Carol's laughter brought her back to earth.
“Em a mom?” Carol said. “You have to be kidding. She hates kids. It was Neal she loved after her husband died. Neal knew it, and he played her for a lot of money before she realized he'd never leave Juliette. She used to go listen to him when he was playing piano, before he got fired. Music is the way to so many women, have you noticed? Neal sure used it that way, when it suited him.”
“If it was Emily, then she was working with you or your husband,” Nina said. “Triple eights.”
“So she was the one who made up the story about our license plate? You really scared Lenny with that one. I thought it must be her. I remember one time she said we were lucky with the eights.”
“You're saying-do you realize…”
“All I'm saying is, I didn't do a thing to anybody.”
“Did you tell her about Neal's plan?”
“Just to show her she was better off forgetting about him. I didn't know she was the patsy.”
“Emily?”
Nina's client looked flushed and pretty, as if she had walked all the way to the office. “Yes?”
“I talked to Carol Dole about you.”
“Oh,” she said, all her prettiness falling behind a frown.
“You lied to me about Caitlin.”
“I always loved that name,” she said after a pause. “She's cute, too, isn't she? I found the photo stuck inside a book I bought at the Salvation Army.”
“You lied about knowing Neal, too.”
She tapped her foot, examined her fingernails, and didn't say anything for a long time.
“Maybe you need to find another lawyer, one you feel comfortable telling the truth to.”
“I just-everything I say to you is confidential, right?”
“That's right.”
“I guess you already figured out most of the story. Might as well know the rest. I did know Neal. He was a liar and a cheat. He gambled away a lot of my money. He hurt me… drew me in and made a fool of me.”
“You hated him.”
“No.” She breathed in short breaths, impatient to be understood. “I never hated him.”
“Carol told you that Neal had come up with a plan.”
Emily studied Nina awhile, then seemed to come to a decision. “When I heard about his idea for a crash scam, it set off something in me, something I didn't even know was there. I started thinking, wouldn't it be perfect if he should get his while trying to screw yet another unsuspecting victim? Almost a biblical justice.”
“You put the gas in his trunk.”
She shifted her body in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “I was over at Carol's when Lenny drove up in Neal's car. He had just had it in for servicing and was about to take it back to Neal, but we were all hungry, so he left the keys on the counter in the kitchen while they went out in Lenny's car to get us some food.
“It was fate, you see? I saw those keys lying there… I thought about Neal, how horrible he was to me. I felt such pain… and I picked them up. I didn't even think. I just took Neal's car and ran over to Chevron for the gas. Disguised myself a little. Then I hid the can under a blanket in the trunk before Carol and Lenny got back. It was cold and I wore gloves. If I thought at all, I guess I thought the car would be destroyed in a crash.”
“You wanted to kill him.” Nina was thinking about the fingerprint leading nowhere. A helper at the gas station? A previous customer?
“I loved him,” she said simply, as if even a child could see that explained everything. “But he hurt me so much. So I… engineered a little divine intervention. God rode beside him that day. If he had done nothing wrong, he would have lived, you see?”
“But you hit him, not someone else.”
“My rotten luck,” Emily said with a bitter laugh. “After that last DUI, I needed new insurance. Carol talked me into buying from Lenny, and he sold me a big fat new policy! So here I am driving home one night and suddenly Neal's in front of me. It happened so fast! I didn't realize it was him right away, but something struck me funny, so I followed close behind to try to see him better. Next thing I know, I'm stepping on the brakes, but the road's so slippery, I slide right into him! God-what a riot-isn't it funny? I can't stop laughing-the bad luck part-but you know, it's a small town-the bad luck part is, Lenny, who had me fresh in his mind and never liked me, must have picked me to be the mark! And I didn't know when they were planning the crash!”
“The triple eights…”
“Oh, Lenny was there that night, whatever he and Carol say, whether I saw him or not. He's the one who cut in front of Neal, wearing a mustache that hung crooked, just like everybody in that whole damn family, including my so-called friend, who never could keep a secret, even when we were thirteen. Oh, God. They'll never be able to keep quiet about this.”
“You realize you're in serious trouble now, Emily. The system doesn't forgive murder.”
“Yes, thanks for nothing! You could have just helped me, forced Juliette to settle within the policy limits instead of dragging up all this old business!”
She didn't really appreciate the extent of the calamity she had set off yet. Her first mistake had been a headlong, thoughtless rush into the fray, but her biggest mistake had been involving Nina.
Clasping her bag, Emily stood up. “I suppose I will get that new lawyer.”
“Good idea.” Nina also stood. “I'll sign the Substitution of Attorney as soon as it comes in.”
“Carol and Lenny have figured everything out by now, thanks to you. They'll hurry to protect themselves. No doubt the cops will follow close behind.”
They would, and they would get her, too. She should have forced her insurance company to settle with Juliette. She should never have put herself in front of the legal machine because now Nina had turned on the ignition and the wheels had started up. They would roll inexorably from here on out until they crushed her beneath them.
“Here's a check,” Nina said, scribbling one out and handing it to her. “Your retainer, less my expenses.”
