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Cal helps himself to the coffee without the lipstick stain around the rim. Both are iced vanilla, as Glenn prefers his cold during the warmer months. I just prefer it over hot, in general, with no restrictions to climate changes. Cal’s expression doesn’t give anything away, but by the way he sips gingerly at it, I get the impression it isn’t his first choice in beverage.
“Brenda, let’s get one thing clear before we move any further.”
“Okay,” I say, all business. My nerves are shot, and I can’t fathom what will come out of his mouth next, making it all the worse.
Turning those dark eyes on me, he says, “If after we’ve talked, you decide to go through with this, it’s a done deal. Once we walk away from here tonight, the contract is sealed. There’s no going back.” He lifts his brows, studying my reaction.
Doing my best to maintain a calm exterior, I say confidently and with much finality, “I understand. I won’t be changing my mind.”
His gaze lingers on mine until he reaches a conclusion. “Okay, then let’s get down to business. Tell me about your husband.”
I spend the next half-hour laying out Glenn’s personality, our history together, and why I’ve reached the decision that I have, comforted by the seeming understanding—and possibly sympathy—reflecting back at me. We then spend another half-hour discussing routines—what side of the bed Glenn sleeps on, when he gets up in the morning to the time he goes to bed. No stone is left unturned, and by the time we’re done, both coffees are long gone, and I feel as if Cal knows more about my life than the priest at Sunday confession.
“Last chance to back out,” Cal offers with a smirk as if he already knows what my answer will be. He should. I just made a pretty solid case, if I do say so myself. Even he had muttered a few derogatory comments and issued a few pinched brows along the way. I’d venture a guess that Cal respects Glenn as much or less than I do, which was my goal. It’s nice to have at least one person on my side.
“I’m all in,” I assure him. “I’ll have my first payment ready by tomorrow morning.”
“Send it to the P.O. Box I told you about. You remember the number?”
“Perfectly.” As he’s opened one in my local post office, it will be simple to find. I have to wonder, though, if he lives nearby or if he opens a box for every customer for each case he takes on. It’s kind of scary, actually, to think about the type of man he really is beneath the handsome, cultured façade. I’m sitting next to a cold-blooded killer, under a bridge, in the middle of the night. Reality reaches up and slaps me again.
I’ve just made a deal with the devil.
Cal nods and opens his door, stepping out into a night that has cooled considerably. “The next time you hear from me, the job will be done.”
I don’t respond, because what is there to say really? Thanks? I appreciate all your hard work murdering my husband? Hope to see you again sometime?
God. For the first time, as I crank the engine and follow Cal’s SUV onto the road and part in opposite directions, I question if I’m a bad person or just someone who’s been pushed to the brink of sanity.
The drive home is at once the longest and shortest journey, bringing me home much too fast, while a part of me would rather be anywhere else but there.
Cal’s car is still gone when I pull in, which I expected, but it still stabs my heart to know where he’s spending his time. Since his confession, his declaration that I need to change or be discarded, he doesn’t bother hiding his misdeeds any longer. He’s shameless and uncaring of who he hurts. I remind myself of that as I let myself into the house and navigate my way to the upstairs master bedroom in the dark, hoping that if I leave the lights off, Glenn will trip and break something that’ll prove fatal so I don’t have to go through with any of this, and my conscience will be clear.
But when 12:30 AM rolls around, and I lie awake in bed listening to the sound of his car door slam and his keys jingle in the lock, I realize I’ll never be that lucky. And when Glenn enters the room and slides into his side of the bed, the smell of perfume clinging to him because he didn’t even have the decency to shower and pretend he was anywhere else but withher, I find myself glad that I reached out to Cal. He’s my ray of light in these dark times, promising me a future that I’d once only dreamed of. One free of the noose around my neck that is my husband.
I hope God isn’t watching right now. I’d hate for him to be disappointed in me, but at this point, I fear it’s unavoidable.
Within the week, Glenn will be dead, and I will have regained my freedom and the peace I’ve been longing for.
Four
~Faith~
“The eggs were a little dry, but breakfast was good, babe.” Glenn serves his backhanded compliment so casually. If I weren’t paying attention, I might not even notice that he just put down my cooking. He’s always been that way, though, quietly chipping away at my self-confidence.
I try to fake a smile and wifely warmth when he approaches from behind to give me a quick peck on the cheek. Ugh. I can’t even stand the sight of him, much less his touch. Everything about Glenn is repulsive to me now, right down to the way he breathes. That quiet little whistle as he inhales makes me stabby.
“I’ll be home late tonight,” Glenn tosses over his shoulder as he pulls on his blue windbreaker jacket and picks up his car keys from the hook by the door.
“I’ll keep dinner warm,” I say with a smile, casting him a brief look over my shoulder. He isn’t even paying attention, too busy texting. Instinctively, I know it’sherhe’s messaging. That phone never leaves his hands. He even takes it to the bathroom.
I grit my teeth and clear the counter of dishes, willing him to get the hell out of here so I can make my run to the post office. The envelope stuffed with the cash I’ve skimmed from weekly grocery trips and my measly paycheck is calling to me, and I’m eager to deposit it and get this show on the road.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I stop and listen for the sound of his car pulling down the driveway and wait until the tinny rattling of the engine fades into the distance. Then I run upstairs and retrieve the envelope from my lingerie drawer, and in less than five minutes, I’m on my way to the post office.
This early, the parking lot is almost empty, save for two cars. The P.O. boxes are located at the opposite end of the building as the package drop-off counter, and I’m glad to find that the customers are there, leaving me with plenty of privacy.
Rows upon rows of numbered golden rectangles greet me, and after getting my bearings and figuring out the system, I locate Cal’s box and use the key he left for me to make my payment.
