My Lovely Wife(58)
He was just standing there, holding on to the strap of my bag. That’s what it was caught on. Owen’s hand.
I knew it was him, even though he had a cap pulled down so low it covered half his face. I could still see his mouth, though. His smile. Everyone knows that smile—it’s all over the news because he smiled in that old mug shot, and that’s how I know it was definitely him. And that’s why I let go of the bag and ran.
Didn’t get far before he tackled me. That’s where I got all these scrapes, trying to get out from under him. But I couldn’t, because he was just so strong, and every time I tried to move, his grip got tighter.
I’m only alive because of my phone. My brother called, and I knew it was him because of the ring. I personalize all my rings because I like to know who’s calling, right? My brother’s ring sounds like an explosion, because that’s kind of what he’s like—a big explosion. His life always seems to be blowing up, and when it does he calls me. But I can’t complain anymore, because his life and that ring is why I’m still here. The exploding sound was so loud it made Owen jump. His head whipped around, and I think he believed something had really blown up.
I scrambled to get up and ran straight back to the bar, and he didn’t follow me.
I don’t think he realized nothing blew up. Maybe he still thinks something did.
That is the end of the statement, or at least the only part read on the news. The words disappear, and Josh is back. He is standing in the parking lot behind that bar on Mercer. I haven’t been to that bar since I was about twenty. Back then, they were known for not carding.
Josh looks serious. Sad. He is getting better, because he no longer looks excited about something horrible. He calls the woman who got attacked Jane Doe.
“Excuse me.”
An older woman brushes past me. I am still standing in the convenience store, right near the soda machine, staring up at the screen. The only other person watching is the guy at the register. It’s not Jessica, the cashier I usually see. This guy has a bald head, which shines under the fluorescent lights.
He looks at me and shakes her head, as if to say “Isn’t it terrible? Isn’t it a shame?”
I nod while buying my usual coffee and a bag of barbecue chips.
* * *
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This is what living with Millicent has always been like. Life goes along like it’s supposed to, an occasional bump in the road but otherwise a fairly smooth ride. And then suddenly the ground opens into a chasm wide enough to swallow everything. Sometimes, what’s inside is good, even great; sometimes not.
It happened when she told me Holly was alive. It happened when she bashed Robin in the head with a waffle iron. And again when she resurrected Owen.
These are the giant events, where the chasm becomes wider than the earth itself. Not all have been quite that large. Sometimes, the chasm is just big enough to swallow me, like when she left with the kids and disappeared for eight days after I came home drunk.
And then there are the cracks. When the ground opens up, it causes cracks. Some are bigger than others, like Jenna having a knife under her mattress. Or Trista killing herself. They are all different sizes—long, short, a variety of widths—but they originate from the same chasm.
The first one cracked open on our wedding day.
Millicent and I got married at her parents’ house in a field surrounded by cilantro, rosemary, and oregano. She wore a gauzy white dress that hung to her ankles, and she had a homemade wreath on her head, made of daffodils and lavender. I wore khakis rolled up to my ankles and a white button-up, left untucked, and both of us were barefoot. It was perfect, right up until it wasn’t.
Eight people attended our wedding. The three guys I went overseas with were there, including Andy. Not Trista. They were dating but not married, and Andy wasn’t ready to give her any ideas. Abby and Stan, Millicent’s parents, were there, and so was a friend of Millicent’s from high school. The last two were neighbors.
The ceremony was just that: an act, a ritual. Neither Millicent or I were religious; we were going to get legally married the following Monday at the Woodview City Hall. In the meantime, we pretended to marry, with Millicent’s father playing the minister’s role. Stan looked so official in a plaid shirt buttoned to the neck and his thin grey hair smoothed down with gel. He stood in front of their herb fields with a book in his hands. Not the Bible, just a book, and he almost said the right words.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this young man wants to marry my daughter today, and I think he needs to prove himself.” Stan pretended to give me the evil eye. “So make it good.”
I had written and rewritten my vows a dozen times, knowing I would have to say them out loud. The other people did not bother me at all. I was nervous about saying them to Millicent. I took a deep breath.
“Millicent, I can’t promise you the world. I can’t promise I will buy you a big house or a fancy car or a giant diamond ring. I can’t even promise we’ll always have food on the table.”
She stared at me, unblinking. In the bright sun, her eyes looked like crystals.
“I hope to give you all those things, but I have no idea if it will be possible. I do not know what will be in our future, but I do know we will be together. That’s what I can promise you without hesitation, without any fear that I’d be lying. I will always be there for you, with you, next to you.” I smiled a little, because I saw a little tear in her eye. “And hopefully, we’ll be able to eat.”