by Kaira Rouda
“Not much. Just that you sold your company. Your wife is dead. Besides that, you haven’t had a very notable life, I’m afraid,” I tell him. If you Google Paul Strom, you’ll get pages of accolades. ADDY Awards for advertising campaigns I helped lead, civic awards for the community activities I’ve been involved in and, of course, links to my very famous father-in-law, too. I’m all over the internet, as I should be. Of course I also made an appearance in my parents’ obituaries, the favorite son who lived right next door. So loyal. I didn’t include Tom in the write-up; he didn’t deserve the acknowledgment, the ghost.
“Some people prefer to be hidden,” Buck says. “My company, the one I sold last year, handles security for high net worth individuals. Neither my clients nor I wish for any personal publicity and we allow only very carefully controlled public information out in the world.”
“Oh, so you’re some sort of spy, is that it?” I ask. I was right about him. My instincts are finely tuned. I remain one step ahead of this imitation James Bond.
“Actually, former special ops, but that’s not important now. What you do need to know is that we’ve been watching you,” Buck says. “For a while now.”
The candle closest to me sizzles out, a plume of dark smoke announcing its demise. The other, in the middle of the table, had burned out sometime earlier. That leaves only one candle flickering on the coffee table. In the corner, I see Mia open the hutch and pull out another candle. It’s reflex. At Lakeside, there are often severe thunderstorms that can knock the power out for hours, or days. We’ve stocked up on candles, and they are tucked everywhere. Of course, tonight is cloudless, and the lights are on, although dimmed, ironically by me for our romantic after-dinner drink.
I focus my attention back on Buck and his “special ops” announcement. I know it is a threat. A warning not to get physical, but I still have fire in my core. Sometimes rage can overpower training.
“You’ve been watching me? How charming. Why?” I say. He knows I don’t find this charming, but I’m also a bit disturbed. Something in the back of my mind is trying to push to the front.
“Because from the moment I met you, I knew something was off. Really off. Greg confirmed it. You know, your former friend, Greg Boone?”
What is it with these idiots, the Boones? Why can’t they mind their own business? “Greg Boone is a sore loser. A loser, period,” I say.
“Be that as it may, I have the resources to check people out. And you are not what you seem. Or, more precisely, you are part of the one percent.”
I don’t think Buck is referring to income. Clearly he must be aware of our current financial squeeze. “One percent?” I ask.
“Classic malignant narcissist, possible psychopathic. All the definitions really blend together, but it’s you. You have no conscience, have a psychological need for power and control and you think you are more important than anyone else. You lured Mia into your web when she was young and inexperienced. You lie constantly and you have no shame. You won’t take responsibility for any of this, will you?” Buck says. He pauses and we smile at each other.
What does he expect? Should I pretend to be shocked? I know who I am. I’m special, unique. “Whatever you say, Buck. Why do you think you know so much about this subject? Takes one to know one, am I right?”
Buck doesn’t answer me, just shakes his head as my wife appears from behind him. Her hand is on the back of the chair but I know she wants to touch his shoulder. She better not. She knows she better not touch him like that in front of me. Ever. I am staring at her. I am waiting for her to make a big mistake.
“I asked Buck to help me because I thought I was losing my mind,” Mia says. She walks over to the coffee table, where we are locked in our little tête–à–tête but stays as far as possible away from me. She lights the new candle with the flame of the old one, places it in the holder and sits down on the couch, much nearer to Buck’s chair than mine. She has dripped wax on the table, so sloppy.
“Ever since the boys started school, I’ve felt so un-me, so needy. If you had let me out of the house maybe things would be different, but I don’t know. And then, I got sick. But it doesn’t matter. It’s your pattern that’s the problem. I mean, what is so wrong with me that you had to find lovers during our engagement, and then during our marriage? How many were there, Paul? You lie about everything, you try to steal my money? How did you make it all seem like it was my problem? Like something was wrong with me. I just didn’t understand. I was trapped in this world you’d created, a prison. You’re the lunatic, Paul, not me.”
