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I feel like a criminal the instant I turn my back and return to my car. The feeling of being watched dogs me, but I know it’s just my conscience battering at my skull. It’s the only reason I know I’m still a good person; otherwise, I wouldn’t have one at all. Still, I won’t listen to it. I refuse to.
Telling myself this is a celebratory occasion, I pick up an iced coffee from Starbucks and treat myself to a donut from the local bakery on the way home. Six days. That’s how long I have left to wait. It feels like an eternity away, yet freedom from this life is at my fingertips.
I spend the rest of the day trying to act normal. Going about my routine is difficult, though, when murder is the only thing on my mind. I wish it were next Wednesday, what I’m officially dubbing D-Day.
“Am I doing the right thing?” I’m kneeling over the tub, talking to myself, while scrubbing at the ring of soap scum. There wouldn’t be so much if Glenn learned how to rinse the shower after he was done using it.
“Dammit, Glenn. Why can’t you do the simplest thing?”
It’s pathetic that I have to resort to having a conversation with myself because I have no one else to talk to. Except for God, whom I’ve prayed to numerous times. I worry He’ll strike me down for what I’m doing, but at this point, the reward outweighs the risk.
When I hear the phone ringing downstairs, I rinse my hands and dash to pick it up. “Hi, Mom,” I say, breathless and a bit huffy. For reasons I won’t go into, my mother and I have a strained relationship. Sometimes, I think she never liked me, and as a result, I’ve never learned to like her either.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
It’s always a bad time when she calls. “No, just cleaning before I get to work.” I’m a telemarketer. That in itself probably warrants a bolt of lightning as punishment, but every little bit helps, and I’ve got nothing better to do with my time since Glenn never wanted kids.
“Oh, okay. Well, I was just calling to ask you if Glenn is coming for dinner tonight. Of course, you’re invited too. I’m just ordering pizza, but company sounded nice.”
My mother lives alone. The only man she ever claimed to love having died years ago in an accident—a case of wrong place at the wrong time. She’s not much for making friends or leaving the house too often, a trait I think she passed on to me. We’re loners, taking comfort in being alone more often than not. I despise that we share that much between us, and I’m determined to change that.
Anyway, she knows I hate pizza, and the invite rings as an afterthought. “Well, Glenn is going to be late coming home tonight, but I’ll ask him.”
“Sure, no problem. Just let me know.”
“I will.”
There’s a pause, and then she asks, “Is everything okay?”
As if she cares. I don’t know how to answer that, so I go with a lie since it looks like that’s something I’m going to have to get used to. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”
“You can always come hang out, even if Glenn can’t make it,” she offers, but it’s clear by her dull tone that she doesn’t really mean it. She’s making the offer simply because it’s what’s expected.
But I think maybe there’s something else in her voice, too, a hint of loneliness? I’ve never heard it before though, so I don’t know how to respond. I won’t be outright rude, but I don’t know how to be sympathetic. “Thanks, but no. I have a lot to do here. I can’t afford to take the time away right now.”
“Okay. Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Mom.”
I hang up the phone, feeling drained. I wish my mother could have been like Glenn’s. Before she died, we used to get along like old friends. She was a total goofball who loved Van Damme movies, Diet Pepsi, anything Scottish, and eating ice cream.
I smile at the memory. She always used to make sure to keep butter pecan—my favorite—on hand, and we would share a big bowl of it, even though she’d spit out all the pecans because she hated them. She was the best mother-in-law a person could ask for.
I miss her an awful lot, which makes me wonder how something as appalling as Glenn could come from such a sweet woman.
Shaking off the melancholy, I decide to get back to cleaning, finding I have the energy to put an extra polish on everything today. There’s something to be said about having something to look forward to. It really puts an added pep in your step!
***
Glenn, of course, accepted the invitation to join my mother for dinner. Not that I thought he wouldn’t. Where there’s food, there’s Glenn. From the day we first met, she’d been fond of my husband, calling him son and him calling her mother. I’d ignored it then, and their too-familiar references gave me the creeps, but I can’t let on to anyone that I disapprove of their relationship.
I have to keep up with the lies so I don’t arouse suspicion when the time comes.
No one can know that I’ve lost love for my husband or am anything less than happy in my marriage. For all intents and purposes, everything should appear to be going great. I already know that his secret pastime will come to light once the police investigate, and as the number-one suspect by association, I intend to act surprised, hurt, and totally dismayed by the revelation.
That’s why I decide I should just bite the bullet and tag along for once. You know, to keep up appearances.
“How are things going lately?” Mom asks as we settle onto the couch and load paper plates with pizza—with sausage, which she knows I hate.
