Tick…tock…tick…tock. Susan North glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Dom, honey!” she called out. “Get your hands washed and your toys back in the box.” She turned off the television and placed the remote on the small table beside the overstuffed recliner. She straightened the rose and brown pillows that lined the back of the coffee-colored sofa – oh, not coffee, espresso – why that mattered, she never understood. She reached a hand down the side of the cushion and gripped the cold metal in her hand. His gun was there, right where she needed it.
The glass coffee table had been cleaned and the wood frame polished, the floor vacuumed, the trophy display case dusted just as he liked – football trophies, baseball trophies, the one from his senior wrestling match – they shined beneath the light in the top of the case, each exactly three inches apart on the top two shelves. The bottom two shelves were for his plaques during his time as a coach at Center High. She forced a swallow and went in the kitchen. The smell of garlic and rosemary wafted from the crockpot on the counter. She lifted the lid and poked her roast with a fork. Perfect.
Tick…tock…tick…tock. What an irritating clock. “Dom, are you cleaned up? Your father will be home in a few minutes and dinner’s almost done.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m all cleaned up,” he replied politely from the arched entry to the kitchen. A small boy, Dom was only four, but smart.
She tousled his dark hair and smiled. “You can call me Mommy. He isn’t here yet,” she said gently.
“Is dinner ready, Mommy?”
She kissed his forehead. “It sure is. Now let’s go comb our hair and wait for your father.”
His father had been quarterback of the football team, a pitcher on the baseball team – an all-around athlete with broad shoulders and striking good looks. She fell for him instantly. College days were busy, nights spent cramming for exams, and days spent between classes and him. He had little interest in studying, but he was good at sports and that took him far until it wasn’t enough. He didn’t make the cut. Maybe if he had…she shook her head to clear the thought and applied more cover-up and powder to the bruising on her cheekbones. She didn’t even wince anymore. She’d grown use to the pain. With a sigh, she checked her attire, the 1950s style blue dress was spotless and ironed just as he’d requested. She straightened her white ruffled apron – spotless as well – and watched Dominic comb his hair in the mirror. It’s almost over, baby.
Tick…tock…tick – the front door opened. She flipped off the light in the bathroom, grabbed Dominic’s hand and hurried to the living room. “Hi sweetheart, how was work?” She took his briefcase from him and kissed his cheek. He smelled like perfume and there was a pink lipstick stain on his white collar. Just one more thing she’d have to work extra hard to clean.
“Dominic.”
“Sir.” Dominic stepped forward and nodded to his father. “Did you have a successful day?”
Susan winced. He’s four…he’s only four.
“I won. I got the contract. Anytime you win you’re successful, right, Dominic?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Bradley North was a tall man, over six feet with large hands and features to match, but his weight had dropped considerably in the last year. He was no longer broad or thick, but more slender and hallow. His hair dirty-blonde hair had lost some of its shine. The thick waves were plastered to his head with gel and hairspray.
“Dinner is ready. I made your favorite – pot roast with potatoes and carrots. The merlot you selected this morning is in the fridge. I’ll go put it together and then we can eat.”
Bradley didn’t budge, “It’s not on the table?”
Susan swallowed. “I wanted to keep it warm for you. It’ll be on the table before you get there.” She nodded curtly and backed up. His long frame visibly tightened and her throat did the same.
“Of course it will be,” he bit out. His fist was clenched. “I’ll wash up and be right there.”
He headed down the hall and she hastened into the kitchen with Dominic on her heels. “Get seated. I need to slice the roast and get the wine out.” She went to fridge and grabbed the bottle of merlot. It had been chilling all day – for whatever reason Bradley had opened it this morning and asked that she serve it with dinner. She didn’t question things…she’d learned not to. She took two glasses from the cabinet and poured a fair amount into hers from the bottle she hid under the sink, the non-alcoholic wine. She filled his with the stuff from the fridge and set them both on the table.
They ate in relative silence, the sounds of forks and knives sliding across china. “Mom – I mean, ma’am, my meat is too big,” Dominic said, piercing the tension only to heighten it a notch by nearly calling her mommy.
“Here, Dominic, let me cut it smaller,” she said, taking his plate. Her breathing was slow, in and out…in and out…deliberately controlled.
Bradley stopped chewing and finished his wine. “I’m out.”
She stabbed the roast with her fork, and sunk the knife in again, sliding it through Dominic’s meat.
