The Conveyance

by Brian Matthews

  Toni bit her lip. "He's on his way over."

  A small, previously-unknown part of me started to grin. “He's coming here?”

  “I broke it off, told him we were through. He won't take no for an answer.”

  "Do you love him?"

  "No, I don't. I don't think I ever did."

  "Do you want a divorce?"

  "No! Oh, god no! I'm so sorry this happened. I don't know what I was thinking."

  I glanced at her wedding ring. "Is he married?"

  "Not happily."

  "So you two had more in common than just sex?"

  She didn't answer.

  "What do we do about your boyfriend?” I asked her. “He'll be here soon."

  "He's not my boyfriend," she replied stiffly.

  "Okay, your lover. Your paramour. Your fuck-buddy. Whatever you want to call him. What do we do about him?"

  "I'll deal with him. I'm a big girl. I can clean up my own messes."

  My eyes drifted to the knife. "I could deal with him."

  "Oh, no. You stay here." She cupped my face in her hands. I resisted the urge to jerk away. "I know you're hurt. I wish to hell this had never happened, but it did. And it's over. I was terrified at the thought of losing you." Her lips brushed mine. "I love you. We'll work it out, same as we have any other time, I promise. Just give me a chance. Let me make it right."

  A whirlwind of emotions blew madly through me, and for a moment I was overwhelmed by an urge to see my mother. I wanted to talk to her, to have her hold me, to run her fingers through my hair and tell me everything would be all right. But my mom had died months ago, her familiar comforts buried with her cancer-ridden body. My dad, distant as a far flung galaxy in the corner of the universe, saw nothing but himself and the torn rage he felt for a profession that had failed him. All I had left was Toni. She had hurt me, but through the pain, I also remembered how much I loved her. I began to cry.

  "I don't know how I feel," I said, the words coming out in shuddering, wrenching sobs. "I don’t know what to do."

  "Then don't do anything." She pulled me into a gentle embrace. "Let me deal with this. We'll talk afterward."

  I nodded into her shoulder.

  The doorbell rang.

  Toni pulled away. "I'll be right back. Please, stay in the kitchen."

  I took her hands in mine and squeezed, firm enough she'd know I was hurting, but not hard enough to hurt her back. "We’ll do this together. I won't pretend I'm not hurt or mad or jealous as hell, but you're my wife. You won't face this without me beside you. Maybe I should have been doing more of that from the beginning."

  "I love you," she said. "I don't expect you to feel the same, but I hope one day to win your love back."

  The doorbell rang again. I nodded toward the living room. "Shall we?"

  I followed her through the living room to the front door. She took a deep, centering breath and opened it.

  Bryan Hinson stood there, sweat beaded on his brow and dark blotches staining the armpits of his white button-down shirt. He was breathing heavily, his face flushed.

  "About damn—!" He stopped when he saw me. "Oh, Brad. Sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

  "I would imagine not," I said.

  "Can I have a few minutes of Toni's time? We have a couple school issues to discuss."

  "Say what you came to say," Toni told him. "I don't want to spend all afternoon standing on the porch."

  That brought him up short. "Can't we, you know, go somewhere a little more private?"

  I pointed behind me. "Would our bedroom do? I'm sure you'd feel more comfortable there. It's down the hall, last room on the left. I'll wait here. You may as well take advantage of all my amenities."

  Hinson shot her a black look. "What's he talking about?"

  "I told him," Toni said. "He knows everything. The lunches, the after school drinks, the sleeping together. Everything."

  Bryan Hinson's eyes darted to me. He was probably gauging the likelihood of an ass-whooping. On a scale of one to ten, I put his chances at eight.

  Then Hinson said, "She loves me, you know. She wants to be with me. Tell him, Toni."

  His chances surged to thirteen.

  "I won't," Toni said. "Because it's not true."

  "Bullshit, you said it to me the other day."

  "I never said I loved you," Toni told him. "Not once."

