I decide I need to loosen him up a bit, get him to tell me he fucked Mara in our bed and beg for forgiveness. I’ll tell him about the baby and he will feel so overrun with guilt that he will have to confess.
I do this. When I find something out, I always allow him that opportunity to be honest with me first. He seldom does. I think it’s the psychiatrist in me. Always wanting others to just be open about their feelings and their actions.
When Simon arrives home, I don’t mention the baby, Mara, or the condom. Instead I fall into the role of dutiful wife, taking his briefcase out of his hands and loosening his tie for him. I hand him the glass of white wine I poured him and tell him to relax, dinner is almost finished.
What he isn’t aware of is that I’ve slipped the very pill he was so against taking into his drink tonight. Any amount of a foreign substance is bound to cause some reaction. Especially when the user isn’t used to taking any prescriptions at all. Mixing it with wine is just the cherry on top.
Let’s play a game, Simon. You enjoy games, don’t you?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Simon
Whatever Abbey made for dinner is fucking awful. It's not entirely her fault; she's never had a lot of practice in the kitchen. I eat it anyway because I smoked a joint while she finished cooking, and I'm starving. The combination of the pot and the wine have my head swimming, but she told me to relax. This is what it takes for me to relax these days—a double dose of whatever the hell I can get my hands on.
I've been purposefully ignoring Mara since she's a lying bitch. I fucked her and then told her to never contact me again, told her she had no power over me anymore. I've kept true on my promise to not see her or speak to her, but I still crave her. It made me feel so incredibly satisfied to see her cry as I taught her a lesson. She's always in my head, though, and that pisses me off. I watch her still, but she can't know that.
Abbey's too quiet. I must have done something wrong, but I've been at work all day, so I don't know what I could have done. She doesn't seem mad, just upset, watching me as if I'm going to detonate at any second. Maybe I will. Is there any way of knowing anything anymore?
“How was your day?” I say, but I know her answer is going to be boring. I briefly wonder if I made the right choice between the two women. Comfortable or exciting? Questions hurt my head.
A smile spreads across her face and makes her eyes crinkle. She must have good news.
“Well.” She sets her fork down and folds her hands on the table. “I found a condom wrapper in our bedroom. I'm pregnant, so…you know, it was a condom most likely not used for me.”
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
I suddenly get the urge to throw up the slop I've just eaten. I have to tread carefully, but I don't know if my brain will allow it. A baby. I'll focus on the baby.
“You're pregnant?! Oh my God, babe.” I stand up so fast that my chair falls backwards to the floor. The room spins for a moment, then stops enough for me to move around the table to Abbey. Remember to smile, cry if you can. My tongue is so thick and heavy.
I try to embrace her, but she ducks away. “Simon. Did you not hear the first part?” She's burning me with her eyes. I think she throws her head back in a maniacal chuckle, but it's so fast I'm not sure.
“A condom! Yes, I heard. But a baby!” Can I even speak full sentences anymore?
“Are you not seeing how the two do not go hand in hand? WHY was there an empty condom wrapper in our bedroom, Simon?! Was it Mara?”
She already knows. I can't backpedal this.
“Yes.” I can't keep the truth inside anymore. It's a lump sitting in my stomach and it's too much.
“Yes, it was Mara. But it's over now, baby, the whole thing is over and done. I'm never speaking to her again.” I'm slurring my words but I can't make it stop, and the look Abbey’s giving me makes me want to jump off a cliff.
“She's my friend, Simon. God, I fucking knew it. I knew it. How could you do this to us?” She can't look at me. Instead, she's staring at the table, trying hard to hold back tears. “What do you mean ‘the whole thing’? How long has this been going on?”
I stumble back and pick up my chair. I need to sit down. I don't know if it's the combination of stress and substances in my body, but something’s off and it's getting worse by the minute. I sit with my head in my hands and close my eyes, willing the room to stop wavering around me, but it won't listen. I try to remember what Abbey just asked me.
