A Slow Ruin

by Pamela Crane

“What demeaning thing did Mortimer do today?” Cody was well aware of my racist boss and often begged me to change jobs. I decided it would serve no purpose to tell him I’d told the old bastard off but had miraculously managed to keep my job. We had enough drama in our lives without him harping on that incident.

  “He wants to pay me to basically prostitute myself to some clients and act as his diversity hire.”

  “Wow, seriously? You said no, of course.” Cody stated it as if fact.

  “No, I agreed to do it. We need the money.”

  “Marin, come on, we don’t need it that badly.”

  “Our plumbing says otherwise. It’s two grand, if I flirt.” I could play Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman for a night.

  Cody looked up from stirring the taco meat. “Your dignity is worth more than two grand, Marin.”

  Not when Cody hadn’t made a car sale in over two weeks. With his commission-based income at a used car lot, most months we scraped to get by. This was especially troubling because the shortage of computer chips due to the pandemic had resulted in the sharp decline of new car production, which put used vehicles in high demand. Cody should have been making that cheese hand over fist, but he just didn’t fit the fast-talking mold of the stereotypical used car salesman. His ethics were extremely high. He was apt to blow a sale by revealing some mechanical or cosmetic flaw, simply because it was the right thing to do. His manager kept him on because the customers liked his self-effacing personality and his honesty, which generated a great deal of repair and maintenance business. But that didn’t put good grub on the table. Hence we ate a lot of spaghetti and tacos, but never ribs.

  “Do you realize how hard it is to find a good-paying job that doesn’t require me to get a degree? It doesn’t exist.” I moved down the despised orange countertop to where a head of lettuce and a tomato still needed to be chopped. I picked up the knife and imagined the tomato was Mortimer’s heart, slicing the blade through the red skin with demented glee.

  “How about starting your own company, like Felicity did? People are making a killing as entrepreneurs. You’re smart enough and creative enough.”

  I found Cody’s word choice—make a killing—ironic, given the urge I felt. “What exactly would I do? I don’t have a business plan or any capital, and getting a business loan is too risky right now.”

  “You could revisit the acting goal. Maybe start your own community theatre?”

  “There’s no money in that. I’d still have to work full-time to support it until it took off.” With the tomato fully mutilated, I switched to the lettuce. It was about the same size as Mortimer’s head. The knife blade sunk in. “It’d be a passion project, which we just can’t afford. Especially if we want to keep trying for a baby.”

  I was tired of nothing working out for me. Not a baby. Not the acting. Not even a job I thought I would love. Even my marriage and homeownership dreams were crumbling through my fingers.

  “You mentioned getting new headshots. Why not at least try?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. What kills me is that Felicity is wearing a bracelet—a piece of jewelry!—that costs enough to fix our house, and it’s just not fair. You work as hard as Oliver, probably harder. And she runs a doggie boutique? I mean, how is there so much money in that?”

  Cody stopped stirring, then sidled up to me. “Marin, I’ll never have the income potential that Oliver has. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the brains or charm that he has. I’m just…me. I thought that was enough when we got married. When did that change?”

  “It changed when I watched our house fall apart and we can’t afford to fix it. When my car breaks down and I can’t afford a new one. When I have to take racist, sexist remarks from my boss and can’t quit or else we’ll go hungry.”

  “I’m trying my best. We both are. Give it time. We’ll get there.”

  But Cody didn’t even know where there was. Just yesterday he had been kissing Felicity; today he was telling me to pursue a pipe dream. I had no idea what was overtaking my husband, but I was petrified to confront him about it. The Portmans were the only family I had, and no matter how angry I was about whatever happened between him and Felicity, I had to forgive him. Because what I did was a million times worse. Cody may be a cheater, but I was a murderer.

  “Well, until we get there, I’ve got to sell my soul for two thousand bucks.” My grip tightened on the knife’s hilt, the silver blade reflecting a hazy image of Cody.

  “Hey, I meant to ask you. Last night after dinner you disappeared. What happened?”

  I had already recited what I would say when he finally asked, which I hadn’t expected to take him so long. “I needed a breather from Felicity. I know she’s going through a lot, but sometimes she just gets so…dark…and I can’t live in that space for long.”

  “Oh, okay. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Okay? I was as far from okay as Precious from the movie of the same name.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Though Felicity seemed awfully…I’m not sure how to describe it. Secretive?”

  Cody froze. I had him where I wanted him. He deserved to be tormented a little.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just her behavior was odd, that’s all. Like she had something to say but was afraid to say it. Has Oliver mentioned anything to you?”

  “I’m sure it’s just her way of trying to cope with Vera’s disappearance.”

  “Maybe.” I stared at him, he glanced away. “But it seemed like something else to me.”

  “It’s just in your head, Marin. You tend to think the worst of Felicity because they’re the haves, while we’re the have-nots. It’s starting to get… irritating.”

  Wow. Was Cody really trying to gaslight me right now? Because that irritated me, especially considering he was a cheating bastard and I hadn’t called him out on it…yet.

