The Doctor's Wife

by Elizabeth Brundage

  Annie nodded, her heart twisting.

  “I can’t leave her, Annie.”

  “I never expected you to.” The comment made her angry. It wasn’t that she wanted him to. She didn’t know what she wanted. She had gotten herself into a situation and now she did not know how to get out of it. Walk out, a voice told her. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  “You said it yourself. We would never work out together.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “This was a mistake. Admit it. Admit that you regret it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “It changed you, I can see that. You’re a different woman. We’ve both changed.”

  “Not for the better.”

  “I know you don’t really believe that.”

  “I don’t love you,” she lied.

  “Love has nothing to do with it. It never does.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but it made her stomach tight. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here with you.” I hate you now.

  Then he kissed her hard, angrily, and she kissed him back with equal vigor, and they fell back on the bed and he climbed on top of her. She wanted to feel his weight on her, even though it made her insides squeal, even though it made her guilt fester. But as she lay beneath him his eyes seemed distant, his movements mechanical. “Let me up!” She shoved him hard, but he would not be deterred, and his hands worked swiftly, opening her blouse, snapping off her bra, and she hit him, she slapped him all about the face and chest, and she cursed him, and he cursed her back with his spit flying, and he grappled to contain her, capturing her wrists and holding her still until she looked at him and he looked at her and their eyes did not waver. “Let me up! I have to go.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  It was almost dark when she finally left the motel room. Driving out of the lot, she noticed a red pickup truck in the parking lot. There was a man sitting in it, wearing mirrored sunglasses, and just as she turned the corner she saw him raise the long lens of a camera and take aim.

  Halfway home, she stopped at a gas station, overcome with a spell of nausea. She retreated into the bathroom to be sick. What a time to get the stomach flu, she thought. But afterward she joined the dinner crowd at the fast-food restaurant next door. With the abandon of a teenager, she ordered a cheeseburger, French fries, and a strawberry shake and consumed the entire meal in less than five minutes. When she was finished, she sat in the plastic chair, watching the people come and go through the glass double doors. Queasy again, she walked out to the parking lot for some air. A minivan pulled into the spot next to hers and a man and his pregnant wife got out. Annie had to wait for the woman, who was so big she needed to open the door all the way. Drawn to the woman’s belly, Annie suddenly realized what was wrong with her. It wasn’t the stomach flu after all.

  57

  WHEN SIMON GOT HOME that afternoon, wearing the scent of his angry lover, he found Lydia waiting for him in the kitchen, a glass of Scotch before her on the table. The room was dark, she hadn’t bothered to turn on a light, and he could see she’d been crying. The wind had picked up and he could hear her chimes wrangling on the porch. “I know I haven’t been much of a wife,” she said.

  He waited.

  “I know you’ve never really loved me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She finished her drink. “I know about Annie Knowles. I’ve known for a while.”

  Methodically, he went to the cupboard and brought down her pills and filled a glass with water. He set the pills and the glass down before her. “You’re delusional,” he said. “You’d better take your medication.”

  “You’re going to be sorry, Simon,” she said. “You’re going to be very, very sorry.”

  He walked out and was not the least bit surprised when she threw the pills at his back and they fell out, like rain, all over the floor.

  PART FIVE

  Prayers

  58

  THE BOYS WERE HAVING more fun than the girls. Now, why was that? Lydia loved watching the boys as they ran across the muddy field, leaping over puddles, grabbing hold of one another with their heads thrown back in the sun. She loved the boys. She loved watching the boys. But the girls just stood around in circles. They stood around, staring glumly at the dirt, secret thoughts tingling with judgment. She felt a memory of her own school days creeping in, the schoolyard full of callous girls in faded uniforms, scheming hateful tricks to play on her. Lydia squeezed her brain shut and concentrated on little Rosie Knowles, skipping around the puddle with her little friend. Ring around a rosie, pocket full of posy. The child resembled her mother, Lydia noticed, with her gangly legs and wild hair. Absently, she wondered what it was like being Annie and having the little girl for a daughter.

  The school bell rang and the children began running into the building. The two teacher’s aides who covered recess had moved to the doorway and were waving the children inside. Lydia started down the grassy hill toward the playground. She only had a minute or two before the aide would notice that Rosie had not come in with the group. Lydia felt a smile filling up her mouth like too much chocolate. She took the picture of the Knowles’ golden retriever out of her pocket and held it up. “Hey, Rosie,” she called out.

  Rosie stopped and looked at her, confused, but then she saw the picture of her dog and smiled and ran over to her. “Did you find Molly?”

  “Yup. Want to see?”

  Rosie glanced around uncertainly.

  “She’s right up the hill. See that car over there?” Lydia pointed to the white Taurus she had rented for the occasion. It was parked at the curb. “Let’s don’t stand around talking about it. Don’t you want to see her?”

  The little girl nodded. Lydia took her hand and led her up the hill to the car. The little hand in her own was small and perfect.

  “I don’t see her,” Rosie cried.

  “She’s hiding. Get in the car.”

  “Why?” She started to cry.

  “Just get in, Rosie. Just do what I tell you.”

  The child studied her face.

  “Don’t you want an ice cream?”

  “Okay.”