  "Not once," I said, and slipped my arm around Toni's waist. I didn't feel like hugging her. I didn't feel like being in the same room with her. I also knew we'd never get past this unless we knocked Hinson back on his heels. "She told me, you know."

  Toni stiffened, then tentatively slid her arm around me. She may not have known what to expect, but she knew enough to play along when she saw it.

  "Oh, how cute," Hinson said. "You two, arm-in-arm, like nothing happened. Well, you can pretend all you want, but you can't erase the past." He turned to me. "You sure you want to stay with someone who cheated on you?"

  I bristled. "You sure you want someone who cheats?"

  "Leave him alone, Bryan," Toni said. "He's the one person who did nothing wrong."

  Hinson smirked. "If he did nothing wrong, why'd you end up in my bed, with my cock buried deep inside you?"

  The whoop-ass scale shot past twenty, and I bolted forward. My fist connected with Hinson’s face, my knuckles exploding in pain, but I didn't care. I hit him again, this time in the gut. Hinson doubled over and started retching. Toni grabbed my arm and pleaded with me to stop. I shook her off. Pain and rage and betrayal and grief rose in me like a lava flow, consuming me, and I snatched a handful of Hinson's hair and pulled him up, my fist raised, ready to deliver another blow. Hinson looked at me, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide, fearful. He raised his hands in a feeble effort to defend himself. It was such a pitiful gesture I paused, saw him for the coward he really was—the loser who used people as long as he got what he wanted. He reminded me of the kids I treated, poor, lost, mixed up children who were only now developing their moral compasses. Hinson was nothing more than an oversized kid; an emotional bully hiding in an adult's body. I wondered for a moment about his students and how he treated them. I would bring it up with Toni later, if we had a later.

  I released Hinson. He quickly stumbled out of reach. "Go home," I said. "Apologize to your wife for being a scumbag. Beg for her forgiveness and pray she gives it to you. For her sake, I hope she doesn’t. Oh, and one more thing—stay away from Toni. No contact, no emails, no texts, no friendly chats in the hallway at school. Nothing. I catch you sniffing around my wife again and there won't be enough of you left to bury in a shoe box."

  Bryan Hinson tried to straighten, but my punch must've busted something inside him. Wincing, he wrapped his arm around his gut. "You fucked up, Jordan. Wait'll the cops get here. Let's see how well you defend her honor from jail.”

  I pulled out my cell and hit speed dial. "Hey, Frank," I said into the phone. "Got a guy here who wants to talk with you. Hold on." I held the phone out to Hinson, who eyed the device like it was a poisonous snake. "Who is it?" he asked.

  "Frank Swinicki. Sargent, Rock Mills PD. His wife Kerry works with you too." I lifted the phone higher. "Go on, take it. Tell him you want to make a report. I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige."

  Hinson hesitated, the scowl on his face deepening. He thought about it for a few seconds, then must have decided having a cop on speed dial might give me the advantage. "Come near me again and I will call the cops," he said, and limped into his car, a Corvette convertible. He had the top down. It looked like a chariot next to my Malibu.

  Watching Hinson speed away, I thumbed the off button on the phone.

  "Frank and Kerry are on a cruise with the kids," Toni said. "He isn't in cell range. Who did you call?"

  I looked down at her. "Dell’s Pizza."

  "Good one." She grew somber. "I messed everything up. I can't believe I was this stupid."

  With the crisis over, my hurt and anger retu
rned. "You could have talked to me, let me know how you felt. It's not like I don't listen for a living."

  She looked at her hands. They were knotted into fists. She forced herself to relax. "Do you think I could earn your forgiveness?"

  "One day," I said, and stalked off.

  It had taken a long time, but we did forgive one another.

  I opened my eyes. The bathwater had grown cold, and my aches were returning. I got out, wrapped a towel around my waist, walked into the bedroom—

  —and stopped, barely a step through the doorway.

  The doll, Thumbkin, was propped on my side of the bed, facing me, as if waiting for me.

  I walked over and picked it up. I could have sworn I'd left it on the table beside the front door. Yet here it was, at the other end of the house.