  “This has nothing to do with their money.”

  “Whatever. It’s obvious this is jealousy talking, Marin. And it doesn’t look good on you.” Cody passed me a know-it-all look. I passed it right back.

  “You really want to say that to me right now?” The edge to my voice was sharp, ready to cut. The knife in my hand looked awfully inviting right now.

  Cody apparently wanted to say nothing, so I turned and walked away. Out of the kitchen, through the dining room, across the entry where the scratchy blue carpet had been worn through in spots. I couldn’t handle any more drama today. I needed something calming. Something reassuring.

  I stomped upstairs, making sure Cody knew I was pissed, texting on my way up:

  Can we talk?

  Three little dots hung for less than a moment before a reply popped up:

  Always here for you, babe. What about?

  I didn’t know what I was looking for until I found it on the tip of my fingers:

  It’s time to kill the husband.

  Another row of dots, then:

  You sure you’re ready this time?

  I wasn’t ready, maybe never would be, but I had to do something. I couldn’t be a victim my whole life.

  As ready as I’ll ever be.

  The dots took longer this time before another reply surfaced:

  What made you decide to finish what we started over two years ago? You know we’ve been working on this murder for that long, right?

  How had two years passed in a blink?

  I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, but I need to do this before I lose my courage.

  The reply was swift this time:

  Let’s get to it then. You free to meet in person tomorrow?

  My finger hovered over the screen, itching to reply. I knew it was a mistake, a huge one, but I had reached the end of my rope. I needed to cut off the noose before it hung me.

  The Pittsburg Press

  Pittsburg, PA

  Wednesday, October 19, 1910

  SUFFRAGE GROUP GETS MESSAGE FROM MISSING WOMAN ALVER
A FIELDS

  Missing Wife and Mother Reported to Have Either Sent Message Herself or Through a Friend

  It is stated that a message has been received by woman suffrage secretary Cecile Cianfarra, presumably from Alvera Fields, wife of importer Robert Fields. The message reached Miss Cianfarra at home early yesterday.

  Detective Roger Levvy, who has been working on the Fields mystery for months, would not discuss it. Miss Cianfarra could not be reached, keeping herself imprisoned at home.

  Where the message came from and what it conveyed to Miss Cianfarra could not be learned. When inquiry was made of her neighbors and fellow members of the suffrage auxiliary, it was admitted that no one had read the message in person. Miss Cianfarra was in communication last week either with Mrs. Fields or someone acquainted with the woman. This word came as the result of the personal advertisement Miss Cianfarra inserted in the Pittsburg newspaper.

  The message Miss Cianfarra got is said to have told the whereabouts of Mrs. Fields. If she did not actually send it herself, then the understanding here is it was sent by a close friend who has known the secret of Mrs. Fields’ disappearance.

  It is no longer doubted that Miss Cianfarra can solve the Alvera Fields mystery. It is fully expected that within a few days she will disappear to join the vanished wife and mother.

  Chapter 23

  Felicity

  The restaurant Oliver dragged me to after Debra dropped me off at home was bustling with pandemic-weary customers desperate for a slice of normalcy, yet I felt so alone. Although my dinner was cooked to perfection, I pushed the prime rib across the ceramic dish, through its juices, while my stomach churned with nausea. At the table next to us a teenage boy, with a mop of blond hair and a face that matched Kurt Cobain’s, strummed his air guitar to music pumping through his earbuds while his poodle-haired mother and shar-pei-faced father were glued to their cell phones. Oliver sat across from me expectantly, watching me with eyes that had dulled to a blue-gray that coordinated with the dying sky outside my window.

  “Not hungry?” he asked.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find my appetite again. The river roiled at the bottom of the hill that fell beneath the quaint eatery. Pennsylvania burned in the fall. Fiery trees lit the land ablaze, while a milky fog curled above the water in tendrils. I thought of Sydney and how the chill of autumn kissed her chubby cheeks with rosy lip-prints. Would those cheeks still be here for me to smother with kisses a month from now? A year? Ten years, when she would be too old to accept my smothering kisses?

  “If we hurry,” Oliver continued, and I realized I had missed a whole conversation somewhere in there, “there’s a production of Steel Magnolias being staged at the theatre. I called earlier today and they still have a few open seats. What do you think? It’s been forever since we’ve seen a play.”

  Steel Magnolias had long been one of my favorite sagas of female empowerment. Partly because the movie was timeless. Partly because seeing it in a local theatre production was our first real date. Young and broke, Oliver had wooed me with Chinese takeout and two tickets to the show. That date sealed the deal for me as he timidly grasped my hand ten minutes in, and let me wipe my tears on his sleeve during the part where Shelby died.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of ready to just go home.” I knew he was trying, trying to move forward, trying to live, trying to be us again. But I simply couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Not until life was whole.

  “Please, Felicity? My dad’s watching the kids, so we have the whole evening to ourselves. We need a night to forget everything and just have fun together.”

  “I don’t want to have fun, Oliver.” It was the truth. I wanted to brood, wonder, solve, figure everything out.

