Well Behaved Wives(87)

Ruth wondered if this was how someone looked when they were in shock.

“She’s my wife.” Eli spat out the words. “That’s my baby.” This was not a man to step aside from a brawl.

Shirley straightened, her words offered in a calming tone. “Exactly. So let us help your baby’s mother.” She looked at Carrie. “Can you stand?”

Carrie nodded, though it was difficult for her to rise from the sofa. Lillian pulled her up, and Carrie leaned against her.

“See?” Shirley said. “I’m sure she’s fine, but you want the baby to be checked out. Any good father would, as I’m sure you are.” She was calm, unthreatening, believable.

With her arm around Carrie, Ruth inched past Eli toward the front door, held open by Lillian. They needed to get Carrie in the car, and she’d be safe.

Eli’s blank stare might have been resignation, maybe even compliance, a wide-eyed expression that could have been mistaken for fear, had Ruth not known better. She watched his every move as she baby-stepped, Carrie by her hip. Eli’s gaze landed on Carrie, and his face shifted into a smile—no, more of a smirk, with the power to chill Ruth like it was a freezer.

He poked the air in front of Ruth. “I know what you’re doing!” His breath was hot and oniony. Ruth wanted to turn her face away, but she froze, not sure if there were more words coming. Not sure what stoked his anger, what pacified it.

She’d seen herself as educated and experienced, yet her time at Legal Aid had not prepared her for this in-person wrestling match.

Shirley stepped forward. “That’s enough!”

Eli raised his arms and roared, more like a bear than a human.

All Ruth knew was that they had to get out of there—fast.

“I saw the suitcase!” he bellowed.

“No, Eli. It’s not what you think.” Carrie wriggled away from Ruth, groaning with each painful movement. “I’m not going anywhere! I was just packing up some things I thought Harriet might want to borrow for her honeymoon.”

Eli hesitated, then he lunged at his wife. “Liar!”

Shirley stepped forward, blocking his path to Carrie and raising her hand like she was stopping traffic. “I said, that’s enough.”

Eli made a fist and swung his arm back to let Shirley have it. She didn’t move, stood strong, about to be slammed. Just before Eli could make contact, Carrie reached around, and with two hands, pushed him as if moving a boulder.

Eli lost his balance, flailed his arms, and kicked his legs, but wasn’t able to right himself.

As if he was a falling tree, he crashed to the ground hip first, his head smashing against a brass end table with a sickening crack, and he bounced to the floor.

As much as the women wanted him disabled, they couldn’t help but cringe at the violence—except for Carrie. Her vengeance seemed to have burst its floodgates and made her forget her injuries. She made a move toward him, but Ruth and Lillian held her back. The women backed up as they saw the carpet around Eli’s head fill with blood. A red, viscous mess oozed out from a large gash, forming a puddle.

The gruesome sight seemed to snap Carrie back to herself. “No!” she screamed. “Call an ambulance, he’s bleeding.”

Blood was the only thing that moved on Eli.

Shirley knelt to feel his pulse and shook her head. Harriet and Irene stepped away. Lillian held on to Carrie to keep her steady.

“I think it’s too late,” Ruth said. Yet she didn’t know how something like this could have happened. A man who had spoken to them moments ago was lying dead in front of them. The life snuffed out of him. Ruth had wanted Carrie to get away, and she found Eli’s behavior reprehensible . . . but death . . . was never part of the plan.

She looked at the others. All were showing shades of shock, levels of unforeseen grief at the loss of life in front of them. Ruth wasn’t sure which one of them had squeaked, which one of them whimpered, which one of them gasped.

One minute Eli was a threat, and then he wasn’t. Ruth was both relieved and shocked that she didn’t regret the loss of his life. She would keep those thoughts to herself and support Carrie however she needed.

“We have to call the police,” Carrie said.

Police would learn that Carrie had committed murder. Manslaughter, to be accurate, but Carrie had caused her husband’s death while trying to protect Shirley.

The irony was ugly—no one would call the police on Eli for hurting Carrie. She wouldn’t let them. Yet she was willing to call them on herself. She believed she was the one who should be punished.

Carrie’s mind had been so skewed from all the trauma. Ruth didn’t know which abuse was sadder.

Lillian covered her eyes. Irene wrapped an arm around Harriet, who gave little gasps of disbelief. Sadness enveloped the room, nipping little pieces of their souls out of them.

“It was an accident. That’s for sure,” Ruth said. “You didn’t mean it, Carrie. We all saw. He was going to hit you, hit Shirley, and you stopped him.” The women nodded, huddling closer to Carrie.

Shirley walked around Eli, leaving a wide berth, and grasped Carrie’s hands. “But we have to get our story straight.”

Yes, Ruth thought. To protect Carrie. To protect these women.

Carrie reached out for Ruth and sank to the floor, taking Ruth with her. She sobbed, soaking Ruth’s shoulder. Was Carrie sad, or relieved, or some indescribable combination?