“Oh! Yeah. Since about three days after they moved in. That's when it started.” For a split-second I’m proud I could remember and give her the correct answer, but immediately regret my shaky enthusiasm. I think I hear bagpipes outside like they played at my parents’ funeral.
“That long, Simon? Really?” The tears are flowing freely now as I sneak a look at her face. It's painful to see. Disappointment is much harder to stomach than anger.
“I'm so sorry, Abbey. I'm going to make this right. I'm going to make it up to you, I swear.” I know it's a half-assed apology, but it's all I can force out of my mouth. “I have to. I love you and I love that baby in there.” I jut a trembling finger in the direction of her belly. “I can't lose you.”
As soon as I peer out the window to look for the bagpipes, the music stops. No one’s there.
“That doesn't mean anything to me, honestly. I can't believe a word you say right now, Simon. What in the fuck is wrong with you?” She stands and she looks ten feet tall. Maybe that's my subconscious letting me know how small I feel at the moment. She slams her chair into the table and takes off upstairs. I'm left here knowing I have to come up with a way to fix this, but I don't know how I would even begin.
Empty. The word keeps circling in my head. My wine glass is empty, my dinner plate is empty. If I can’t keep Abbey and our baby, my life is going to be empty. I slide my plate off the table and onto the floor and it lands with a muffled thud. I cover it with my socked foot, the urge overcoming me, and I close my eyes as I crack it to pieces. I’m busy admiring how the white ceramic fragments blend with the ivory shag rug when Abbey rushes past with a bag.
“I’m going to my sister’s. Don’t call me.”
I wince as I hear her peel out of the driveway. The lack of control of my thoughts and actions, the sudden aloneness, terrifies me. Since when do I have such a low tolerance?
My foot is damp, and I realize my sock is soaked with blood, and the rug has a stain that will never come out. Just like the Jackson Pollock. I laugh to myself and turn to the painting hung high on the dining room wall. I don’t need to search for the spot mixed in with the splatters of browns, reds, and yellows. I know precisely which smattering of color was splayed onto the canvas by the blow of a bullet through my father’s head. He would loathe the man I’ve become.
“I don’t blame you, son.”
It doesn’t startle me to see my dead dad sitting here now, in Abbey’s chair. The hole in his head is somewhat unnerving, but his presence is comforting. I can smell his scent and it takes me back to his study and the conversations we had there. He never wanted me to be like him. He wanted me to be better, do better, accomplish things he couldn’t. That’s a mistake a lot of parents make, I think. The pressure of never being enough eats at you.
“I see you’ve fucked up. Big time. What are you gonna do?” He smirks as he lights a cigarette. It’s as if he knows the answer to my quandary but wants to see if I can come up with it on my own first.
“What can I do? How do I make this all go away? I can’t. It’s already done and Abbey will never forgive me.” I’m not even sure if I’m speaking out loud, but he hears me. I know he does.
“There’s a way.”
“What, Dad? I’m at the end of my rope here. Tell me what to do.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette and aims it at me. “You have to eliminate the problem at its source. Find the root cause and destroy it before it destroys you. It’s the only way to make things right.”
&nbs
p; He’s gone before I can ask questions.
~
I make my way to the living room window and try to focus on Mara’s house. The lights are on and I can see James moving about as he closes their curtains and turns out the lights. Mara’s home too, this I know. She’s been spending a lot of time alone in her room, probably feeling sorry for herself. She should, too, because look what she’s caused. The sound of a thousand bees swarming fills my ears as I flash back to that day, the two of us on my bed. Me pushing her harder and harder, further and further down, down, down. I pinch myself hard, but barely feel it. Does this mean I’m dreaming?
The ear-splitting rapping on the front door makes my heart jump. I’m very much awake. Mara looks warped through the peephole. She glances around nervously and knocks again, another round of unnecessarily loud bangs. I open the door before she can do it another time. It’s just like her to test me like this.
“What do you want?” I’m not in the mood for her games tonight.
“Wow, you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” She’s making a stink face as she notices my one bloody sock. I take it off and chuck it across the front porch.
