The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost)

by Sally Berneathy

  Like I said, Paula had secrets.

  We went into her house which was the same basic style as mine...two-story, white, front porch, high ceilings, hardwood floors. Hers was smaller and about twenty years newer so it was less "gingerbready," but the major differences were inside. She had put shiny new deadbolt locks on the front and back doors and kept the windows closed and locked all the time. Her furniture was new and—guess what—nondescript, as if she felt the need to blend into the background even inside her own home.

  Paula latched the screen door behind us, then closed and locked the wooden door and put on the chain. I bit my tongue and didn't comment that it seemed a shame to waste one of the half dozen days out of the year when the weather in the Kansas City area was suitable for humans, neither hot and sultry nor cold and windy.

  Paula disappeared into the kitchen while Zach brought me a bright orange truck, jabbered, and made appropriate engine noises. I sat on the floor and we rolled the truck back and forth to each other across the area rug. Zach laughed and chattered, obviously enjoying this activity immensely. I can't say that I got a lot out of rolling that truck, but watching him have a good time definitely made my heart happy.

  I revved the truck on the floor. "Vrroom! Vrroom! Here it comes!"

  This time Zach grabbed it up and ran across the room, watching me over his shoulder. This was my cue to chase him. I scrambled to my feet, yelled, "I'm gonna get you!" then caught him just before he dove behind the beige chair.

  Paula came back in as I lifted him over my head and blew on his soft tummy.

  I sank onto the beige sofa with Zach in my lap and she set her tray on the coffee table. It held, among other things, a plate of fudge cookies left over from yesterday's inventory at the shop and a Coke. I must have looked as stressed as I felt. Usually Paula chided me about having Coke and chocolate for breakfast. Now she was offering it to me.

  The tray also held her coffee, a plate of non-chocolate cookies, and a red sippy cup, the last a gift from me. Zach wants to drink whatever his Aunt Lindsay is drinking. Since that usually means a red can, his Aunt Lindsay found him a red cup. He's happy and I'm proud that the kid wants to emulate me. Hey, it could be worse. He could be emulating Rick.

  I picked up the Coke, popped the top and took a long, satisfying swallow, letting those little bubbles dance over my tongue and down my throat, making my mouth feel clean and awake.

  Zach took a long swallow of milk from his red sippy cup then reached for the chocolate cookies.

  "These are your cookies," Paula said, handing Zach one of the non-chocolate variety. "I made some bran muffins and baked part of the recipe as cookies," she explained to me.

  Zach looked at the chocolate cookies then back to his. The boy was not dumb.

  "Wow!" I enthused. "Look at all the chocolate chips in yours!" I pointed to the raisins.

  He grinned and began to munch on it. I could just see him in a few years, at the movies, bringing his date a package of Raisinets and telling her they're chocolate covered chocolate chips.

  Feeling a little guilty, I selected a cookie of the chocolate variety. Not so guilty I wouldn't eat it, of course. I needed sustenance to face the morning...and Rick in my bed.

  "He ordered a pepperoni pizza," I said, as if I had to justify that car in my driveway. "Double pepperoni."

  Paula only nodded and sipped her coffee. Nonjudgmental.

  I drank more Coke and shoved more cookie into my mouth. I was feeling much better already. Paula's house was always immaculately clean and her paranoia about keeping the door locked and the windows closed made it feel isolated from the rest of the world. Sometimes that wasn't a bad feeling. Today was one of those times.

  "I appreciate your not saying anything dumb like, does this mean you're getting back together?" I said quietly, staring into the hole in my Coke can as though I expected to find some sort of answers in there. Some people look for answers in a bottle; I look for mine in a can. Neither of us is successful, of course.

  "No." Paula's voice was unexpectedly firm and intense. "I'd never say that. He's not going to change. He'd hurt you again if you took him back."

  Definitely an abusive husband or lover in her past, somebody she was scared would find her and hurt her again, put another scar on the other side of her face. I wondered how many she had on the rest of her body, how many she was hiding with her long-sleeved shirts, slacks and ankle-length skirts.

  I looked at her, trying to see behind that mask she never let down, but I couldn't. Her spine was straight, her chin tilted upward defiantly.

  "I know Rick will never change," I replied.

  "Do you still love him?"

  That was a tough one. I'd asked myself that question a lot of times over the past six weeks. I'd been in total shock at first, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. We'd had a lot of good times in the early years, then we'd kind of drifted apart as we became busy making money and getting ahead.

  Not so busy he hadn't been able to find time for Scruffy Buffy, of course.

  I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. Paula's not the only one who can do masks. "I don't love him the way I love chocolate and Coke."

  We all three laughed. I'm sure Zach didn't know what he was laughing at, but his mommy and his Aunt Lindsay were laughing, and that made him happy.

  A knock on the front door stopped the laughter.

  Paula's eyes went wide, and the blood drained from her face. Total terror. She used to do that regularly at work, freak out every time somebody came into our shop. Fortunately for our profit margin, many people come in every day, and she finally got used to it, but visitors at home were apparently still scary. Of course, she didn't have visitors at home except for the postman and me.

  I was sitting on the sofa, and the mail didn't come on Sunday.

  She set her cup on the table, her hand shaking so badly the coffee sloshed onto her fingers.

  "I'll get it." I bounced up, handed Zach to her and was at the door before she could protest.

  Not that I think she was capable of speech at that moment.

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