Page 57 of When the Smoke Clears

I shake my head. “James had nothing to do with his decision. He was focused on you. On a history that he created in his mind and that you had nothing to do with.”

“He didn’t deserve to die.”

I shrug. “Neither did you. And if it came down to you and him again, I don’t know many people who would’ve made a different call.”

“That’s not the point. Of course you’re going to say that. You love me. You don’t want me dead.”

“Fuck no, I don’t want you dead!” Now I’m the one getting angry. “And I’m pissed you had to make that call. Thatyouhad to be the one to put that fucker down. I would gladly take that burden from you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time. But you made the right decision. You had to. There was no other way.”

Silent tears stream down her face.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

Her cool hands cup my cheeks. I’m mad at myself all over again that she’s trying to comfort me.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” A tiny, sad smile graces her lips. Her thumbs rub back and forth.

I release her and take her hands into my own, kissing them in succession.

“I’m scared.” Her voice is small and choked.

“I’m here.” I squeeze her hands tighter. “And he’s gone.”

She swallows hard. “That’s not what I mean.” Her nostrils flare as she inhales deeply. “I’m scared of who I’ve become.”

My head shakes in confusion. “What do you—”

“When Colt came over that night, I waited until the last possible second. Part of me feels like I should’ve done more. Instead of antagonizing him, I should’ve tried to really explain my side so he could see that I never wanted to take Alan from him. But the other part of me knows that I couldn’t have waited any longer.” She slides her hands down and presses them against my chest, steadying herself.

“I warned him. I told him I would shoot. I hoped he would reconsider.” Her eyes fall to the floor as she sees images in her mind that I will never bear witness to. “I tried to move slowly so that he wouldn’t jump out of fear. The gun slid out of the holster just as he came at me. I took a step back and shot, but it went right because we were both moving. That’s when he slammed into me. When he…stabbed me. The gun was squeezed between us, and I was trying to get my hand free when it went off the second time.”

It takes effort not to squeeze her tighter in my hands with the force of my anger. It’s not directed at her, but all over again I yearn to break something.

“Any twist one way or the other, one second later, and he probably would’ve gotten me in a completely different spot. We’d probably both be dead, instead.” Her eyes come back to mine. “I waited until the lastpossiblesecond. And now, anytime someone so much as looks at me the wrong way, it feels like I’m loaded and ready to go off. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to carry for a while.”

My heart drops. “I thought it made you feel safer.”

She shakes her head and stares at me blankly. “No. I don’t trust myself. It’s too easy to pull it now.”

Chapter 20

Stephanie

Mymarriagecanbesummed up in one word. Apathy.

Sex with Alan is expected, but nothing exciting. His work trips are regular. It doesn’t bother me that he’s frequently gone; however, it doesn’t minimize my anxiety, thanks to the cameras in the house.

Those came after Maci left. I can only imagine the fit she would’ve thrown over them being installed while she lived with us. They didn’t bother me at first. Alan had a point that they were important for safety, especially with me being alone all the time. Not that I anticipated some drastic event to occur.

Soon, he was asking questions. Vague curiosity turned into pointed observations. Things he would have only known by checking the cameras. “I look forward to seeing the fruits of your shopping trip later,” or, “Did you even leave the house this weekend?”

All these years, I’ve tolerated everything. Worked tirelessly to be the perfect wife, if only to avoid more shame over another failed marriage. Suddenly, apathy leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

The moment Alan walks through the door, he resumes his normal routine, but my eyes are finally open. The compliant, perfect, shame-filled wife of the last ten years is gone. She moves to sit on my shoulder, wearing a red dress and horns.

I may not have cameras to study him while he’s gone, but there is plenty for me to observe. Starting with the fact that he never brings dirty clothes home.

Alan slips into the shower to “wash off the grime of travel.” I meander in our closet. His suitcase is already entirely unpacked. If he had managed all of his own laundry in the years we’ve been together, him bringing a suitcase full of clean clothes home wouldn’t have alerted me. But he hasn’t.

---