“I told Abbey about us,” she says as she crosses her arms and stares me down. Mara isn’t her usual lithe self. She’s different.
I have to lean on the doorframe to keep myself from swaying. “I know you fucking did. Now she’s gone. Are you happy? I told her about us too. She hates you just as much as she hates me. She’s pregnant too, you know.”
Mara makes a face like she’s just been punched in the gut. “Oh yeah, you told her? Did you tell her everything? Did you tell her you raped me on her bed?” She’s inching closer and turning aggressive. “Did you tell her I cried and asked you to stop and you didn’t?”
“Rape? Oh is that what it was? You came onto me.” I’ve got my finger in her face and I can’t stop. Why is everything “rape” these days? “You’re the one that came over here not wearing underwear and practically begged me to fuck you. Abbey knows you’re a compulsive liar, she’d never believe you. James won’t either when he finds out.”
“Keep your voice down.” She glances toward the neighbor’s. “You’re such a piece of shit. I can’t believe I ever thought you’d be worth it. I hope Abbey leaves you here to rot and I hope your child never wants a single thing to do with you. I’ll make sure they find out the truth.”
Her last sentence lights a fire inside me. I’ve had enough of Mara jeopardizing everything good in my life. I’ve had enough of her little schemes and plots, enough of her getting under my skin. I’ve had enough of her.
I grab her hair and drag her into the house, her feet barely shuffling on the floor. She screams, but I slam the door behind us. This fury is giving me strength and an uncanny sense of clarity. I know what my dad meant now when he told me I have to eliminate my problem at its source. Mara is my problem. She’s the root cause of all of my suffering.
I shove her into the kitchen and down to the floor, and she immediately springs back up. I find the knife block on the counter and grab the first one I can finger. She’s looking for an escape, a way out, but I can’t let her leave. This has to end tonight.
She starts toward the back door, and I raise the knife high over my head and bring it down swiftly across her face. It doesn’t seem to phase her as she tries again for the door
“No! You stay down! You’re not running this show anymore!” I yell as I knock her back down. I want her to beg for her life, I want her to plead desperately for this to stop, the same way I begged and pleaded with myself to forget about her. I need her to know what it feels like to have your entire life ripped away from you by the hands of someone else.
I’m straddling her, keeping her pinned to the floor, and right on cue she starts.
“Please, Simon! Let me go! I won’t tell Abbey. I won’t tell.” She’s running out of breath now. “I’ll say it was me, it was all me. My fault. Please!”
“It is your fault! All of this is your fault, can’t you see that?!” My face is an inch from hers. I can taste her fear and I like it. “If you had just left me alone, none of this would have happened!”
I thrust the knife at her again, but she’s moving too much and I cut her on her shoulder. She’s able to get a leg free and uses it to kick me off of her, but she’s grabbing her shoulder and she’s not quite fast enough. I’m screaming at her, but I don’t know what I’m saying because the buzzing is back. I pin her and I’m on top of her again, knife in one hand. Her tears are streaking her makeup but she still looks so beautifully perfect. I lay on her and burrow my face into her hair as she sobs. I breathe in my Mara, my opium. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear a thing. I inhale as I sit up because I know if I stay like this, I won’t have the courage to do what I have to. I close my eyes and drive the knife deep into her abdomen. It feels like freedom. She manages to rip the bandage off my forehead and jam her fingers into my wound. Mara’s last stand. I shriek back at her and lose all control, stabbing her over and over until her body stops moving and her eyes stare at nothing. She can’t sabotage me anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Karen Longford
My skin is going to look like a newborn’s bottom even when I’m eighty, I think to myself, eyes resting under my face mask. I just finished up my nightly skincare routine, something I have been doing since I was seventeen. When I first pulled my eye mask down onto my face, I thought I heard a thud outside but ignored it. Our neighborhood has become quite the happening place over the past few months. I believe it all stems from this wild child Mara moving in across the street. Her husband seems like a sweet boy, works hard from what I can tell. Mara though. She’s a stay at home wife with no hobbies to consume herself in, leaving a lot of spare time for Abbey’s husband. Tisk tisk tisk.
