As I roll my bags to my car I realize I should check and make sure Mia put everything back in my suitcase, but I’ll have to do that once I arrive back home. I pop the trunk, shove the briefcase and suitcase inside, fight the urge to look around again, and quickly climb into the car. I lock the doors, turn the key in the ignition. Before pulling away from the curb, I consider my options. What I know I should do, what I want to do, is start driving, head for Port Clinton, and then the highway to take me back home. But another part of me wants to circle back to my cottage, have what you might call the final word with Buck and my wife. That is what Buck will expect, I’m sure, especially if Scott tips him off that I’m not checking in.
Maybe I’ll just drive by the cottage one last time, you know, on my way out of the gates. It will give me time to think things over, although glancing at my gas gauge, I know I don’t have much time to think without filling up. As I drive down Second Street heading toward my cottage, I smile remembering my petty theft. If I’m lucky, Scott won’t check the cash drawer for the rest of the evening and whoever replaces him on the morning shift will assume Scott took the cash. He is an untrustworthy teenager, after all.
If I’m unlucky and Scott notices the missing twenties, surely he won’t think of the kind stranger, dressed nicely, obviously successful and from the city. No, it would have had to be someone else, earlier in the night. I was nice to him, although I didn’t tip him. If I had taken the cash, surely I would have tipped him, he’d reason.
Unless Buck has told him things about me, spreading more rumors darkening my name. I will need to get in front of Buck and his lies. I drive slowly around the corner at the Boones’ cottage. It’s dark and unmoving, as it should be at this time of night. In contrast, across the street, my cottage is awash in light. There are two squad cars parked in my driveway and through the brightly lit windows I see too many people walking around inside my family room. I spot Mia through the window, sitting on the couch, my couch, drinking a cup of tea, feeling all smug and secure. She’s surrounded by cops, telling the little sob story of her unhappy life. Poor little crumpled, gray Mia. Her husband was such a bad man. He gave her a big house, two healthy boys, a life of leisure beyond most people’s wildest dreams.
I touch the shiny pen I placed on the passenger seat. It’s cool, like my wife.
Unlike me, Mia is a spoiled brat who got everything she wanted, everything she deserved. I put the pen in my pocket, turn off the headlights and park one house down from ours on the same side of the street. There aren’t many streetlights in Lakeside, none near our cottage. The stars are obscured by clouds. It’s dark, very dark on our street. Mia complains about that, but I am a creature of the shadows. I’m comfortable here, as you know.
I spot my target near his precious strawberry garden, the very thing that caused all of this. Buck has let his guard down because the cops, country guys who should be home banging their wives or swilling moonshine, are protecting her. One of the officers even sports a soul patch on his chin, so three years ago. I turn my attention back to Buck. Buck’s retreated to the garden, my garden, letting the authorities comfort my gray blob of a wife. He’s such a loser. It’s so easy.
I creep into my yard undetected. He doesn’t even know what’s hit him from behind, until I do, my rage overpowering his supposed training. I have him in a choke hold. Buck fights like the tough guy I know he is, but I’m stronger. He skids the heel of his shoe down my shin, but he’s wearing tennis shoes, lame. I squeeze his neck tighter, hear him gasping for breath. I pull him to the ground behind the strawberries and straddle his chest. I punch him in his pretty face, direct contact with that dimple, that perfect jaw. The sound is thick, satisfying.
My hand stings. I love it. It makes me feel alive. I kick him in the side, once. I hope to crack a rib. That should keep him from humping my wife for a while. I stand above him. He rolls to his side, tries to stand but I’m not letting that happen. My shoes are dress shoes, with a pointed toe. I aim at his temple, then his ribs, and I kick his throat. He moans and then is still. Take that, tough guy. I’m done here. I won’t kill him. No, that would be too easy. I feel the heavy pen in my pocket, imagine it sticking out of his neck, piercing his artery. I like the image, but I want him alive. I will make him pay for what he’s done to me, slowly, over time. But I assure you he will pay for ruining my life, for stealing my wife. When he least expects it, I’ll get my revenge.