Emily took the check, studied it, and frowned.
She went out the door. “Shyster,” she said, pulling it shut behind her.
When Nina got home, Hitchcock made a rush for her and began licking her stockings. “Get off me, you damn hound,” she said, making for the upstairs bedroom.
She lay down, imagining what the courts had in store for the impetuous Emily. She wondered if she'd ever feel the desire to get up again. She wondered if there was still a Peace Corps and if they had any openings in Gabon. Maybe the villagers there would thank her for doing a good job. Maybe there, passionate women did not plot against ex-lovers.
“Mom,” Bob said through the door, “I made a tuna casserole.”
“You're kidding!”
“In the microwave. It's steamin', Mom. Plus I poured you a glass of wine out of the bottle in the fridge. It's on the kitchen table. And the news is on.”
Nina opened one eye. White fell through the twilight outside the window.
“Mom?” At the same moment, Hitchcock barked. He wanted to come in, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.
“I'm coming,” Nina said. She got up and opened the door.
The Couple Behind the Curtain
Craig settled himself into the small, battered chair beside her hospital bed and punched his cell phone.
“I don't think you're supposed to use those here.”
He shrugged, put a finger up, and listened. He shut the phone. “There wasn't a sign around here. Maybe that's just for intensive care or emergency.”
“Water,” Gretchen said. “I'm going to need some.”
He set the phone beside his chair, picked up a miniature plastic pitcher on the table beside her, walked over to the sink, flipped a lever, and collected cold water. The pitcher spilled a few drops on the way back to her bedside.
“Better wipe that up,” she said, handing him a tissue. “Someone might slip.”
He took
the proferred tissue, bent carefully after pulling up his slacks to protect the crease, and dabbed at the spots. He tossed the tissue into the can nearby while she drank. “You know when they call these floors dirty, they mean dirty with a capital D?” He shuddered. “I hate thinking what's been down there.” He picked up her book, her discs, her music player, and the headphones that lay littering the counter under the window and stuffed them into her overnight bag. He searched under the bed, and pulled out a hair tie and a sock, holding them between his finger and thumb, like dead rats. He zipped the bag shut, then looked hard at her. “Shouldn't you comb your hair? Start getting ready? You need to comb your hair.”
“My hair is fine, Craig.”
He found her comb, got behind her, pushed her shoulders forward, and began to comb it.
“Well?” Gretchen asked, wincing as he yanked through a tangle. “Talk, why don't you? You want to talk. You insist on talking. I'm a captive audience.”
“How's the leg?”
“When I move, it feels like it's in a meat grinder. The bones are loose inside. Don't ask me about it. I feel feeble at the moment, not myself. I want to cry.”
“Have you taken your pills?”
“An hour ago. I'm in my prime, in terms of being pain-free. Another hour and I'm going to be chewing the sheets. Then there's that final glorious hour, when I'll be murderous or in tears.”
“Another hour and you'll be home.”
“I don't think I'm ready.”
“The doctor said you're ready.”
“I don't believe other people anymore. I believe the evidence of my own senses.”
“Gretchen, don't be difficult. They kept you in one night and all day today. Now you can go home.”
“I have a temperature.”
“A low temperature is common after surgery.”
“Craig, they put a plate in my leg! This is not a normal situation!”
“You panic too easily.” He examined her hair critically, gave it another rough swipe, and put the comb away. “You overreact.” He sat on the edge of her bed, near her hurt leg. “I need you to be reasonable, here, okay?”
“What's going on?”
“It's about us.”
“You were trying to tell me something at the dance when I fell.”
“That's right. And that was a pretty severe reaction you had, falling like that, breaking your leg. I guess you knew somehow what I needed to say was very serious.”
“Maybe the anticipation was too much for me. You've been wanting to tell me for a long time. I thought you might never get up the courage. You're seeing someone.”
He moved away from her and took a breath. “You know?”
“Don't tell me about her, Craig, okay? I really don't want to talk about her.”
“You knew and you didn't tell me. It's been so hard, Gretchen. Do you know, there's never a good time to tell someone something like this. Never! Not when she's brushing her teeth, not when she's putting on her nylons in the morning. Not at dinner when she's tired.” He smiled a rueful smile. “Not when she's dancing, obviously.”
“I agree. The dancing started out so promising. I was enjoying myself.”
“But you knew all along,” he said.
“I didn't want to know.”
“Now you do.”
“Now you've unloaded, can we just forget about it?”
“Gretchen, it's over between us. I'm leaving.”
“No!”
“I packed yesterday.”
“While I was in surgery?”
“I know… it's low. But I've been trying to move out for weeks, and you stall me, and you act so horribly nice, or you get sick or have a rotten day at work. Don't tell me you didn't know things were bad. You act like a clown, stumbling around, just wild. You'll do anything to avoid facing this.”
“You think I broke my leg on purpose?”
“You're a good dancer.”
“You think that?”
“Well, did you?”
“You've got such an ego. I don't think I ever realized. I'm seeing a side of you that I don't like very much. And when did I become a clown in your eyes? After you met the lovely alternate lady?”
“She really has nothing to do with this.”
