Blood Sugar(76)

I admitted to myself that the prosecutor was right when he said three was a pattern. So I came to the conclusion that this pattern would become my new rule. One murder every ten years would be the maximum I allowed myself. Like my vow to never sleep with more men than my current age, this rule would give me boundaries and keep me in check. I wouldn’t rush into anything. I would take my time. See what opportunities presented themselves. I had about four more years to think on it. To weigh my decisions. And choose wisely.

As I delicately swaddled my cherished lamp in bubble wrap and gingerly placed it into a moving box surrounded by packing peanuts, Detective Jackson came knocking. I knew as long as I was in Miami, he would be watching me. Trying to catch me in some other criminal act. And he was not the only one. So many other people in my hometown still viewed me as an enemy. It was clear, even after my exoneration, that I needed to move. To legally change my name. To dye my hair a color that did not match my eyes. To start over somewhere else so I could have a new life and a new office and a new practice with patients who did not look at me and think, The Purple Widow. I taped up the box and grabbed a purple Sharpie and wrote “Fragile” on all four sides. Even with my lasting moniker, I refused to give up my purple pens. I would not let a misinformed public take that harmless joy away from me. And I did not answer the door.

The other reason I wanted to move far away was because although I thought she was too much of a narcissistic coward to ever commit suicide, it did occur to me Gertrude might kill herself in order to frame me. Her one last fuck-you to take me down someday. And if she did try this, I needed an airtight alibi. I needed to be on the other side of the country.

Soon after I was arrested, Ellie found the top of a condom wrapper in Spencer’s jean pocket while she was doing the laundry. It was such a textbook mistake, I was sure Spencer wanted to get caught cheating. He was desperate for Ellie to notice him for a moment instead of throwing all her energy and love at their daughter. When she confronted him, he didn’t deny any of it. She was stunned at first, but took a step back and then had the wisdom to see that his affair was merely the symptom that brought the diagnosis to light. The marriage had been sick and deteriorating for a while now, and they both had contributed to the illness.

So Ellie, like me, wanted to get out of her established life and start over somewhere entirely new. She told Spencer she hoped to leave New York and take Molly. He could see her summers and holidays and any other time he wanted to visit. What he wanted was to make this divorce as easy and happy as possible for her and Molly, so he supported her out-of-state move.

After much debate, Ellie and I decided on Los Angeles. It was similar enough to Miami that I felt I could be happy there. And it was different enough from New York City that Ellie felt she could also be happy there.

My parents helped me put the house, and Jason’s condo, on the market. They helped me pack up my clothes, and my grandmother’s clocks, and my favorite coffee mugs. And they promised to come visit all the time. My leaving would be a good excuse to get them out of their usual routine. Especially since Miami had been no picnic for them the past year either. They had a few people who had stood by them, but the masses dubbed them the Purple Widow Parents.

Within a couple weeks the only thing that remained unpacked was Mr. Cat. The movers loaded all my memories and boxes into the van, and I had hope that maybe one day I could learn to love another city as much as I loved Miami. And maybe one day I could even learn to fall in love with another man, and then eventually excitedly fill half a closet with his belongings, and grow so comfortable with him that in time I would start to daydream about him dying and the closet being gloriously half empty again. Because it is only when one feels truly stable and content that those daydreams are even possible.





CHAPTER 52


    LOLLIPOP



I received a package in the mail that had no return address. My new name and temporary West Coast address were written in clear block letters. I opened it, nervous. Almost no one knew where to find me. Inside the package, wrapped in lavender tissue paper, was one sour apple Blow Pop. This was Jesula’s favorite flavor. I knew this because when I went into the Kremlin bathroom for the very first time, I bought a sour apple Blow Pop from Jesula’s basket of goodies. In half Creole, half English, she told me that sour apple was also her favorite flavor.

What she didn’t expect to then happen was that I bought a second sour apple for full asking price and handed it to her. We clinked the lollipops together like a cheers with wineglasses. She often told me this moment stayed with her forever. Because it was the first moment she felt seen by a stranger, when she was so used to being invisible.

The lollipop must be from her, I thought. But I was confused about why she was sending this to me now. Was it a secret message? Or a sign? She had avoided me ever since our hug in the judge’s office. As I searched for an answer, I also searched the box. And found a note inside that had fallen underneath the sea of tissue. It read, “Ask Roman.”

I called him immediately. After a pause, he said he did feel there had been enough time and distance to tell me the whole truth. “What whole truth!?” He wouldn’t say over the phone. Leaving me to wonder in my nondescript week-to-week rental apartment until his flight arrived at LAX. He only had an hour to talk. Then had to turn around and go right back to DC. So I met him in baggage claim. It felt fitting.