Beautiful Bad

by Annie Ward

  She was too damn close. She came late, and she was too damn close so it happened. I said it was an accident. I said it to the crying arched-back woman, and I said it to the gym trainer who ushered her away with an ice pack, and I even said it to the unhappy instructor who shouldn’t have allowed her class to get overcrowded in the first place. Sorry.

  * * *

  “Do you want to throw some food for the fish?” Cami J asks, and I shake my head.

  “Did you follow up with the neurologist about getting in for that EEG?”

  I nod.

  “And?”

  “No openings until August.”

  “Shut the front door. What about the MRI?”

  “Same.”

  “You’re awfully quiet today.”

  “I didn’t sleep well. I had a really sad nightmare. About Jo’s old cat Panda.”

  “You told me about her. The cat who was poisoned. With all the kittens. I suppose they died?”

  “They didn’t actually,” I say, remembering what Ian had told me. “Turns out Ian took the kittens to a shelter. A couple of them lived.”

  Cami J looks perplexed. “Ian did that for Joanna? Why? After everything you’ve written, I thought they hated each other?”

  The answer to that question would likely blow her mind, as it had mine, but it wasn’t her business. “Also, I had another panic attack this morning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to. When we started our session.”

  Cami J tosses the remainder of the fish pellets from her pockets into the pond, causing a slimy riot. “Come on then. I’m sorry. Let’s get to work.”

  We enter the back door of the house, and we both slip our shoes off. I suppose I’ve gotten very comfortable here. As she makes chamomile tea, she asks me over her shoulder, “What brought on the panic attack?”

  “I went snooping.”

  “You did?” she asks, turning around to look at me.

  “Yeah. Ian has two laptops. One for work and one for his superspecial graphic intense games. He also has two emails. A new one for work and an old one that he started years ago. A few months ago, I had opened a letter addressed to him that made it sound like he’d bought some property that he hadn’t told me about, so I went looking around in his piles of papers since he was out of town. Eventually I got out his gaming laptop, hacked the password and looked at his old email account.”

  “And?”

  “His ex has been sending him sexy selfies.”

  “Eww. My daughter told me never to do that. There’s an app for your phone that erases them after a minute or so.”

  So she does have a boyfriend. Or boyfriends. I grin at her. You go, Granny.

  “I mean, that’s obviously not the issue,” she says, backpedaling and straightening a pen and a pack of Post-its on the kitchen counter.

  She makes me laugh. God I love her. “I kind of doubt this woman still has his phone number,” I say, unable to hide my amusement. “Also, try as I might, I could find no evidence that he’s reciprocating with dick pics to her. I did see one very PG rated digital card wishing her and her parents a Happy New Year.”

  “But he hasn’t deleted the dirty photos.”

  “No. At least not all of them. And he saves some of them in a folder he calls, ‘Bunny Boiler.’”

  “Hmm. And how does all this make you feel?”

  “Ech,” I say, making a face. “But not really angry. I mean, he’s a man. They’re very visual, aren’t they? That’s what everyone says. It doesn’t mean he’s cheating on me.”

  “Very evolved of you,” she says and motions for me to follow. She carries our tea into her office. “Get comfy.”

  I cross my feet underneath me in the big plump armchair. “Honestly, though, that’s not what triggered the panic attack.”

  “So what was it?” she asks.

  “To look through his stuff I had to spend time in the basement. I never go down there. That weird letter I was talking about? It was from a company that builds bunkers. Acting like he was interested in having them build him one. They’re expensive!”

  Cami J narrows her eyes suspiciously and taps the end of her pen against her temple. “Bunkers? You mean, like, secret bunkers?”

  “Yeah, I guess. So I just thought, I’m going to see what he’s been up to. I came across the pictures of Fiona by accident. He hadn’t tried really, to hide them. But what happened then was, I looked up and saw the door to the bad part of the basement. And I got a very weird feeling. I’ve only been in there a few times, right after we moved into the house. Suddenly I was incredibly interested to know what he keeps—”

  Cami J holds up a hand and says, “Hold on. You should be writing this, don’t you think?”

  “Okay.”

  She hands me my kitty notebook, and as I am putting the pen to the paper, I have second thoughts. This is important. I need to think clearly. I look up at Cami J and say, “I’m kind of tired of writing, and it’s so easy to talk to you. Maybe we could just talk today?”

  She is flattered. “Sure. Just two gals chatting away today.”

  “So, suddenly I was very interested to see this bad part of the basement. He acts like it’s nothing. I thought he calls it the bad part of the basement because it’s dirty and scary. I thought there was nothing much back there. Just the furnace, the sump pump, the plastic tub with the fake Christmas tree in it and all the ornaments, and a bunch of spiders and mice. But I went in. I opened the door and... He has a wall of water.”

  “A wall of what?” This is obviously not what she was expecting.

