He Started It(70)

And what about all those times he offered to go out when we needed something? A run to the store, to the cash machine, to get gas . . . was he being nice? Or was he trying to find a moment alone to feed his nicotine habit?

Then there’s the big question, the one I still haven’t been able to answer. What else is he hiding? Besides, apparently, a temper. It’s so clear to me now, ever since that slam of his fist. Maybe I’ve missed all the signs that spouses miss, but everyone else can see.

Jesus Christ, I’ve become the worst kind of wife. The stupid one.



* * *



–––––

This is what’s going through my mind as I heat up the kettle and make us some instant coffee. Portia and Eddie sleep right through it.

I motion toward the woods with my hand and whisper, “Want to take a walk?”

He shrugs, as if he doesn’t care, but I bet he does. He wants that morning cigarette.

“We can take a quick swim, too,” I say. “At least get clean.”

He nods.

We sip our awful coffee as we walk in the dark, though somehow the fresh air makes me think it’s better than it is.

“Best sleep I’ve had on this trip.” He says this like I asked him about it. “I love sleeping outdoors.”

I don’t answer that. Even I have limits about lying.

“I never realized how much of the country I haven’t seen,” he says. “We can see a lot more when this is over. On our own, I mean.”

“On our own?”

He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I mean, once all the bills are paid off—the student loans and the mortgage. We’ll have a lot more money for vacations.”

Student loans. His student loans. I worked three jobs every summer to not have student loans, and he wants to use my inheritance to pay off his.

On top of all that, the cigarettes. Bet he thinks I’m going to pay for those, too.

“Sounds great,” I say.

We cut through the trees on our left, to another small clearing next to the water. Felix has a small bag with him so we have fresh clothes after our bath. It’s nice that he remembers things like that. Most men wouldn’t, I don’t think. Although how would I know?

The sun begins to appear, a brilliant orange dot on the water, and we sit and watch the final moments of its rise.

“They really believed we were fighting yesterday,” I say.

He glances over at me. “Well, we kinda were.”

“Why were you so mad?”

He shrugs. “I just can’t believe you never told me about the camping. That’s just so . . . wrong.”

The anger appears again. It’s so easy to see now. I had been thinking this might be a good time to bring up his smoking, to tell him that I knew, but now I won’t. Not while he’s angry.

I slip my free hand into his. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He leans over and kisses me. A dry, chaste kiss because we haven’t brushed our teeth and we smell like instant coffee. It could have been a brother-sister kiss.

We haven’t had sex on this trip. Not once. Maybe because Portia was in our room half the time, or maybe because the motels were so bad. Or it could be that transporting Grandpa’s ashes across the country is the least sexy thing ever.

More likely, it’s because we haven’t had sex in months—three months and nineteen days, to be exact.

Oh well.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s take a swim.”

We strip down and get in the water and it’s still not sexy. It’s cold at first, then pleasant. If I had to describe my marriage, that’s the word I would use. Pleasant. Mostly.

The water is smooth and clear, not a ripple as far as I can see. Felix follows me out beyond the shallow water, and I challenge him to a treading contest. He splashes at me. “No way.”

“You think you can beat me?”

He does. Felix can be so traditionally male that way. “Okay, let’s go.”

I start to tread, he does the same.

My eyes stay on his, watching. Waiting. Not for anger. This time, I see the moment the sleeping pills take effect.

He doesn’t feel it for another thirty seconds or so. “Wait,” he says.

“What?”

“I’m just . . .”

“Just what?”

He shakes his head, turns toward the shore. Felix starts to move toward it until I grab his arm. “Are you okay?” I say.

“I can’t keep—”

“Sure you can.”

He shakes his head, his eyes already drowsy. That’s a hell of a sleeping pill. No wonder people get addicted to those things. So easy to get, too.

It’s nothing at all for me to reach up and push his head underwater. He struggles, though. Even pops up for one more breath. Felix grasps at me, the horror in his eyes. The betrayal.

He knows.

I push his head under for good. He doesn’t struggle for long.



* * *



–––––

Felix. Poor, sad, finicky Felix. Did I know from the beginning I would do this?

No. But I brought the sleeping pills, so I always knew that I could. If it came to that, which it did. Now I have to make sure he stays under the water.