“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.”