Pump Six and Other Stories(82)

She spited him with summer mountain-biking expeditions, winter snow-boarding jaunts, a continuous stream of home improvement projects, and apparent pleasure in a job that had to do with telecom customer relations, the kind of thing that seemed perfect for deadening the soul, and which she nonetheless seemed to love.

She stood on the porch, black ponytail twitching, brows wrinkling as she leaned forward and beat on the door again. Bouncing from one foot to the other, moving to some internal techno beat that only she could hear. She had on shorts and a sweaty T-shirt that said "Marathoners Go Longer," along with soiled leather gloves.

Jonathan grimaced. Another home improvement project, then. He'd helped her move flagstones into her back yard one hot summer day a few years past, and she'd nearly broken him doing it. Pia had given him a back massage afterward and reminded him that he didn't have to do everything that people asked, but when Gabby had shown up at the door, he hadn't known how to refuse her. And now here she was again.

Couldn't she just stop and do nothing for a day? And why now, with Pia's body floating in the bath less than twenty feet away? How was he going to keep Gabby quiet? Would he have to kill her too? How would he do it? Not with a pillow, that was for sure. Gabby was fit. Hell, she was probably stronger than he was. A kitchen knife, maybe? If he could get her into the kitchen before she saw Pia in the bathtub, he could put a knife to her throat. She wouldn't be expecting that . . .

He shook off the thought. He didn't want to kill Gabby. He didn't want a mountain of bodies and blood piling up around him. He wanted this all to be over. He'd just tell Gabby what happened, she'd run screaming and call the cops, and he could wait on the front porch for them to arrive. Problem solved. They'd find him sitting in his bathrobe and his wife macerating in the tub and he'd go to jail for murder one, two, three, or four, or whatever it was and the neighbors would get their show.

They seemed like such a perfect couple.

But they were both so nice.

We had them take care of our cats when we went to Belize last year.

Fine. Bath time was over. Real life was starting up again. Time to face the music. He went to find a bathrobe and came back just as Gabby hammered on the door again.

"Hey! Jon!" Gabby grinned as he opened the door. "Didn't mean to wake you. Lazy Sunday?"

"I just killed my wife."

"Could I borrow your shovel? Mine broke."

Jonathan goggled. Gabby bounced expectantly.

Had he confessed or not? He thought he had. But Gabby wasn't running and screaming for the cops. She was breaking the script completely. She was bouncing back and forth from the ball of one foot to the other and looking at him like a golden retriever. He replayed the exchange in his mind. Had she not heard? Or had he not said it?

Gabby said, "You look really hungover. Late night last night?"

Jonathan tried to confess again, but the words lodged in his throat. Maybe he hadn't said it the first time. Maybe he'd only thought it. He rubbed his eyes. "What did you say you wanted?"

"I broke my shovel. Can I borrow yours?"

"You broke it?"

"Not on purpose. I tried to pry a rock out of the back yard and the handle snapped."

I killed my wife. She's soaking in the tub right now. Could you call the cops for me? I can't decide whether I should call 911 or the police department's main line. Or if maybe I should just wait until Monday and call a lawyer first. What do you think? Finally he said, "Pia had a shovel in the back shed. You want me to get it?"

"That would be great. Where's Pia?"

"In the tub."

Gabby seemed to notice Jonathan's bathrobe for the first time. Her eyes widened. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's not what you think."

Gabby waved her hand, embarrassed, and stepped back from the open door. "I shouldn't have barged over here. I should have called. I didn't mean to interrupt things. I can get the shovel myself if you tell me where it is."

"Umm. Okay. You can go around through the side gate. It's in the shed, hanging off pegs by the door." Why didn't he come clean? He just kept playing the charade, pretending that he was still the man he'd been a few hours before.

"Thanks a ton. Sorry for barging in." Gabby turned and bounded down the steps, leaving Jonathan standing in the open doorway. He closed the door. Gabby's ponytail flashed briefly outside the living room window as she jogged past and slipped into the back yard. Jonathan wandered back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet's edge. Pia was floating.

"Nobody really cares, do they honey?"

He studied her stiffened body and then turned the faucet to add more hot water. Steam rose. He shook his head, watching as it poured into the tub. "No one pays any attention at all."

People died all the time. And yet people still did their chores and went to the store for their groceries and dug rocks out of their back yards. Life went on. The sun was still bright outside and the lilac-scented air was still there and it was still a beautiful day, and he wasn't going to have to do his taxes ever again. He shut off the water. Electric energy tingled in his limbs, an antsy youthful hunger for sun and movement. It really was a wonderful day for a jog.

The nice thing about completely ruining your life, Jonathan decided, was that it was finally possible to enjoy it. As he ran past his neighbors and waved and called out to them, he thought about how little they truly understood about how glorious this warm spring day had become. It was a thousand times better than he'd even guessed when he woke up in the morning. The last day of freedom felt so much better than a million days of daily grind. Sunny days were wasted on the guilt-free. Warm spring air enfolded him as he ran. He stopped at every stop sign, jogging in place and luxuriating in a world that was exactly the same as it had always been, except for his place in it.