When I was younger there wasn’t a Facespace or a Nook Book or whatever those things are called. Cheating wasn’t as easy as it is now that the internet is in full swing. I’m almost certain Simon has crossed a line with Mara. Who has a platonic relationship with a beautiful woman that brings you wine? She was there far too long for casual conversation. Abbey didn’t seem to mind, though. Perhaps she likes that sort of thing. I watch the Sister Wives show on television every Thursday night. Sometimes even Sundays. Not because I envy them or would ever consider acting that way, just because it’s a good form of comedic relief.
I’m jarred from my thoughts as I hear a scream so unrecognizable I’m not sure if it is male or female. I immediately rip my eye mask off, wishing my husband wasn’t on business. I turn the small lock on my bedroom door handle and walk cautiously over to the window facing the street.
It’s none other than the topic of my thoughts, Simon Paulson. He’s flailing his arms around like he is deep in conversation but his back is to me and I can’t see whoever must be in front of him. Abbey or Mara? He’s acting incredibly aggressive, something I haven’t seen before from him.
No one ever truly knows what goes on behind closed doors, I remind myself.
My phone goes off on my nightstand and I rush to quiet it, like he could potentially hear it although I know there’s no way of that being possible.
When I look back out the window, he’s rummaging around in the trunk of his car, I slide my window open just a hair to try and overhear any conversation. He’s mumbling and grumbling, cursing this and that but I cannot make out any formal dialogue. He quickly slams the trunk closed and I jump. I know I’m being silly but I feel something isn’t right. I have an awful pit deep down inside of me that Simon has done something wrong.
I got these feelings frequently when I was younger. I knew ten minutes prior to my grandmother dying; it was an unexplainable feeling I had. Or I would stand by the telephone expecting a phone call seconds before it rang. Once I even knew a baby had been left in a car when I passed it in a grocery store parking lot. It was just an overwhelming feeling of dread that I had.
I’ve always been able to pick up on peopl
e’s emotions, even when I try my hardest not to. And tonight, Simon has done something there is no coming back from. I wish I could figure out what that something is.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Simon
I’m driving west on I-80, as fast as I can without getting pulled over. I need to see her and make sure she’s okay. I’ve been sort of reeling these past few days since it happened, but I think seeing her will make me feel better. I would have preferred it not to end this way, but I knew it was the only choice I had. My dad helped me realize that.
I’m sweating more and more with each passing mile, and I contemplate turning around, going back home, and locking myself in my room. I can’t, though. I have to see her one more time. I have to try and prove to myself that I’m not weak anymore.
The suburbs turn to small farm towns, the farm towns grow further apart and fade into cornfields. Tall, bright green stalks stretch the flat ground all around me, with shorter soybean fields providing the landscape with little contrast. I reach my exit and pull off at a desolate part of this state. It really is a whole different world outside of the city. I try hard to remember the exact path I took when I brought her here.
I pull my car over on the side of the deserted road, glancing into the woods next to me. This is the spot. My hands are shaking horribly as I take my keys out of the ignition. I can't get a deep breath, and my heart is pounding so hard that it's all I can hear. I start into the heavy trees, making my way to her even though I can barely feel my legs. Somehow, I keep going. I hate that this is what it came to. I had to do it though—he told me I had to; it was the only way to be free. I trusted him. She doesn't belong here. Alone, cold, dirty.
It takes me a while, but here she is. I crouch down and start patting the thick layer of dead leaves that blanket the earth. Yes, it's her. I find her face and pull the leaves off it, exposing her in all of her beauty. Even like this—pale, lifeless—she takes my breath away. It never really was fair that she always had the upper hand. I can't blame her for it anymore, though. It wasn't her fault, I can see that now. She took the cards she was dealt and played a game, but in the end she didn't win. I did. She can't ruin things any longer. Even still, I'm consumed with her.
Those We Trust Page 13