“So you two are doing it?” I say, my eyes roving over my wife and then over Buck. I sound like a teenage boy in the sports locker room, I know. It’s for shock value. It works.
Mia puts her hand over her mouth. Her eyes bug out at me. Ha. Buck starts to stand. Will he come at me? Mia holds her hand up and he stays seated but he’s seething. Good.
He says, “Don’t be crass. This isn’t about me. This is about you. Mia and I worked on the garden together last summer, do you remember? She had two weeks up here without you. Just the boys and gardening. I saw her relax, come to life. I gave her some suggested reading materials.” Buck looks at Mia and nods, prodding my wife like a shepherd herding his lost sheep. It works.
Mia leans toward me and says, “I learned about what you are, that there was a name for this. I learned it wasn’t me. I am not the crazy one. But still, it took me all winter to get the courage to leave you. When you got fired, and when I found out why, that sealed it. But I knew you wouldn’t let me leave without a fight.”
“That’s where I come in, me and my people. We’ve been tailing you, Paul,” Buck says.
I squint my eyes, staring a hole in Buck’s forehead. Why do he and Mia seem to finish each other’s sentences, like an old married couple? It’s getting annoying. But it doesn’t matter. What could he possibly have seen if he was following me? Nothing, of course.
“I fail to see why anyone would want to follow a successful businessman going to work each day and returning home to his beautiful family in their gorgeous suburban home,” I say.
Buck is smirking, I am almost positive, though his expression remains stoic. “Nothing is ever what it seems, you know that, Paul,” he says. “We follow you every weekday as you visit your lover Gretchen.”
How dare he say her name in front of Mia? My brain registers this daunting fact and then I realize she probably has seen photos. Poor Mia. I’ll need to give her a really big hug.
Mia’s head has dropped into her hands.
“She has no impact on us, Mia. I love you. You’re my wife. She is just, well, for sex,” I say.
“Oh, God,” Buck says.
On the couch, Mia is shaking again. I start to stand up, to go comfort her.
Buck places his hand on my thigh, squeezes my leg hard and says: “Sit down. Now.”
12:25 a.m.
26
I lower myself into the chair again, but he can’t make me stay here. Nobody can make me do anything. I feel the fire surging inside me. I will not be forced to sit for long.
“You’ve got quite a history with women, haven’t you, Paul? We know about Lois, your first wife. I spent an afternoon with her. Lovely woman. Still terrified of you. Funny how you never mentioned to Mia that you’d been married before,” Buck says.
“Not relevant, not at all.” How dare he stomp around in my business? I know, I never told you I was married to Lois. It was a short, messy affair. Best to just move on and that’s why I never discuss it. I had made a very rare miscalculation. I thought I should marry young; it was part of the package of an up-and-coming successful advertising executive. I had the vision of how my life would look in my head. I just needed to fill in the actual people to play the roles.
The moment I met Lois in class I knew she was perfect
prey. She would fit the role of wife exactly as I imagined. I worked my charms, waiting for her after class with an armful of her favorite white daisies, for example, and later, leaving little love notes in her backpack each morning for her to find during class. It was all romantic, and no surprise that she fell for me, hook, line and sinker. But I had that regrettable lapse of control and allowed my mask to slip. That would not happen again. No, best not to tell anyone about Lois. That story is over. The end. Lois’s divorce papers were simplistic, but I’d gladly signed. Good riddance. And I’d never discuss it now, with this man.
“Lois, Caroline Fisher, Rebecca More—all of these women and others, both you and I know about, are terrified of you. None of them knew about your pattern of behavior, that it has been going on your entire life. They all do now. If you think you can get away with hurting any of them or threatening them again, you are very wrong,” Buck says.