  “Bricks of water. Plastic containers that stack on top of one another and you fill each one up with water and you can build a wall of water. He has enough water for months. And there were barrels of freeze-dried food. Enough dehydrated eggs and potatoes for a year if not more. Hundreds of cans of food. When I say hundreds it could be thousands. Soup, chili, tinned meat and bags of rice and crates of bug spray and batteries, knives, flashlights, solar panels, headlamps, three sets of bows and arrows, emergency liners for sleeping bags used only for snow camping... and traps. Animal traps. I was shocked. Does he know something I don’t know? Then I thought, No. He doesn’t know anything. He’s crazy. What’s going to happen to Charlie with a doomsday Dad? And then I was mad at myself. Because I should have been more careful. I knew he wasn’t—” I pause “—an ideal person to choose to be a father. I knew there might be...issues. And... And... I decided...”

  Cami J’s eyes are glistening, and she is finally getting what she’s been wanting. When she speaks, she sounds like a breathy character in a soap opera. She draws out her whisper. “Yeeessss?”

  I sit here trembling. I can’t speak. I am certain, absolutely certain, that something sad and painful is going to happen, and there is nothing Charlie or I can do to stop it. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Yes you can, Maddie. You knew what he was and you chose him anyway. You chose to have a child with him knowing that he’s unstable. You can tell me. What did you decide?”

  The tears are running down my face, and I can’t meet her eyes. I don’t want anyone to know the truth, but I need to say it. “You will think so much less of me.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “I loved him. But I knew he was damaged. And I just thought, if I marry him, maybe I’ll have a baby. I know it sounds terrible, to bring a baby into a world where there’s an angry, troubled man, but I told myself that if Ian didn’t get better, then what happened after would be...negotiable.”

  “Oh, Maddie.”

  “I know. God help me if he ever finds out I’ve thought of leaving him and taking Charlie away with me. I don’t know what he would do to us.”

  “Does he know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Does anyone know?”
<
br />   I bury my head in my hands and answer, “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “My sister Sara.”

  “And that’s it?” she asks, leaning toward me like I’m whispering and she can’t hear.

  “That’s it,” I say. “Just Sara. And a few days ago I told Joanna.”

  * * *

  I’d decided to call her. In the morning.

  I lay in bed with Charlie for a long time the night before, tickling his back. I didn’t want to go into my room and stare at the ceiling, thinking about my idea to invite Joanna to come visit me again, wondering if I was making a mistake.

  What I didn’t want was a repeat of what happened the one and only time I’d spoken to her since we last saw each other. It was four years ago now. Maybe more. I was hugely pregnant and hormonal. That was my excuse. That’s why I was so naive and thought maybe she would be happy for me, maybe she’d come to see me and I could hug her again.

  “Hello?” she’d snapped after the first ring all those years ago. I could hear tap tap tapping in the background and I knew that Joanna was an efficient multitasker. She’d answered the phone while typing on her computer.

  “Jo?” I said, and there it was again. That timid, dutiful voice that wasn’t me at all. That small, scared part of me that only ever emerged around Jo.

  “Maddie!” she shouted, her voice as loud as if she’d just won the lottery. “I was just thinking about you!”

  “What?” I was shocked. “You were? Why?” This was not at all how I thought the conversation was going to go.

  “I swear to God I was. I was just sitting here in Mississippi—”

  “Mississippi!” Joanna had always wondered out loud how I managed to visit my mom and dad in Kansas every year without slitting my wrists, and now she was in Mississippi?

  “Yeah!” she said enthusiastically. “I’m working for a refugee resettlement organization and guess where our first Syrian family is going next year? Kansas City! Woot woot! Isn’t that wild? I was just telling this guy in our office that I used to spend time there with my old friend Maddie. Best barbecue in the world! I was literally just talking about you. Were you tingling?”

  I was still tingling. I couldn’t find my voice. I was unable to respond like a normal person. “What?” I asked, nonsensically. “How are you?” I asked, looking down at my enormous pregnant belly and touching the terrain. Lumps and volcanic activity.

  “I’m okay,” she said. I could hear her still typing. Prioritizing. This conversation wasn’t as important to her as it was to me. Typical. “How are you? What’s new? This is such a crazy nice surprise!”

  There was only one thing that was new. There was only one earth-shattering development in my life. “I’m going to have a baby, Jo. A boy. I was wondering if maybe you could come and see me. I was thinking...”

  I paused. What was I thinking? I could hear that she had stopped typing. Perhaps she’d even stopped breathing. It was that quiet.

  Her voice was soft. Restrained. “So you and Ian got married after all? You really did?”

  “Yes. Jo, listen, please. I’m a little scared, and I miss you—”

  She hung up, but not before I could hear the start of a furious sob escape her throat. When the line went dead I sat there, cringing, hearing the continuation of her sorrow even though it was silent.

  My baby kicked.

  * * *

  And a few days ago, there I was lying spooned around that same baby, now a little boy who was growing up so fast and was almost four and again I was terrified of calling my best friend, Joanna.

  I got up and went downstairs and poured a glass of wine.

  Fuck it, I thought. I’m getting this over with. I dialed.

