Page 39 of Such a Good Wife

“I felt bad I wasn’t able to come, so I was out and about today, and I wanted to just drop this off and wish him well.”

“That’s nice of you. He’s sleepin’. I’m not supposed to wake him. He needs his rest.”

“Oh, I understand. Are you his...” I never imagined him with a wife, so I almost guess sister.

“Wife. Barbie. Nice to meet ya.” She doesn’t make eye contact or shake my hand, just rocks back in her chair and smokes. I hand her the flowers. Inside the front window I see stacks and stacks of books piled from floor to ceiling. It reeks like cigarettes and neglect. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh, that old fart will be fine. You’re a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” She changes gears so quickly, I’m taken aback. It sounds like more of an accusation than a compliment.

“Oh. Thanks?”

“You’re a writer, then?”

“No, not really. No. I just was dabbling, really. I guess.”

“John!” she screams into the house out of nowhere, and a yelp escapes my lips involuntarily. She doesn’t acknowledge it, just nods as if she’s confirmed something of great importance. “Yep. Sleepin’.”

“That’s really okay. I just wanted to drop these off.”

“Dabbling, huh? John takes it all too seriously.”

“Oh, does he?” I ask, hoping to hear more.

“He thinks he should have won at least a Booker Prize, whatever the hell that is, by now. His blood pressure is too high and the goddamn vein in his neck is always popping out anytime someone else gets published who he doesn’t respect. It’s killin’ him. It’s his own damn fault.” She pushes her feet in and out of her pink, threadbare slippers as she talks. Maybe this is a segue and I can ask more.

“It has to be tough for someone like him when other people steal his ideas, I’m sure.”

“Who stole his idea this time?” she yells in a puff of exhaled smoke, then laughs a quick, bitter laugh.

“No, I—I just heard that he thought...”

“Oh, Jesus. He thinks everyone stole his idea. Goddamn Stephen King stole his last idea, didn’t you hear? Call the press!” She wheezes and coughs for a short spell.

Well, that’s that, I guess. Just a high-strung, failed writer blaming the world for his situation.

“Ya didn’t hear? Well, I heard. I heard allll about it for days until he spent a day in bed with chest pain and finally shut up. Ya want a cigarette?”

“Oh, I’m all right. I should go.”

“He probably won’t sleep all day, you can come back later if ya want.”

“You know, if you could just give him the flowers, that should be good. I would have mailed them, but I was in the area.” I hope she doesn’t start yelling again and wake him up, accidentally. I want to leave. I stand. Thankfully, she doesn’t counter, she just picks up a Coors Light bottle full of cigarette butts and jams the one in her hand inside.

“Okay, then.” She gives a sharp wave, and I tiptoe through the organized trash and make my way back down the drive. The whole thing was a bit unsettling, but I got my answer. Which is actually disappointing because it was the only lead I had.

I have to take Ben to a swimming lesson at the aquatic center at two, so I head home, taking the route through downtown, using Main. I pull off the side street and go down the alley that separates the heart of town from the dirt clearing and then wooded area that leads to Luke’s. I don’t know why I stop. I’m not close enough for it to appear suspicious. Main Street looks abandoned anyway in the rain, but I just need a minute. What was I thinking, sneaking back through those trees like that? I must have lost my mind.

I see something in the distance. A figure moving through slanted lines of rain. Someone is running, rounding the wooded area and coming this way through the flat dirt leading to the main road. Coming right toward me. The only thing back there is Luke’s place. Who could be running from that direction? Are they coming from his house? I want to put the car in Reverse and leave, but I’m fixated, looking at the figure.

Just when it looks like they will jog directly in front of my car, they duck to the right and out of sight in the alley. They don’t notice me. Just when I resolve to back up, there’s a tap on my window. I leap back. Then I see a familiar face, under a rain parka, laughing.

“I’m sorry, Mel. I didn’t mean to startle you. Jumpy much? I thought you saw me coming.” It’s Mia.

“Wha-what are you doing here?” I stutter. My mind is searching for any plausible scenario where her running from Luke’s house would make sense.

“What do ya mean? I’m running.”

“Running?”

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