“I don’t know what kind of picture you’re trying to paint of me, but I resent the implications. I’ve never laid a hand on my wife, on Mia. She will confirm that, right, honey?” I ask. I look over at Mia, now curled up in a ball, her feet tucked beneath her, in the corner of the couch. I want to go hug her and strangle her, all at once. It’s a pleasant sensation that I allow to brew inside me. I do not believe that Buck can match my fire. I can take him if I choose to.
You’ve probably figured it out by now, haven’t you? My little plan for our best day ever. My sickly little wife, my secret stash of powder. The two are related, of course. But what would hurt my wife the most at this point, given these new facts laid out by her lover? What would hurt her most—her death by my hand or never seeing her children again? It’s an interesting question. I’d planned the former, but now I may need to regroup.
There are always options when you are smarter than everyone. Gretchen and I will sell the Columbus house, use whatever proceeds I make to start over. I read that Nashville is booming, one of the fastest growing cities in the country; maybe we’ll move there. I’ve read it’s more than country music now, much more. Lois likes it there and it will be fun to run into her again. I like my new plan.
“So, the little meeting tonight is to get me to sign these papers, to give up the cottage, which is fine with me, given the neighbors—no offense, Buck—and I get the Columbus home. Is that correct?” I ask.
“Yes,” the gray ball in the corner of the couch says. “As long as you agree to leave me, the boys and my family alone.”
My laugh breaks the silence of the room. “Mia, you’re hysterical.”
The boys will be with me. They need a father figure. They’ve outgrown all of that mommy care. It’s time for them to become men, which I have talked to her about incessantly. Does she forget everything I’ve taught her? It’s natural for the boys to begin pulling away from their mother and turn to me, their father. It’s expected. And so of course, they’ll be with me. Mia is staring at me and so is Buck. I want to reassure her that this is the way it is all meant to be. And it is.
“You’ll be able to visit, don’t worry. You’ve done a good job with them. Now it’s my turn,” I say. It’s as if I’m talking to a child. We review the same points, ad nauseam. It’s frustrating. I feel my right hand clench. I push a smile onto my lips, running my tongue across my teeth. “I’ll be with them tonight, as soon as I get out of here. Nothing to worry about.”
Mia uncurls, puts her feet on the floor, leans forward and says, “The boys will be with me. Period.”
I fight the urge to reach for her. To slap her, hard, so hard she flies across the room. A gray ball flying into oblivion, her head cracking against the floor.
“It’s all here, in the agreement you will sign,” Buck says. I know he is redirecting my attention to him. Foolish man to get in the middle of my life, to get with my wife. He had better watch his back.
“I will divide the property, but I will not consent to giving up my children. Who would ask that? That’s wrong. Boys need their fathers. Look at the terrorists. Look at the prison system. The prisons are filled with boys without male role models,” I say. It’s true, we all know it.
“Sometimes no role model is better than a terrible one. It may have taken me too long to see you for what you are, but they’re still young enough to be saved. You haven’t revealed yourself to them, you haven’t used them or hurt them, and for that I’m very grateful. You should know, if you had touched them, hurt them, I would have left you. But you know that already, don’t you? That’s why you haven’t laid a hand on them, I suppose. They’ve been sheltered from your life outside of our home, from the truth of who their father really is.
“I’ve researched this, Paul. They don’t have to end up like you, with your temper and other issues. They won’t, not if I can help it. My dad will be a much better role model for them, among others.”
Did Mia just look at Buck? I’m going to kill him.
For some reason Mia is still talking. She adds, “And they’re going to be fine. They will both become good men, despite you.” My wife crosses her arms in front of her chest and smiles.
How did I not see a browsing history of these types of things? I wonder. She must have deleted her history. She must have hidden her reference books. She must have become like me. I think back, trying to remember if she was acting differently around me recently. She wasn’t jumpy or anything at the dinner table, she didn’t look at me with suspicious eyes. But she had been happier lately, despite her illness, her weight loss. I just thought it was acceptance. Turns out, it was awakening. I missed the signs. I squeeze my hands into fists. She’s droning on again.