  She was not at work. She was not typing or busy or even a little bit awkward, after all this time. “I’ve been waiting for your call,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

  IAN

  2006

  Ian was actually shivering. Nobody could tell, he hoped. No one knew that when he walked, he heard snapping beneath his boots. It was all the time now. Every night, more dreams about the church in Africa. The one he went to with Dr. Rowley. He was careful now. He talked less. He didn’t want anyone to worry.

  In the lobby of the Khanzard Hotel Ian sat with his laptop composing his goodbye email to Maddie. He was back to thinking that he wasn’t going to make it home alive. It was a roller coaster. I’m coming to get you. I will survive this. I’ll never see you again. I’m sorry. He had good days and bad days.

  John sat down beside him.

  “The colonel’s just phoned me asking for a favor.”

  “Yeah? What favor?” Ian spoke almost normally. His voice barely shook.

  “He’d like us to do an assessment on a coalition compound. They’ve been getting hit, and he wants to improve the security.”

  Ian sat up. Work settled him and gave him a focus. “Seems only right to go down and check it out if we’ve been asked.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Ian, making a face.

  “Sorry. Were you going to work on your tan by the pool tomorrow?”

  “Ugh. We’ll have to leave at daybreak.”

  “It’s not as if I’ve asked you to pop around to Mum’s house for gin rummy with Helen and Lynn now, is it? I know it’s last minute, but it’s important.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Ian stood up and stretched. “All right then. I’ll see you at zero five hundred.”

  John pointed sideways at a clear iced drink on the table next to the chair. “Zero five hundred.”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Is that vodka?”

  “Is it?” asked Ian, recoiling dramatically. “Blech! For God’s sake, remove it from my sight!”

  “I’m counting on you. I don’t want any more problems. Don’t make me have to haul your arse out of bed.”

  “Fuck off, Mum. I’m good. Christ! As if I’m a baby.” He walked away breezily, pulling out his cigarettes and approaching the group of reservists talking by the front desk.

  “You are the baby!” shouted John, attracting the attention of pretty much everyone in the room. “And I’ll be up in fifteen minutes to change your nappy and tuck you in.”

  Ian flipped John off to a chorus of laughter from the American troops.

  * * *

  From: Ian Wilson

  To: Madeline Brandt

  Sent: Friday, 11 August 2006

  Subject: Bye Petal

  Dear Maddie,

  I said I was going to make loads of money and come find you. I said I was going to go back to school and get a degree so I wouldn’t have to do this anymore and we could live a normal life. I said so many things. I’m sorry. At least I never sent you any of those messages.

  Turns out I lied and I couldn’t bear to have you think I’d lied to you again.

  I’m not coming. I am so far from being on a white stallion headed your way with flowers like some savior prince that it’s untrue.

  Someone shot the pregnant dog I was feeding. I went to Halabjah and a woman told me that first the birds stopped singing and then the children started dying.

  And before all that, there was Rwanda and the church and the story I wasn’t able to tell you. Helena and I, we took a shortcut from our car to the church and halfway through this meadow we realized we were walking on bones. There was a baby-gro. I think you call them footie pajamas. And a sippy cup. And a toy car. And bones.

  I’m afraid that after all this even if I don’t die I will still be dead.

  Some people made fun of us, did you know that? Used to call us bodyguards “human sandbags.” Good for nothing but blocking bullets. You made me feel important and wanted. You saw me. That meant more to me than you can ever imagine. One bright unexpected flower. I say it at night to
myself. Petal.

  I will always remember Skopje, that hate-filled place and the amazing gift of you showing up and making me feel alive. Thank you.

  What I had hoped for was naive and unrealistic. I’m not letting you go. I’m accepting the fact that you were never within my grasp...

  * * *

  He didn’t send the email.

  Neither did he die.

  Instead, three weeks after the brothers had done the favor for the colonel and assessed the compound, the colonel called them while they were cleaning their weapons on their hotel balcony. He told them the compound had been rocketed, and if not for the improvements Ian and John had advised making, dozens would be dead. He also said he had heard they wanted to start their own company. He thought it was a brilliant idea, and he had an idea where they might get their first contract.

  * * *

  Two months later, the brothers had founded their own private security company called Bastion Defense and won their first bid with the help of the colonel. It was an eleven-thousand-dollar deal off which they made a profit of four hundred dollars. But, after another six months of maxing out their credit cards, bidding on contracts and losing, they won a multimillion-dollar deal with an American construction company that needed protection as it made its way across Iraq rebuilding power stations.

  Years passed, and in the “Drafts” folder of Ian’s email, the number of unsent letters to Maddie grew and grew.

  DAY OF THE KILLING

  It was a heartbreaking chant. “You hurted me. You hurted me.”

  The boy in the bathroom sounded so surprised, so broken, so betrayed. As hard as it was to hear his pain and terror, there was also a silent, internal rejoicing. He was alive. Diane put her hand on the doorknob and started to turn it, gambling on him being alone. “Shh. Don’t be scared...”

  She swung the door in on the bathroom, and there he was. Brown eyes and a mop of curly hair. He stared at her, wide-eyed and inert, huddled in the corner. After a second she realized he was literally paralyzed with terror.