“Liar. If you hadn't lined her up, you couldn't leave. You're no one unless you're with someone.”
“See what I mean? Why would you want to hold on to someone like me? I'm a big nobody to you, a parasite. You've lost all respect.”
“I've heard about this happening to people. I just never thought it would happen to us. Marriages have ups and downs, that's natural.”
“We've been down so long…”
“I know what you're going to say, that dumb thing, it looks like up to me. It's awful when you can predict every word someone's about to say! But, Craig, you always told me you loved me. What about our baby?”
“You're pregnant?”
The lengthy pause made him drop his cell phone. “No,” she said finally. “But I thought we were ready. You said we were ready.”
He pushed hair off his forehead. “Scared me there for a minute.” He picked up the phone, fiddling with it, opening it, and closing it. “Touché.”
“Are we fighting? I thought you were telling me something.”
“We don't have to fight. You're right.”
“But if you insist on talking about this… aberration… I need an explanation. You married me for a reason. For life.”
“We've been married ten years.”
“Not a long marriage…”
“A very long time. Listen, this was a bad idea. Let's get you home and talk there. They're doing the paperwork. Why don't you put your clothes on?”
But Gretchen picked up a magazine instead.
He peered into a brown paper sack on the floor beside him, then tossed it onto her bed. “Please, get dressed.”
“The paperwork could take hours.”
“Or a few minutes. That nurse looked efficient.”
“I'm tired. I just had a damn operation. And now you want to take me home so that you can leave me there alone. How am I supposed to cope? I can't even walk!”
“Gretchen, you said you needed a ride, so I came. I'll rent you a wheelchair. We'll call your mom, locate a goddamned attendant. You'll be taken care of, I promise.”
“I had to beg you because otherwise you wouldn't have come, would you?”
“I don't have much time. I want to get back. And you know I hate these places. Don't you want to go home? You'll be much more comfortable there.”
“I need more time. I have a lot of pain.” A bulging white splint covered her left leg all the way down from the knee, but she wasn't looking at it. She was looking at him.
“Hospitals are full of sick people…”
“That time I sprained my wrist, you got Mom to bail me out. I guess I'm one of the sick ones, again, huh? You'd rather avoid me completely.”
“My policy is, and always has been, get out as soon as you can. Get home to your own nice clean sheets, fresh pillows…”
“Were you hoping she'd be waiting for you out there?” She looked out through the large window into the mucky yellow puddles of the dark parking lot. Headlights lit the blue plastic curtain behind her and made the branches of a sprawling oak tree outside blobs against the night sky. She had turned off the light over her bed, turned off the television. The only light aside from a reading light over her book came through the window. “Well, were you?”
“No.”
“Where do you think she is right now? Praying I'll let you go? Is she the one you keep calling?”
Three discreet knocks on the side of the open door announced the arrival of another gang of medical personnel, an attendant after blood, a nurse to pull out Gretchen's IV, a helper to knock around the dinner tray. They marched in and out of the room, as strict as army troops on maneuvers.
Gretchen pushed hard on the cotton they left behind on her hand where the IV had enter
ed. “It hurts,” she said. She started to cry. Craig stood up, put a hand on her shoulder, and held on while she shook.
A sudden commotion escalated the echoing in the hallway. Several people burst into the room, boisterous as a theater troupe leaping onstage for a bow. The lights blasted on, and the softness of the moment was destroyed by the details, the look on Craig's face, so put-upon. The wrinkled sheets, all balled up at the foot of her bed. The huge white bandages on her left leg. Gretchen stopped crying and Craig left her side. A young girl, black-haired, pierced with metal loops from her eyebrow right down to her sandaled toes, pushed the blue curtain aside, came over to the bed, and looked sympathetically at Gretchen.
“I'm guessing I'm your roommate. Katie. What happened to you?” she said, her eyes brushing over Craig to Gretchen and back again.
“I broke my leg.”
“Ouch,” she said. “How'd you do it?”
“Dancing.”
“Really? Well, that's almost cool.”
“What about you?” Gretchen asked.
“I have an abscess on my boob.” She disappeared behind the curtain. A woman with short, wispy, gray-blonde hair smiled apologetically. She wore pink lipstick, and a matching sleeveless blouse that showed loose skin under the arms. “Can I have your extra chair?” she asked.
Craig nodded. The woman, Katie's mother, possibly, pulled the chair to the foot of the other bed. Katie's skin was brown, the woman's was stark, glaring white. A big, dark, bearded man with a British accent filled up another chair.
Gretchen pulled the curtain so that only the lower part of her body remained exposed and she could not see her neighbor's head, although she could see most of the bed and the rest of the room. Craig, sitting toward the foot of her bed again, could see almost everything, although the curtain provided a psychological shield. Everyone acted as if they were in entirely separate realms.
A discussion started up on the other side of the room. With help, the girl climbed on the bed and promptly started to whine. “I'm so hungry,” she said. “Why can't I eat something? Mother, have you got anything I can eat?”
“I'm so sorry, honey, but you have to wait,” her mother said. “They won't let me feed you.”
Sinister Shorts Page 20