Thud! Crash! Bradley’s fist pounded the table, everything and everyone jumped. “I said I’m out!”
“Dominic, you need to finish up.” She slid his plate back to him. “Eric and Aunt Grace will be here to pick you up in a few minutes.”
“Am I invisible, bitch!”
Tears filled Dominic’s eyes, but he forced a swallow and finished the last bite on his plate. “May I be excused?”
Susan nodded and stood. “Yes. I need to get your father some more wine.” She took his glass and went to the counter, then turned her back to him and poured the merlot.
She heard his chair slide back and felt him get up, not really him, but the weight of him, his emotional weight, the anger and hate he’d become stood behind her. He rested his hand at the base of her neck. “You need another glass too,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck. “I’ve got plans for us tonight.”
“I do love surprises.”
Bradley didn’t respond, but proceeded to tighten his grip on the back of her neck. Moist and warm, the sound and feel of his breathing was noxious in her ear. “When is Grace – “ Ding…dong!
Susan handed Bradley his glass. “That’s Grace.” She heard Dominic answer the door and went out to the living room. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, honey.”
Dominic looked up at her, tears still brimming. “I can stay with you.”
She smiled at him. “Nope, you’re gonna go to Eric’s. It’s Friday, you always stay at your cousin’s on Friday.”
He hugged her tight. “I found this in the bathroom,” he whispered and slipped a card into her hand.
She took the card and slid it into the front pocket of her apron then looked up at her sister in the doorway. “Hi, Gracie. Take good care of my boy, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Susan…” Gracie took a deep breath and nodded. “Maybe we can meet at the mall for lunch?”
“I’ll see you soon.” She shut the door and took the card out of her pocket. It was in a white envelope with a heart sticker holding it closed. She dropped it back in her pocket and braced herself, then started toward the kitchen. She didn’t get through the archway before his fists were flying. “Brad! They’re still in the driveway!” she shouted, dodging a blow.
He stumbled forward. “I don’t give a damn, bitch! How dare you ignore me in front of my son. Who the hell do you think you are?” His movements were either off balance or she was getting better at avoiding him. She saw that he’d finished the second glass of wine, but for him that was nothing. He was an abusive drunk. It should take a lot more than two glasses of wine to make him this erratic.
He grabbed her arm and shoved her into the living room, pushing her down on the couch. She felt the pain before she heard the noise. Her face stung, the sharp slap sending shockwaves through her entire body. She tasted the blood on her lip and looked up at him.
“Take off…your dress.”
This wasn’t normal. Something was different, his speech was slurred, his stance wavering. Right in front of her he collapsed, shattering the glass coffee table she’d spent so much time cleaning. She jumped to her feet and looked down at him. “Bradley?”
His eyes were half closed, there was blood on his forearm and the shirt that he’d stained with some other woman’s lipstick was torn, bits of glass embedded in his shoulder. “I told you – uh…” he braced himself on the sofa and stood up. “I’ve got plans for us…”
He reached for her, but she stepped back and he fell sideways, landing again in the glass that sparkled on her living room floor.
She touched the cheek he’d slapped. She felt her left arm, the one he’d busted when Dominic was six months old. She had two rods holding it together. For eight weeks she could barely hold or change her own son. She’d tried to leave him, but he’d followed and threatened to hurt Dominic. She sighed, resolved, and grabbed the gun from the couch cushion.
“What the – really?” He sounded lazy almost. Tired? Drunk? “You can’t shoot…just me. We do…everything together.” He reached for her and tried to stand, but stumbled and fell.
She aimed the gun at him. “No, Bradley, you’re not touching me or my children.”
He fell on his side and looked up her. “You stole my career, my life – “ he turned ashen, looked like he would vomit, but drew a deep breath and continued, “You’re a bitch! We end this together.”
She lowered the gun, confused. “You can’t even stand up.” She looked at him, a pitiful mess crumpled in shards of glass and his own blood. “What are you gonna do?”
“I wanted you tonight, I wanted to – hurt you, make you scream…but –“
Susan shook her head and asked him again. “What is wrong with you?”
He laughed, a low slow laugh that rumbled mostly in his chest then fell back.
She dropped to her knees and looked at him. He wasn’t breathing. She started to get up to call 9-1-1, but didn’t. Relief flooded her. She took the card from her apron, tore open the envelope and read what it said. “Oh my God…” Her gaze returned to his face. “You poisoned the wine.”
She placed her hand on her stomach and cried in the middle of her living room floor.
Gina Ryan 