I hear voices and duck behind the strawberry bed. The cops are heading out, walking to their cars. The idiots are going to leave Mia alone, in our house. I cover my mouth with my hand; my white smile could give me away. I’m like a shark, lurking in the depths, waiting to strike.
The two police cruisers flip on their headlights and pull away.
I turn toward the cottage. Mia stands in the window, staring into the backyard. It’s almost as if she knows I’m here. I begin to wave. She’s not looking for me, though.
At my feet, Buck moans. So much for special ops guys. Ha.
I kick him in the ribs. “Shut up,” I say. My voice is firm, commanding. I really don’t have time for this garden gnome. I need to rescue my wife, from herself, from this story she’s concocted in her mind. Poor woman.
“Hello, Mia,” I whisper, looking toward the brilliantly lit cottage. “Don’t worry. I’m home.”
I take a step toward the house as a hand clamps on my ankle. Fucking Buck. What is his problem? This time, I yank my foot out of his grip and kick him in the head. There’s a satisfactory thud, and blood flows out of his ear. It would be so easy to off him, I think, squeezing the pen in my pocket. But I need to get to Mia.
I run to the back door, kick it open. I told you the lock was ridiculous. That was easy, and I’m definitely not special ops.
Mia screams from the other room. She’s going to be so happy to see me.
I hurry through the kitchen, to the family room. She’s running to the front door. I grab her hair, stopping her dead in her tracks. She stumbles back, her hand grabs mine and she spins around, a puppet in my hands. What now, little Mia?
It takes me a moment to see the knife. She slashes at me with the fury of a feral cat. She comes close to my hand and I release her hair.
Mia is shaking, the knife is barely capable of slicing an apple, but she points it at me, acting heroic. “Get out of here, Paul. I’ve pushed the panic button. Help is on the way. And Buck is just outside.”
“Buck is a little busy with the strawberries right now, poor guy.” I smile as Mia’s eyes get larger.
“What have you done to him?” she hisses.
“Nothing he didn’t deserve. But let’s talk about us, shall we?” I smile. I say, “Panic button. Really? What panic button, honey? You really must be losing your mind. There is no panic button. That’s for the movies. Besides, you couldn’t have anything like that, not without me knowing about it. You have nothing without me. You are nothing without me.” My hand is throbbing from punching Buck. I like that.
“Get out of here, Paul. I’m serious. You don’t want to be caught breaking in here.” Mia’s little knife is wobbling again. It’s cute.
“Mia, this is my cottage, our cottage. We own it so I couldn’t possibly break in. I think you’ve forgotten how many good memories we’ve made here, even in one short year. Remember the champagne toast on our new screened porch when we first bought this place, and how happy we were?” I’m smiling, Mia is not.
“And all the while you were poisoning me,” she says, shaking her head.
“Oh, honey, don’t be silly,” I say. I haven’t been poisoning her the entire time, silly woman. “Come here. Let me give you a hug. You seem so distraught. You’re lost without me.” I take a step toward my wife and she backs into the corner by the front door, slashing the air between us with her little cheese knife. Perhaps I’ll teach her a little lesson.
It’s at that moment, as we’re studying each other, contemplating our next moves, that I hear sirens. The sound is faint but growing louder. Definitely coming toward us.
Mia must hear her rescuers in the distance and finally manages a smile, possibly the most genuine smile of the day. It’s the half-moon kind of smile, like the one she gave me this morning, like she gave me when we first dated, a smile of love. But then her face falls, as if that smile is not for me, not anymore. “Wrong, Paul. I am much more than you. And I’m so much better off without you.” Her ridiculous paring knife is clutched in her hand pointed at me. It would be so easy to grab it, turn the blade toward her, plunge it into her traitorous chest.