  He slammed his fork down. “Why do you do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Ruin every single moment we have together. Can’t you at least try to have a nice dinner out?”

  I knew he was tired of me. Tired of my silence. My anger. My pain. My guilt. Hell, I was tired of me too.

  “I am trying. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

  Oliver rested his hand on mine, bridging the gap between us. “I want you to acknowledge me. See me. Smile with me. Anything. We’re all going through this together, but there comes a point where we have to hold it together for the kids, for each other. Are you just going to stay miserable forever?”

  “How can I feel any other way until we find Vera?”

  “And what if we never find her? What if she’s gone forever?”

  I gripped my fork and felt the muscles tense and tremble with an unfamiliar rage. “She’s not gone forever.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes I do. I feel it in my bones. And I have this awful feeling that Marin had something to do with her leaving. If only I could figure out what—”

  “Stop!” Oliver’s yell yanked the couple’s attention from their phones, paused Kurt Cobain’s doppelgänger’s latest guitar set. All eyes pivoted to my raving husband. “Stop obsessing with Marin! Has it ever occurred to you that it’s because of you—us—that Vera left? Have you ever considered that maybe she found out what we did and wants nothing to do with her messed-up fake family anymore?”

  I silenced him with a stony stare, resuming the argument at a near-whisper. “People are listening, Oliver. How would Vera have found out about something that long ago, anyway? It doesn’t make any sense. No one knows but us. Unless…do you think Cody would have told Marin?”

  “No, we swore him to secrecy. He knew the risk of jail time. There’s no way he would have said anything to anyone.”

  “Are you sure? I could see him telling Marin…and with how close she was to Vera, something could have easily slipped out.”

  Oliver leaned back against the faux black leather chair, folded his arms. “I would have known, Felicity. She would have said something to me about it first.”

  My eyebrow darted up. “And why’s that? Because from where I’m sitting it looks like you’re protecting Marin.”

  “Are you listening to yourself? If you drag Marin into this whole thing with Vera’s disappearance, what do you think the cops will dig up about that night? How long do you think it will take to put the pieces together of what we did? We’ll go to jail, Felicity. Or do you keep forgetting that?”

  Of course I hadn’t forgotten. I remembered it every day. It was the only reason I kept silent. But as desperation slithered into my veins, the vow of silence slithered out. Just one shot of courage was all I needed to come clean…one sip of faith.

  “Maybe I need to take that risk if it could lead us to finding Vera.”

  “Absolutely not. Stop acting reckless and stupid. What we did back then has nothing to do with Vera’s disappearance now. Or Marin.”

  And yet a specter living deep inside me told me there was a connection. Maybe only a loose one. But it was there. Marin had something to do with Vera’s disappearance, but I had no way to prove it. She’s the key to bringing Vera home, the specter hissed.

  Oliver’s phone beeped with a text. His eyes darted down at the table, where a green bubble popped up on the screen. He turned the phone over, face down.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “No one.”

  “Then why did you flip your phone over?”

  “Because it’s not important. This”—he gestured to me, then himself—“is more important right now than a text.”

  I noticed the way he glanced aside, then stared out the window at the now black sky. His fingers drummed on the table. He was lying.

  “Can you be honest with me about one thing?” I prepared my bait.

  He blinked slowly, then looked at me with a dead gaze. I took it as a yes. I needed to know his secrets, because I knew him well after twenty years. He was hiding something. And everything pointed to Marin.

  “Was I right—was there something going on between you and Marin that yo
u never told me about?”

  Oliver shoved his seat back and rose to his feet as the chair tipped over behind him, the leather back hitting the floor with a thud. “I’m done.”

  “Wha—”

  Grabbing his coat that had fallen to the floor with the chair, he pulled out his wallet and slapped a $100 bill on the table.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  Instead of answering me, he turned and left. Frantically grabbing my purse, he was already halfway out of the restaurant before I shrugged into my wool jacket, chasing after him. I hadn’t expected him to get up and leave. We always talked through things, but I had crossed an invisible line I didn’t know existed until now.

  “Oliver, please stop!” I begged.

  “I told you, I’m done. I’m calling a taxi.”

  By now we were standing in the parking lot, the chill wind snapping the hem of my skirt around my calves. “Do you mean an Uber? I don’t even know if they have taxis around here anymore.”

  “An Uber, whatever.” He turned on me, eyes boring into me. “I’m so sick of everything being everyone else’s fault when we all protected you. You could have gone to jail, Felicity, but we covered for you years ago. And I still cover for you today. And how do you repay me? By blaming Marin, me, Cody…everyone but yourself for what happened. I could handle what you did before, but this…the secrets and lies and obsessive behavior…I just can’t. I’m done.”

  Oliver pulled out his phone and slammed his finger on the screen, I assumed looking up a nonexistent taxi service.

  “Are you coming home tonight?”

  “I don’t know, Felicity. I can’t be around you right now. And don’t go looking for me. I’m not ready to be found.” He circled back to the restaurant entrance as he placed the phone to his ear.