He walked right past her, picked up the wall phone, and dialed. "Yeah, Blake, it's me." He cleared his throat and tried to steady his voice. "Yeah, had a little accident cleaning a gun. If you get any calls from the neighbors, you explain... Yeah, everything's fine. See ya." He hung up and turned to Annie. "Well, now."
She had no trouble looking him right in the eye, but she noticed he had trouble maintaining eye contact. Also, she thought his order of priorities was interesting: control and contain the situation so as to protect himself, his image, his job. She had no delusions that he was protecting her from the wrath of the law. But that's what he'd say.
As if on cue, he said, "You tried to kill me. I could arrest you."
"Actually, I fired over your head and you know it. But go ahead and take me to jail."
"You bitch. You..." He made a threatening move toward her, and his face reddened, but Annie stood her ground, knowing that ironically it was his badge that kept her from a beating. He knew it, too, and she took a little pleasure in watching him bursting with impotent rage. But one day, she knew, he'd snap. Meanwhile, she hoped he would drop dead with a stroke.
He backed her into a corner, pulled open her robe, then put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed the spot where the shotgun had recoiled.
A blinding pain shot through her body, and her knees buckled, found herself kneeling on the floor, and she could smell the urine on him. She closed her eyes and turned away, but he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face toward him. "See what you done? You proud of yourself, bitch? I'll bet you are. Now, we're gonna even the score. We're gonna stay right here like this until you piss your pants, and I don't care if it takes all goddamn day. So, if you got it in you, get it over with. I'm waitin'."
Annie put her hands over her face and shook her head, tears coming to her eyes.
"I'm waitin'."
There was a sharp rap on the back door, and Cliff spun around. Officer Kevin Ward's face peered through the glass. Cliff bellowed, "Get the hell out of here!"
Ward turned quickly and left, but Annie thought he saw that his boss's pants were wet. For sure he saw the plaster dust covering Cliff's face and hair and her behind Cliff, kneeling on the floor. Good.
Cliff turned his attention back to his wife. "You satisfied now, bitch? You satisfied!"
She stood quickly. "Get away from me, or so help me God, I'll call the state police."
"You do, I'll kill you."
"I don't care." She fastened her robe around her. Cliff Baxter stared at her, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. From long experience, she knew it was time to end this confrontation, and she knew how to end it. She said nothing, just stood still, tears running down her face, then she dropped her head and looked at the floor, wondering why she hadn't blown a hole in him.
Cliff let a minute go by, then, satisfied that the pecking order was reestablished to his liking, that all was right with the world again, he put his finger under her chin and raised her head. "Okay, I'm gonna let you off easy, sweetie pie. You clean up this here mess, and you make me a nice breakfast. You got about half an hour."
He turned to leave, then came back, took the shotgun, and left. She heard his footsteps going up the stairs, then a few minutes later, heard the shower running.
She found some aspirin in the cupboard and took two with a full glass of water, then washed her face and hands in the kitchen sink, then went down into the basement.
In his den, she stared at the rifles and shotguns, all unlocked now.
She stood there a full minute, then turned away and went into the workshop. She found a push broom and shovel and went back up to the kitchen.
Annie made coffee, heated the frying pan, added bacon, swept up the plaster and put it out into the trash can, then washed the kitchen counter and floor.
Cliff came down, dressed in a clean uniform, and she noticed that he entered the kitchen carefully, his gun belt and holster slung over his shoulder and his hand casually on the pistol grip. He sat at the table, his gun belt looped over the chair instead of on the wall peg. Before he could react, she grabbed the gun belt and put it on the peg. She said, "No guns at my table."
The moment was not lost on Cliff Baxter, and, after an initial look of panic, he forced a stupid grin.
Annie poured him juice and coffee, then fried his eggs with potatoes and bacon, and put the toast in. She served him his breakfast, and he said, "Sit down."
She sat across from him.
He smiled as he ate and said, "Lose your appetite?"
"I ate."
He spoke as he chewed. "I'm gonna leave the guns and the ammo and everything down there. More coffee."
She stood and poured him more coffee.
He continued, "Because I don't think you got it in you to kill me."
"If I did, I could buy a gun anywhere."
"Yeah, true. But you can keep buyin' guns and stealin' guns and borrowin' guns, and it don't matter. I'm not afraid of you, darlin'."
She knew he was trying to reclaim his manhood after the pants wetting. She let him do what he had to do so he'd just get out of the house.
He continued, "I went for my gun, didn't I? I didn't have a chance in hell, but I went for it."
"Yes." True, she thought, he was more stupid than she'd imagined. An intelligent man knew he had at least a fifty-fifty chance of talking his wife out of shooting him, and less than a million-to-one chance of drawing against a pointed and cocked shotgun. But Cliff Baxter was short on brains and long on ego. One day, she hoped, that would get him killed.
He said, "You're wonderin' if I'd of killed you."
"I don't really care."
"What do you mean, you don't care? Of course you care. You got kids. You got family." He smiled. "You got me." He patted her hand across the table. "Hey, I knew you wasn't gonna kill me. You know why? 'Cause you love me."
Annie took a breath and fought down a scream. He tapped his fork on her nose and continued, "You see, you're still jealous. Now, that means you still love me. Right?"
Annie was emotionally drained, exhausted, and her shoulder throbbed. She had nothing left in her except the presence of mind to say what he wanted to hear. She said, "Yes."
He smiled. "But you hate me, too. Now, I'm gonna tell you something — there's a thin line between love and hate."
She nodded, as though this were some new revelation to her. Cliff was always mouthing idiotic cliches and aphorisms, as if he'd just made them up, and it never occurred to him that these were not original insights into the human mind.
"Remember that next time you're pissed off at me." She smiled, and he realized he'd used a bad choice of words. She said, "I'm going to the cleaners this morning. Do you have anything to go?"
He leaned toward her and said, "You watch yourself."
"Yes, sir."
"And cut the sir shit."
"Sorry."
He mopped up his yolks with his toast and said, "You call old Willie to fix up the ceiling."
"Yes."
He sat back and looked at her. "You know, I break my ass to give you things most people in this town ain't got. Now, what do you want me to do? Retire, hang around the house, pinch pennies, and help you with the chores all day?"
"No."
"I'm bustin' my hump, doin' a job for this town, and you think I'm out there floggin' my Johnson all over the county."
She nodded in the appropriate places during the familiar lecture, and shook her head when it was called for.
Cliff stood, strapped on his pistol belt, and came around the table. He hugged her around the shoulders, and she winced in pain. He kissed her on the head and said, "We're gonna forget this. You tidy up a little more here and call Willie. I'll be home about six. I feel like steak tonight. Check the beer in the fridge. Feed the dogs." He added, "Wash my uniform."