Gerald's Game(36)
She had been unable to explain to Gerald what the substitute contract meant to her... or maybe it was that he had been unwilling to listen. Either way, it came to the same: teaching, even on a part-time basis, filled her up in some important way, and Gerald didn't get that. Nor had he been able to get the fact that subbing formed a bridge to the life she had lived before she'd met Gerald at that Republican mixer, when she'd been a full-time English teacher at Waterville High, a woman on her own who was working for a living, who was well-liked and respected by her colleagues, and who was beholden to no one. She had been unable to explain (or he had been unwilling to listen) how quitting teaching-even on that final part-time, piecework basis-made her feel mournful and lost and somehow useless.
That rudderless feeling-probably caused as much by her in-ability to catch pregnant as by her decision to return her contract unsigned-had departed from the surface of her mind after a year or so, but it had never entirely left the deeper ranges of her heart. She had sometimes felt like a cliche to herself-young teacher-lady weds successful lawyer whose name goes up on the door at the tender (professionally speaking, that is) age of thirty. This young (well, relatively young) woman eventually steps into the foyer of that puzzle palace known as middle age, looks around, and finds she is suddenly all alone-no job, no kids, and a husband who is almost completely focused (one wouldn't want to say fixated; that might be accurate, but it would also be unkind) on climbing that fabled ladder of success.
This woman, suddenly faced with forty just beyond the next bend in the road, is exactly the sort of woman most likely to get in trouble with drugs, booze, or another man. A younger man, usually. None of that happened to this young (well... previously young) woman, but Jessie still found herself with a scary amount of time on her hands-time to garden, time to go malling, time to take classes (the painting, the sculpture, the poetry... and she could have had an affair with the man who taught the poetry if she'd wanted to, and she had almost wanted to). There had also been time to do a little work on herself, which was how she had happened to meet Nora. Yet not one of those things had left her feeling the way she felt now, as though her weariness and aches were badges of valor and her sleepiness a justly won reward... the handcuffed ladies" version of Miller Time, you might say.
Hey, Jess-the way you got that water really was pretty great.
It was another UFO, but this time Jessie didn't mind. Just as long as Ruth didn't show up for awhile. Ruth was interesting, but she was also exhausting.
A lot of people never would have even gotten the glass, her UFO fan continued, and using the blow-in card for a straw... that was amaster-stroke. So go ahead and feel good. It's allowed. A little nap isallowed, too.
But the dog, Goody said doubtfully.
That dog isn't going to bother you one damned bit...and you knowwhy.
Yes. The reason the dog wasn't going to bother her was lying nearby on the bedroom floor. Gerald was now nothing but a shadow among shadows, for which Jessie was grateful. Outside, the wind gusted again. The sound of it hissing through the pines was comforting, lulling. Jessie closed her eyes.
But be care I what you dream! Goody called after her in sudden alarm, but her voice was distant and not terribly compelling. Still, it tried again: Be careful what you dream, Jessie! I'm serious!
Yes, of course she was. The Goodwife was always serious, which meant she was also often tiresome.
Whatever I dream, Jessie thought, it won't be that I'm thirsty, Ihaven't bad many clear victories over the last ten years-mostly one murkyguerrilla engagement after another-but getting that drink of water wasa clear win. Wasn't it?
Yes, the UFO voice agreed. It was a vaguely masculine voice, and she found herself wondering in a sleepy way if perhaps it was the voice of her brother, Will... Will as he'd been as a child, back in the sixties. You bet it was. It was great.
Five minutes later Jessie was sleeping deeply, arms up and splayed in a limp V-shape, wrists held loosely to the bedposts by the handcuffs, head lolling against her right shoulder (the less painful one), long, slow snores drifting from her mouth. And at some point-long after dark had fallen and a white rind of moon had risen in the east-the dog appeared in the doorway again.
Like Jessie, it was calmer now that its most immediate need had been met and the clamor in its stomach had been stilled to some extent. It gazed at her for a long time with its good ear cocked and its muzzle up, trying to decide if she was really asleep or only pretending. It decided (mostly on the basis of smell-the sweat which was now drying, the total absence of the crackling ozone stink of adrenaline) that she was asleep. There would be no kicks or shouts this time-not if it was careful not to wake her up.
The dog padded softly to the heap of meat in the middle of the floor. Although its hunger was now less, the meat actually smelled better. This was because its first meal had gone a long way toward breaking down the ancient, inbred taboo against this sort of meat, although the dog did not know this and wouldn't have cared if it did.
It lowered its head, first sniffing the now-attractive aroma of dead lawyer with all the delicacy of a gourmet, then closing its teeth gently on Gerald's lower lip. It pulled, applying pressure slowly, stretching the flesh further and further. Gerald began to look as if he were deep in some monstrous pout. The lip finally tore off, revealing his bottom teeth in a big dead grin. The dog swallowed this small delicacy in a single gulp, then licked its chops. Its tail began to wag again, this time moving in slow, contented sweeps. Two tiny spots of light danced on the ceiling high above; moonlight reflected from the fillings in two of Gerald's lower molars. These fillings had been done only the week before, and they were still as fresh and shiny as newly minted quarters.