Page 21 of Slayer Mom
I stopped at a little corner store and bought two pairs of men’s exercise shorts and t-shirts. I’d had the foresight to bring cash with me, so I wouldn’t owe Tom this time. The cashier let me use his phone to call a cab. While waiting, I went into the bathroom andwashed with paper towels and hand soap, getting off my scent as well as I could before I changed into the ugly clothes. I sealed the pleather and fairy tank in triple-zipped plastic and then I was ready to get back to being a depressed housewife. I’d take a salt soak as soon as I got to the motel. I needed a real bath and another change of clothes before I dared go home. I was absolutely not leading zombies or vampires to Hazen.
Once I got to the motel, I called Gloria from my room. It was a slightly better motel, not hourly, but still far from the kind of place I always went with Hazen.
“Divine Aspirations, speak, and I will hear.”
“It’s Lucky. Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay, although my breakfast wasn’t very good. Every time I think that sardines for breakfast is a good idea, I’m wrong. Still, it beats vegemite. Why do you ask? Did you hear vicious rumors about me? Please say yes!”
“I heard something, so Tom was going to check on you, but he might still be in jail.”
“Oooh. The plot thickens. Who is Tom, and what did he do to get thrown in jail? Was it public indecency? How racy to go around with another man in public! Do you want your husband to find out? What would he do?”
I shook my head. I really needed to take a salt soak before the nutmeg brought the zombies. “You know Tom, from the movie theater. He didn’t stop by?”
She was quiet for a moment, almost like I’d thrown her off. “Tom from the movie theater? You’re having an affair with him? That is hot. I always thought he had a certain allure, like a butler, you know, scheming, clever, and always knowing exactly what you want to be brought in bed, if you know what I mean.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I was not having an affair with Tom, then closed it instead. What would I say, ‘No our relationship is strictly platonic. We slay zombies together, or rather, I’m the bait, and he’s the bomb.’
“It’s not serious,” I finally said. I really had to soak. “I’m glad you’re okay. Try to stay indoors after dark, and if Tom does come by, tell him to call me. I’ll have my burner phone on me.”
“Sure thing, Lucky. Lucky’s getting lucky,” she laughed and then hung up the phone.
I suppose it was a lucky thing that I’d been able to escape out of the grasp of a monster. Twice. Three times if you count the first attack. Usually three strikes and you were out. How long could my luck possibly last?
I shrugged and ran the water in the tub. Life was an uncertain thing, but that was what made it interesting.
It was particularly interesting when I got home because my husband was repainting the hall. He did it by dipping a golf ball into a can of black paint and then hitting the ball as hard as he could, and seeing how many walls it could hit. There was a lot of shattered glass scattered on the beautiful oriental rug.
He dipped a ball into the can, set it on the tee he had somehow embedded into the stone floor and then hit it. It hit the mirror above the fireplace, which shattered, then a pillar to his right, then ricocheted off that and hit my pumpkin spice chai, exploding it all over everything, including me.
I gasped as the hot drink soaked through my clothes.
He turned his head and frowned at me. “I suppose it’s a good thing that you didn’t get a cat.”
I stared back at him. “You could have killed me! What are you doing?”
He hefted the golf club and studied it before he shrugged and leaned it over his shoulder. “I’m getting out my sexual frustration. I’m not sure it’s very effective, because the moment I see you, I want nothing other than to hold you. Even covered in pumpkin spice chai, you’re breathtaking.”
“Oh.” I looked down at myself then frowned back at him. “No, really. What’s wrong? It’s not like you to be intentionally destructive.”
“No? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s that I lost my job, but it’s hard to be objective when your wife is gone all night looking for a cat, and comes back wearing completely different clothing. Are you having an affair? If you are, I’d appreciate you being more subtle about it, so it’s easier for me to turn a blind eye.”
“I’m not… You lost your job? What happened?” I went to him, forgetting about the mess, about zombies, because he was a driven man who wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do without structure and discipline. We both couldn’t lounge around in pajamas all day. I’d have to get a real job, and of course we’d have to downsize, so I’d have to call the people to come and replace the window he shattered, because even if it was bulletproof, it wasn’t golf-ball proof. I’d take care of it while he figured out what he needed.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, taking his hand before I realized what I was doing. He gripped me back, his palm beating against mine. I shouldn’t touch him, but I had to. There were bigger things at stake than zombie infections. He could get seriously depressed, maybe even suicidal.
“Your hand always fits so well in mine,” he said, studying our hands together, raising them higher so he could get a closer look. “We should spend more time holding hands.”
“I…” I squeezed my eyes closed. What could I say? This was not the time to push him away.
He relaxed his grip and stepped away before I could. It hurt. It felt like rejection in spite of everything. “Maybe after you’ve forgiven me for stealing away your children. I’ll see you later. I’m going to the golf course. Maybe I’ll find a job there.”
“Right. It’s good to socialize and make connections.”
“As a caddy. Making money takes so much time. I’ve spent so much time away from you when we could have been together. I’ve been learning so many lessons lately. I would kiss you goodbye, but you’re conflicted, so I’ll just go.” He walked out, leaving me covered in the now cold pumpkin spice chai in the middle of the mess.
I stood there for a few more seconds before I shrugged off my mixed-up emotions and got to work. If he didn’t have his job, we couldn’t have the house. Selling it should give us a few years to live off the profits while I figured out jobs. Maybe I’d go to college. I’d taken a few classes before I got pregnant with Lock. It had been such a difficult pregnancy.