  I turned the doll over in my hands. It didn't seem any different. Same cotton dress with white apron, same red yarn for hair, same cherub smile. Nothing seemed out of place.

  Except for its eyes—those expressionless, black eyes.

  They seemed to be staring at me.

  I stared back. The doll's eyes were buttons. They had no pupils, no irises. There was no way you could perceive the doll as looking at you.

  I couldn't shake the feeling it was staring at me, those lusterless eyes were taking in everything about me, every sensation, every memory, every love and every hate. The hairs on my neck rose. The sensation of being watched became so strong I turned, expecting to find Toni standing behind me, but I was alone.

  Or was I?

  I returned my gaze to the doll. I lifted it, brought its face so close to mine my breath blew its hair around in gentle wisps. I stared, and I waited.

  I was about to give up, to chalk the whole mess up to post-accident jitters, when, for one brief, horrifying moment, its button eyes seemed to narrow, almost imperceptibly, and I sensed an intelligence behind them, a hateful, unfriendly intelligence.

  Startled, I dropped the doll. It bounced off the bed and landed on the floor, face down. I backed away, images from a half dozen horror movies flashing in my mind—Chucky wielding a knife and cackling maniacally, the doll from Poltergeist dragging that poor kid kicking and screaming under his bed, Karen Black chased through her apartment by a vengeful voodoo doll sporting a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth. Nightmare visions that had terrified me as a boy.

  I stared at Thumbkin, waiting for her to move; to give me some indication she could move. When nothing happened, I shook my head. "Get a grip. It's a doll. That's all."

  I heard footsteps coming up the hall. Toni stepped into the bedroom, a dishrag draped over her shoulder.

  "Why are you standing there half-naked?" she said. "And who were you talking to?"

  I pointed to Thumbkin. "Did you bring her in here?"

  She picked up the doll and set her back on the bed. "She didn't get here on her own."

  Relief swept through me. "Why'd you move her?"

  Toni shrugged, her eyes lingering on Thumbkin. "I don't know. She seemed lonely sitting on that table. I thought she’d like some company before you cart her off to be mauled by your patients."

  "Dolls don’t have feelings."

  "I know."

  "There was no reason to move it."

  "I know," she repeated. "I know, I know."

  When she didn't say more, I touched her shoulder. "Toni, honey?"

  She ignored my touch. Instead, she stared intently at Thumbkin, as if she were caught up in her thoughts.

  "Hey," I said, gently shaking her. "Talk to me, babe."

  She stood a little straighter. "Do you know what she wants?"

  "Do I know what who wants?"

  "The Green Queen." She passed a hand over her eyes. It was an odd gesture, one I didn’t understand. "Do you know what she wants?"

  "What Green Queen? Who are you talking about?"

  "She wants something, you know. Something important. Do you know what it is?"

  The voice was hers, but the cadence of her speech was off. It was like listening to two different people speaking at the same time, using the same vocal chords. The effect was unnerving.

  "Brad?" she said, more insistently. "Do you know?"

  I shook my head. "Why don't you tell me."

  "She wants us. And with us, she wants the world." Toni peered at me, as if expecting an answer. When she didn’t get one, the focus gradually returned to her gaze. A shudder ran through her. She looked around, as if disoriented, as if she had forgotten where she was. Her pale eyes found mine, and she gave me a smile. "Put some clothes on. I made chicken fettuccine. Let's eat before it gets cold." With a final, hesitant glance at the doll, she turned to leave.

  "Honey?" I said, stopping her.

  "Yes."

  "Who's the Green Queen?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You mentioned someone named the Green Queen. You said she wanted the world. Who is she?"

  "Green Queen?" she said with a laugh. "You sure you didn't hit your head yesterday?"

  I watched her leave. My sense of unease had returned. I turned to the doll. She sat there, smiling at me.

  Smirking at me.

  Figure this one out, she seemed to be saying. You try and figure this one out.

  The Green Queen; someone who wanted the world.

  A Raggedy Ann doll, straight out of a child's cellar full of nightmares.

