“I will divide the property, but I will not consent to giving up my children. Who would ask that? That’s wrong. Boys need their fathers. Look at the terrorists. Look at the prison system. The prisons are filled with boys without male role models,” I say. It’s true, we all know it.
“Sometimes no role model is better than a terrible one. It may have taken me too long to see you for what you are, but they’re still young enough to be saved. You haven’t revealed yourself to them, you haven’t used them or hurt them, and for that I’m very grateful. You should know, if you had touched them, hurt them, I would have left you. But you know that already, don’t you? That’s why you haven’t laid a hand on them, I suppose. They’ve been sheltered from your life outside of our home, from the truth of who their father really is.
“I’ve researched this, Paul. They don’t have to end up like you, with your temper and other issues. They won’t, not if I can help it. My dad will be a much better role model for them, among others.”
Did Mia just look at Buck? I’m going to kill him.
For some reason Mia is still talking. She adds, “And they’re going to be fine. They will both become good men, despite you.” My wife crosses her arms in front of her chest and smiles.
How did I not see a browsing history of these types of things? I wonder. She must have deleted her history. She must have hidden her reference books. She must have become like me. I think back, trying to remember if she was acting differently around me recently. She wasn’t jumpy or anything at the dinner table, she didn’t look at me with suspicious eyes. But she had been happier lately, despite her illness, her weight loss. I just thought it was acceptance. Turns out, it was awakening. I missed the signs. I squeeze my hands into fists. She’s droning on again.
Mia says, “They’ll get counseling, financial security from my parents, until I get on my feet again. It’s all worked out.”
Ah, yes. Her parents. There better be a big payout in those papers for me. Two children. Boys. White. Smart. Blue eyes. They are worth a lot these days. We’re almost a minority.
“So, what are you proposing to pay me, you and your dear father, Donald, to steal my children, to buy my sons, from me?” I ask. This is a game. I enjoy playing games. I enjoy the look my wife gives me as we discuss our children like property. She looks ill, suddenly. All the color has drained from her face.
“You are a sick bastard,” Buck says. If I punched him quickly, in the temple, I could stun him long enough to reach for Mia. It’s an intriguing and exciting thought.
I see the candle drip wax onto the coffee table. I’d like to push the candle over, start a fire and torch this cottage. It would go fast, with the old wood, all the wood floors, shingled roof. Poof. All gone. It’s tragic that Buck and Mia perish in the fire. But sometimes, cheaters get what they deserve.
“I understand who you are, Paul. The sad thing is, people like you don’t change, even with intense counseling. Somehow, you walk around in the world among us, hidden, manipulating others, hurting others. Even the people you claim to love. I know you don’t feel love, you couldn’t and do what you do.” Mia stops, bites her lip. She shakes her head slowly. She looks at me with pity, her face drawn. I won’t stand for this.
Mia holds her hand up, pointing her finger at me. “I know you’re trying to poison me, that you have been poisoning me. I opened the glove box to freak you out during the drive up today.” She pauses, then tilts her head. “It worked, didn’t it?”
12:35 a.m.
27
The room is silent, as if none of us were breathing. I stare at my wife, incredulous. My mouth has dropped open and I feel the cool air of the room hitting the back of my throat. As for it working, if she is referring to the poison I may or may not have given her, clearly it didn’t. Instead of just watching her waste away, I should have killed her in one big dose. A miscalculation, for sure.
At first, I rather enjoyed the disintegration of my wife, the slow disappearance as she wasted away despite her “clean” diet, healthy lifestyle. Ironic, isn’t it. And, of course, I picked this path because small doses are easier to hide. I never had to worry, though. All of the fancy doctors she consulted, regular and hippie, never did the special urine test for this particular poison. It’s the only way to detect arsenic poisoning and even then, it must be within three days of the dose.
I was finished with Mia, yes, but I didn’t want an abrupt “end.” Gretchen and I had grown so close and, well, the wife felt like the proverbial ball and chain. At the same time, I know that a sudden death is so hard on children. Mommy slipping away slowly is much better on them. The long goodbye, so to speak. I was thinking of the boys, as always. I never had to worry, there was a firm timeline to my plan. Sure it shifted, I’ll admit. But this weekend, this final time together, well, it was precipitated by my need for resources. My dwindling supplies and, of course, my love for my boys. They deserve the finest in life. Their inheritance will assure it. It had to end tonight. But still, I had wanted a romantic final day with my wife, my little Mia. She deserved it, she did. Until this, the best day ever, turned into something else, turned into this.
Until Buck. The bastard. They’re both staring at me. Mia’s mouth is open a bit like she’s trying to speak, trying to think of something to say. But now I have the floor. She asked me a question.
“You never freak me out, Mia, to use your childish phrase. Look at you, sniveling, scrawny, unkempt with mascara streaks down your face. How could you ever think you have any power over me?” I ask.
“Time to sign the papers, Paul,” Buck says. He reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the pen. Shiny and silver, it seems expensive. I wonder who it belongs to. Maybe Mia’s father, maybe Buck. If I sign, I will take it with me, as a reminder of this moment, of the inferno inside me. And of the revenge I’ll extract. It will be a touchstone for revenge.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“I’ll press charges. Attempted murder,” Mia says. “We have the proof. Photos of you with the envelope, photos of you pouring the powder into my brandy.”
I think of the kitchen window over the sink. It doesn’t have curtains or a shade. I kick myself for my complacency, for my lack of caution. I never imagined someone could follow me successfully, not without my spotting a tail. Now I realize there was someone watching us at the restaurant, as well. It was probably Buck. That’s who Mia was smiling to through the window. Of course.
“You ended up lacing your wife’s brandy with sugar, sport,” Buck says. He is smiling at me. As if he has won. He has not. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know anything.