Today he’s decided that there is nothing wrong with getting drunk and thinking about it. Getting drunk first helped warm the waters. It’s been a long, long time since he’s allowed himself such an indulgence. It feels good. It feels almost as good as a full-blown brain pop.
He is so deep into his own head he doesn’t hear her until her keys hit the kitchen counter. Jumping up from the La-Z-Boy, he trips getting to his feet and manages to kick a crushed can of beer across the carpet and onto the linoleum, where it skitters to a halt at her feet.
The first thing he notices are the cans. How had he managed to drink so much? He has no recollection of drinking that much, but the cans litter the floor like confetti.
The second thing he notices is her expression. Her face has gone wrong again, but wrong in a different way. There is hardness there. He’s never seen hardness in her, but it’s there now, as unmistakable as it is enraging. There’s something else in her too. Sorrow. Maybe weakness.
“I can smell it,” she cries. It’s the sound of a wounded animal.
For a second he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but then he realizes it’s the beer. She can smell the beer. There is accusation in that cry, the accusation that he is making her suffer. But he is already suffering, more than she will ever know. Rage sparks down the length of his nerves like a string of Black Cat firecrackers on the Fourth of July.
He watches as her sadness is overtaken by anger. She shakes her head; her mouth becomes a hard line of disapproval. Then she gives almost a laugh of relief. “Well, at least now I know for sure I made the right choice.”
“Choice?” Confusion keeps the rage at bay.
“I need you to move out. I can’t have this, Jerry. I can’t have this!” She is close to screaming.
He’s proud of himself for keeping control as he says, “You can’t tell me to move out. I am the head of this family.” He is giving her the facts, the way a man should.
“There is no family.”
Something inside him snaps, but in a different way than he’s ever felt before. This isn’t rage. This is something else. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there is no family. I told you it wasn’t good news. It wasn’t good news, but you wouldn’t listen. With you losing your job, bringing a baby into the world just wasn’t something I could do. And you’ve been weird, Jerry. Ever since you lost your job, something has been wrong.” She swallows, calms herself. “And now I need you to move out.”
The something inside him deepens, sinks down to his heart, to his spine.
She has betrayed him. He had no idea betrayal could be this powerful, this overwhelming. But it is taking him down, like a poison that breaks down every cell in the body simultaneously. He is disintegrating before his own eyes. The worst of it might be how she has betrayed herself. She is a good woman. He knows she is a good woman, a kind, sweet, loyal, obedient woman. Why would she do something so against her own nature? Why would she destroy their family? Destroy him?
Watching him dissolve before her, the woman softens.
“Jerry, I still love you. I will always love you. But I can’t be with a man who would bring this into the house.” She points at the beer, as though it might jump up and attack her. “I have to protect my sobriety.” In a still softer voice she adds, “You were the one who taught me that.”
The heartbreak has put him into stasis. He can’t move. He can’t talk.
“I hope you protect your own sobriety, if you haven’t ruined it already.” She walks forward, as if to touch him, but he manages to raise a hand. She stops. “Please, Jerry, I can tell this is hitting you hard. Please don’t ruin years of staying clean because of this. Will you promise me you’ll stay sober?”
Dumbly he nods.
“Thank you.”
He’s willing to make that promise, because what he has to do right now has nothing to do with staying clean. She has destroyed him, their child, herself. This is out of his hands. This is something else altogether.
Five days without any real sleep. The look of terror in her eyes right before it happened is worse than the tape of the boss man firing him. It’s all he can see. The clock clicks to noon, but he doesn’t get up out of bed. He’s not being lazy; he stays there because this is the best place to think. The man regrets the promise he made. There is one person to blame for all of this, and she must be dealt with. Only a promise to a dead woman stands in the way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT’S MY LAST CHECK ON the Wolfman before we head for the town. Peeking around the corner, I see he hasn’t moved an inch.
Good. I have time to think.