  I shook off my unease. This was ridiculous, complete and utter nonsense. I’d let my nerves get to me. Grabbing my clothes, I told myself to stop being silly. There was nothing to figure out.

  It was, after all, only a doll.

  Chapter Six

  After dinner, we retired to the living room. Toni took her spot on the sofa, wine glass in hand, the clear glass bell muddied by her fingerprints. I opted for the recliner, grabbed the remote, and clicked on the television. The same mindless drivel flashed by as I channel surfed. I settled on a documentary of the Beatles. On it, John danced with Yoko while George and Paul and Ringo sang about selfishness. I wondered if the irony of Lennon's behavior was lost on the others as they played. Did they understand the theater of life often displayed the parts of ourselves we held most secret? Probably not. That's why their music remained popular more than four decades later—it spoke to the same fears and insecurities and hopes we all faced, no matter the generation.

  The documentary got me thinking, and not in a positive way.

  "Honey," I said. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "What's on your mind?"

  "Bryon Hinson. Does he bother you anymore?"

  She set the glass down. "Of course not. We settled that years ago. Why are you asking about him now?"

  I hesitated. To confess that I had doubted her fidelity would hurt her deeply, but so would living with the lie buried deep inside me, festering, until I ended up dancing with my own Yoko.

  "There've been no other incidents, with anyone else?"

  "No! Jesus, Brad. Where's this coming from?"

  "One more question—the Green Queen. Who is she?"

  Her features darkened. "What queen? Why do you keep asking about a queen?"

  I turned off the television. "You brought her up in the bedroom. You asked me if I knew a Green Queen. You told me she wanted the world. Don't you remember?"

  "No, I don't. And what's this got to do with that douchebag Hinson?"

  "They're not related."

  "Then what’s this all about?"

  "The other day, when I couldn't get in touch with you after the accident." I hesitated, afraid for myself and for her. Neither of us would be the same after an insult like this; not for a while, at least. But there was no backing down now. "I thought...well, I thought maybe you were with someone."

  Toni shot to her feet. "You still think that little of me?"

  "I’m ashamed to say it, but at that moment, I guess I did."

  "You bastard," she said, and stormed out of the room.

  I hurried after her.

  Before
I could catch up to her, she slipped into the bathroom and locked the door.

  I stood with my head pressed against it, the palms of my hands splayed flat against its painted surface. An inch of wood separated me from the woman I loved. It may as well have been a foot of steel.

  "Honey?" I said, loud enough for her to hear. I waited, and when she gave no answer, I called out again. "Toni, honey? Talk to me."

  "No," she said. "No, you don't get to do this on your turf. You don't get to play counselor, and I won't be your patient. This time, it’s the other way around."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This time," she said, "you talk to me."

  "All right."

  "You'd better make it good."

  Indeed, I’d better. "I suppose you want to know why I doubted you."

  My question was met with silence, so I let out a sigh and plowed ahead.

  "I love you. Let's start there. I love you, and I've always loved you." I pressed my palms more firmly against the door. "When you love someone, you lay bare everything you are, who you want to be, or who you hope to never become. Every defense is brought down. You're left naked, more than on the day you were born. The greatest rewards come with the greatest risks; you can’t separate the two. With you I found my greatest reward, and in that, I took my greatest risk." I paused. "You still listening?"

  "Go on," she said, the words muffled by the barrier between us.

  "I'm not going to lie. What you did hurt. It hurt because you found comfort in another man's arms. It also hurt because I let your loneliness get that far; I couldn't or wouldn't see what was going on under my own roof. It hurt because I'd failed you, much more than you failed me."

  I wrestled with the lions of silence for several moments before I heard her say, "You blame yourself?"

  "To a large degree, yes."

  "You never told me."

  "Another error on my part."

  "I don't understand. What's this got to do with Friday? Why did you think I was cheating?"

  "Old insecurities never die," I said. "They only hibernate."

  I heard a rustling noise, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded louder. She'd moved to stand next to the door. "Doc Vader," she said. "You're talking about your dad."