and John, ever the peppy sonofabitch, wouldn’t shut his trap. He yacked on and on about life and work on repeat until I briefly but seriously entertained caving his skull in with a barbell.
Only a moment of rational thinking prevented the homicide from taking place.
I don’t need the cops investigating me. Don’t need the jail time. Most certainly don’t need the hassle of having to go underground and start a new life. That is a hurdle I never intend to climb, which is why I’ve always been so careful.
