Page 47 of Married With Lies

“Hey babe, it’s me. Your phony husband. I’ve been shot, I’ve killed two guys at an Arizona gas station and I’m heading your way. Awesome, right?”

She’ll flip the fuck out.

I mean, she’ll flip the fuck out anyway when I show up with an unexplained bullet wound. But it’s probably better if she doesn’t have time to carry on first. Talking her out of hysteria will be much easier if we’re face to face.

A twinge of guilt scrambles my brain for a second. Or maybe it’s more like a spasm of pain. With each passing second the fire in my side gets hotter.

No, it really is guilt. At this hour Sadie is sure to be sound asleep in her cozy little animal sanctuary with no clue that her mobster husband is about to shatter her serenity.

I feel bad about that. I’ll even apologize. I’ll be out of her hair as quickly as possible. Just as soon as I get fixed up and satisfy any suspicions Richie might have about this marriage. No big deal. I hope Sadie agrees but I’m not really giving her a choice.

Damn, I wish I had some caffeine. Even some juice wouldn’t hurt. Just something to scrape the fuzziness out of my mind. The adrenaline has now worn off. The road signs offer a choice of gas stations where I could make a quick stop but I’m feeling sort of iffy about gas stations after the last experience. Besides, I’d rather not risk some night clerk getting all hyper at the sight of some blood.

Hours pass. Arizona turns into New Mexico and then into Colorado as the sky begins to lighten. This is a pretty part of the country. I’ve never given any serious thought to leaving New York but I can appreciate why Sadie prefers these clean wide open spaces to eastern metro congestion. There’s a wholesome vibe out here, like you just want to stare at the scenery and fill your lungs.

Maybe I’ll feel like doing that later, after I get some rest, eat a meal and fix the hole in my body. I don’t have to wait much longer. A road sign promises that the town of Sleepy Rock will appear in another thirty miles.

I give my head a shake to stay focused and ignore the fact that I’m feeling weirdly buzzed, like I’ve downed a trio of whiskey shots. Swiping a palm across my forehead, I’m surprised to feel sweat. This whole getting shot thing is the fucking pits. I’d rather have three root canals and a prostate exam.

The town of Sleepy Rock is exactly what I was expecting. Small and quaint. I’d probably appreciate it more if I didn’t need to keep pinching myself to keep from veering off the road. Spots dance in front of my eyes.

Some minutes later, I’m on the final approach to Bright Hearts Ranch. A long single lane driveway leads to a closed wrought iron gate beneath a metal arch displaying the ranch’s name in rustic letters. The orchard of trees on the right are currently bare and beyond them squats a rambling red house that looks like it was assembled with Lincoln Logs. A large barn sits a comfortable distance away from the house beside a corral. There’s also the long building Sadie calls The Doghouse and a few smaller buildings.

I’d be a rotten guest if I ruined Sadie’s gate by crashing through it. Instead I switch the engine off and hop the low white perimeter fence. This turns out to be a bad idea. I leave a large smear of blood behind and now there are more spots dancing across my eyes. The spots become blobs and the blobs start sticking together as the ground kind of tilts in front of me. But even through the spots and the tilting ground, when I look up and squint I can see curly red hair less than fifty yards away.

There she is. My wife.

She’s talking to some kid. He points in my direction. I would wave hello at everyone but I’m distracted by a loud crash.

It’s only when I find myself staring at the sky that I realize the crash was me falling flat on my ass.

Then the sky disappears and everything goes black until the sound of her voice brings me back.

13

SADIE

At one point I rub my eyes to check if I’m having a fever dream but nope, it’s all real.

The car.

The blood.

The man I’m married to.

“Tell him, Scraps. Tell him who I am.”

At least Cale is alert enough to bear most of his own weight. Otherwise I’d have to go find Peggy’s wheelbarrow to push him into the house.

With Jasper on one side of Cale and me propping up the other, the three of us succeed in staggering through the front door. I’m sure from a distance we look like a slapstick comedy act.

However, there is nothing funny about Cale’s bleeding wound or the fact that his face is roughly the shade of computer paper.

“Take a left,” I pant when we reach the foyer. “The first guest bedroom.”

Jasper, good kid that he is, simply follows orders. Meanwhile, our entrance is attracting all kinds of new attention. Apollo and Zeus, energized by the prospect of a stranger to slobber on, come bounding down the stairs, barking up a storm, as fast as their arthritic legs can carry them.

Now Peggy appears in her latest crocheted granny square shawl. For once, words fail her. She observes us with her mouth open. She must have been in the middle of sweeping because she keeps clutching the wooden handle of a broom as we help Cale to the Halloween guest bedroom where he sits on a bed covered with a pumpkin bedspread.

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