Mia says, “They’ll get counseling, financial security from my parents, until I get on my feet again. It’s all worked out.”
Ah, yes. Her parents. There better be a big payout in those papers for me. Two children. Boys. White. Smart. Blue eyes. They are worth a lot these days. We’re almost a minority.
“So, what are you proposing to pay me, you and your dear father, Donald, to steal my children, to buy my sons, from me?” I ask. This is a game. I enjoy playing games. I enjoy the look my wife gives me as we discuss our children like property. She looks ill, suddenly. All the color has drained from her face.
“You are a sick bastard,” Buck says. If I punched him quickly, in the temple, I could stun him long enough to reach for Mia. It’s an intriguing and exciting thought.
I see the candle drip wax onto the coffee table. I’d like to push the candle over, start a fire and torch this cottage. It would go fast, with the old wood, all the wood floors, shingled roof. Poof. All gone. It’s tragic that Buck and Mia perish in the fire. But sometimes, cheaters get what they deserve.
“I understand who you are, Paul. The sad thing is, people like you don’t change, even with intense counseling. Somehow, you walk around in the world among us, hidden, manipulating others, hurting others. Even the people you claim to love. I know you don’t feel love, you couldn’t and do what you do.” Mia stops, bites her lip. She shakes her head slowly. She looks at me with pity, her face drawn. I won’t stand for this.
Mia holds her hand up, pointing her finger at me. “I know you’re trying to poison me, that you have been poisoning me. I opened the glove box to freak you out during the drive up today.” She pauses, then tilts her head. “It worked, didn’t it?”
12:35 a.m.
27
The room is silent, as if none of us were breathing. I stare at my wife, incredulous. My mouth has dropped open and I feel the cool air of the room hitting the back of my throat. As for it working, if she is referring to the poison I may or may not have given her, clearly it didn’t. Instead of just watching her waste away, I should have killed her in one big dose. A miscalculation, for sure.
At first, I rather enjoyed the disintegration of my wife, the slow disappearance as she wasted away despite her “clean” diet, healthy lifesty
le. Ironic, isn’t it. And, of course, I picked this path because small doses are easier to hide. I never had to worry, though. All of the fancy doctors she consulted, regular and hippie, never did the special urine test for this particular poison. It’s the only way to detect arsenic poisoning and even then, it must be within three days of the dose.
I was finished with Mia, yes, but I didn’t want an abrupt “end.” Gretchen and I had grown so close and, well, the wife felt like the proverbial ball and chain. At the same time, I know that a sudden death is so hard on children. Mommy slipping away slowly is much better on them. The long goodbye, so to speak. I was thinking of the boys, as always. I never had to worry, there was a firm timeline to my plan. Sure it shifted, I’ll admit. But this weekend, this final time together, well, it was precipitated by my need for resources. My dwindling supplies and, of course, my love for my boys. They deserve the finest in life. Their inheritance will assure it. It had to end tonight. But still, I had wanted a romantic final day with my wife, my little Mia. She deserved it, she did. Until this, the best day ever, turned into something else, turned into this.
Until Buck. The bastard. They’re both staring at me. Mia’s mouth is open a bit like she’s trying to speak, trying to think of something to say. But now I have the floor. She asked me a question.
“You never freak me out, Mia, to use your childish phrase. Look at you, sniveling, scrawny, unkempt with mascara streaks down your face. How could you ever think you have any power over me?” I ask.
“Time to sign the papers, Paul,” Buck says. He reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the pen. Shiny and silver, it seems expensive. I wonder who it belongs to. Maybe Mia’s father, maybe Buck. If I sign, I will take it with me, as a reminder of this moment, of the inferno inside me. And of the revenge I’ll extract. It will be a touchstone for revenge.