by Mike Ramon
DEEP RED
Craig Dulles sits in his Nissan with the radio off, his eyes closed, wanting to put off going inside the house for just a little while longer. Maggie and the kids are in there right now, sitting down to dinner most likely, and probably wondering why he isn’t home yet. Maggie has already tried him on his cell twice; both times he allowed it to ring without answering it. If any of them should bother to move aside the curtain and look out the living room window they will see him parked in the driveway, sitting in his dark car. He wonders what Maggie made for dinner, or if she didn’t make anything at all and just ordered a pizza. It doesn’t make much of a difference to him; he isn’t hungry at all.
Headlights momentarily light up the interior of the car as someone turns onto the street, and then all is dark again. Craig’s cellphone chirps again, and he takes the phone out of his pocket; it’s Maggie again. With a great sigh he hits a button and puts the phone up to his ear.
“Yeah, I’m home,” he says before she can speak. “I’ll be right in.”
He ends the call without waiting for a reply, slips the phone back in his pocket, and climbs out of the car. He hits the button to lock the door and swings it shut, then heads for the front door of the house. Just as he gets to the door it opens and Maggie is standing there, a worried look on her face.
“Where have you been?” she asks. “I tried calling you.”
“There was…something at work. I was going to call home, but I got busy and it slipped my mind. Sorry, honey.”
He leans in and pecks her on the cheek. For a moment Maggie stands her ground, blocking the doorway, the worried look on her face now turned to one of suspicion. Craig rubs at his temples, where a nasty headache is starting to form. He looks at Maggie, and she searches his eyes, trying to find what it is that he is not telling her. Then she turns without another word and retreats into the house; Craig follows after. He takes off his jacket and hangs it in the foyer closet, and sets his keys and wallet on a table. He moves to the stairs. Just as he climbs the first step, Maggie calls from the kitchen.
“Your plate is already on the table. We’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up, before it gets cold.”
He winces at the thought of them sitting around the table, staring at their food, waiting on him. He thinks about calling back to her that he isn’t hungry, and that they should just eat without him, but he knows that will only raise more questions, so he joins his family in the dining room. He takes a seat at the table and looks down at his plate. Maggie has made pork chops, using that orange powder stuff that makes it taste so good. Beside the chop is a generous serving of thick, creamy mashed potatoes and a small mound of corn. Ordinarily a meal like this would make him salivate, but tonight his stomach is a ball of lead. He looks around the table, first at Tommy, then Celeste and the baby, finally settling on Maggie.
“Looks delicious,” he says. “Have you kids thanked your mother for this wonderful dinner?”
“Thanks mom,” Tommy and Celeste say in unison.
The baby just burbles in her own unknowable tongue. Maggie smiles then, and it is nice (Craig thinks), nice to be here, sitting at this table with his wife and children.
“Well, dig in,” he says.
The kids waste no time in obliging him. Maggie takes turns eating from her own plate and feeding small spoonfuls of corn and potatoes to the baby. Though he isn’t hungry, Craig gamely cuts off a corner of his pork chop and eats it. As he cuts off another bit of meat he has a minor coughing fit; he’s had a lingering cough for the past couple months, a stubborn bitch of a cough that has refused to quit. Maggie looks over at him.
“I keep telling you to make an appointment with Doctor Hoye,” she says. “I don’t know why you won’t listen to me.”
“I will, soon,” he promises.
She does not know that he has already seen Dr. Hoye. She doesn’t know, because he hasn’t told her.
He eats another piece of the chop, has a couple spoonfuls of potatoes, washing it down with the Diet Coke Maggie has left near his plate. The baby has her own little coughing fit, evidently having trouble swallowing the last bit of potatoes and corn Maggie fed her. Maggie pats the baby gently on the back, and the coughing subsides. The baby then grins like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Craig can’t help but smile.
“Daddy,” Celeste says through a mouthful of food. “We’re gonna put on a show at school in two weeks, and I’m gonna sing.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Maggie chides.
“That’s nice,” Craig says. “What are you singing?”
“It’s---” Celeste begins.
A look from her mother stops her short; she swallows the food in her mouth before starting again.
“It’s a song called ‘Fifty Nifty United States’. Are you gonna come watch me?”
“Of course I’m going to come, sweetie pie. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“She’s prob’ly gonna forget her lines,” Tommy interjects.
“No, I’m not!” Celeste says, hotly indignant at such a claim.
“Cut it out, Tommy,” Maggie orders.
“Jeez; it was just a joke,” Tommy says. “You’re gonna do great.”
He sounds genuine, and Celeste’s mood immediately brightens.
“Thanks,” she says.
The baby gives a loud, happy shriek, refusing to be left out of the conversation, and everyone laughs. Craig’s laugh, however, turns into another coughing spell, worse than the last one. He coughs into his napkin; the coughs sound deep and ugly. Maggie gives him a look that says, See, now will you listen to me? The coughing spell dies away.
“Sorry, excuse me,” Craig says, and gets up from the table.
He pockets the napkin and leaves the dining room, then heads to the upstairs bathroom. In the bathroom, he turns on the light and shuts the door behind him. As an afterthought, he pushes the thumb lock. He turns on the tap and washes his mouth out, the cold water hurting his teeth a bit. Then she shuts off the tap and stares in the mirror while leaning on the sink. Dark circles are starting to form under his eyes.
He thinks about Maggie downstairs, and how she doesn’t know about the visit to Dr. Hoye. He thinks about what else she doesn’t know: about the subsequent visit with Dr. Mendes (or the fact that there is a Dr. Mendes); about the scans Dr. Mendes took; about the follow-up visit with Mendes today, where he had gone instead of work, making excuses for why his wife hadn’t come with him. She doesn’t know about any of these things, though he knows that eventually he will have to tell her.
Craig reaches into his pocket and takes out the napkin that he stowed there, the napkin he used to cover his mouth during that last coughing spell. He holds it bunched up in his hand, still looking at his own reflection in the mirror over the sink. Then he looks down at the napkin, and slowly spreads it open. There in the center is a stain; it is a deep, dark red. Eventually Maggie will know about this stain as well--but not tonight. He balls up the napkin and buries it as deep as he can in the small trashcan beside the sink. Then he opens the door, turns off the light, and leaves the bathroom to rejoin his family at the dinner table.