  Lydia helped the child into the car and strapped on her seat belt. The key turned and the engine started. Lydia tried not to look at the little girl, who seemed so small all of a sudden. She was whimpering a little, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry.”

  Fists rubbing her eyes. “You said you had my dog.”

  “I do. Not in the car, you misunderstood me. Don’t worry, she’s safe.” Lydia sniffed. “Just sit back and be quiet and try not to make me mad.”

  The pills she’d taken before this little excursion were making her nose run. Rosie Knowles was crying. It made Lydia think of a sick pig. “Stop your crying!” she shouted. “Stop or I don’t know what I’ll do next.”

  Rosie Knowles sucked the air, she squealed like a little dying pig.

  The Dairy Mart was down Holby Road. Reverend Tim had taken her there once. Lydia pulled into a parking spot on the side. “What kind do you want?”

  “Kind of what?”

  “What flavor?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be impolite. I want to buy you an ice cream. You say, ‘Yes, thank you, I’d like strawberry, please.’”

  “I don’t like strawberry.”

  Lydia took a deep breath. Spoiled brat. “What do you like?”

  “Chocolate.”

  “Stay here, or you won’t get your dog.”

  Lydia got out. She stuck her hand through the handle of her pocketbook and shoved the purse up her arm. She flipped her hair back behind her ear. It was something she’d seen Annie do in class. She flipped back her hair and went up to the counter, where a pimply-faced boy scooped the ice cream. Lydia ordered a chocolate cone and paid the boy. “Excuse me, ma’am, but there’s something wrong with your nose.”

  “
What?”

  “It’s bleeding.”

  Connecting the dots of his pimples she said, “What did you say to me?”

  “Your nose, ma’am.” He handed her a tissue.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, the blood dripping onto her blouse, the tissue soaked with blood. She hurried back to the car. “Here you go.”

  Rosie’s eyes were red. She took the cone with a face that said she didn’t want it.

  “You eat that cone, miss,” Lydia said.

  Rosie started eating it and Lydia slipped back behind the wheel but didn’t start the car. She stared ahead out the windshield at a garbage can overflowing with trash. Why hadn’t somebody emptied it, she wondered.

  “Can we go now?” Rosie squeaked.

  “I just have one thing to do,” she told her. “With this red marker. See? Then we can go. Do you like tattoos?”

  Rosie shrugged.

  “I want to give you a tattoo. It’s just something I want to do. Okay?”

  “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll see.”

  “What kind of tattoo?”

  “A present for Jesus.”

  “Okay.” She reached out her hand.

  “Not there. On your tummy.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a good place to do it. That’s where Jesus wants it.”

  The little girl thought for a moment. “How do you know?”

  “Because I work for Him. He’s the one I answer to. Now just lift up your shirt and we can do this and then I’ll take you back.”

  Rosie lifted up her shirt. Lydia took her red Sharpie and drew a red cross. She’d learned how to draw a three-dimensional cross in eighth grade, Sister Louise had taught her, and she did it now on the child’s stomach, and it came out good. Big and red. It took a few minutes to color it in. “There,” she said, and capped the pen.

  “I want to go now.”

  “Be quiet and eat your ice cream.”

  Lydia started the car and drove back to the school. She was right on schedule. School would be over in fifteen minutes. Someone would find the child and scold her for hiding instead of returning to her class like she was supposed to. We’ve been looking all over for you! When Lydia had been in school, she’d had Sister Eleanor to contend with, who used to lock her in the closet with the spiders.

  She pulled up to the curb near the playground. “Run along now,” she said.

  “What about my dog?”

  “I lied to you. I don’t have your stupid dog.”

  Rosie wiped her eyes again.

  “Don’t you tell anybody about this. Or I’ll come back and get you. And I’ll make you eat worms.”

  The child’s eyes went dull with fear. “You’re not very nice,” she muttered and scrambled out of the car and ran down the hill back into the school.

  Lydia reached across the seat and closed the door. Then she pulled away fast, her tires screaming like the small voice inside her heart.

  59

  SNOW FELL from the heavens that afternoon. It was a fluke, the weather-man said, so early in the season. There would be sixteen inches by noon tomorrow.

  The bell rang inside the school. A moment later the doors opened and the children spilled out, rejoicing in the snow, twirling through the thick flakes with their heads thrown back and their mouths open wide. Even Henry looked happy, tossing fluffy snowballs into the air. But when Rosie came toward the car, Annie saw that something was not right. “Hi, Rosie. Look at the snow! Isn’t it beautiful!”

  Rosie just stood there.

  Henry, a devoted snowboarder, pressed his hands together in mock prayer. “Please, God, give us snow! Lots and lots and lots of it!”

  “Rosie, come on, get in, sweetie.”

  Rosie hesitated. “What’s your problem, Rosie?” Henry grabbed her coat sleeve and pulled her into the car. Rosie twisted away from him and stared out the window.

  “Rosie, what’s wrong, honey?” Annie asked, but Rosie didn’t answer. “Had a hard day?” Annie studied her daughter in her rearview mirror. Her hair was a little mussed and there was some chocolate in the corners of her mouth that made her look as if she were frowning. “Rosie, are you sad?” she asked.

  “Leave me alone!”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they got home Rosie ran up to her room and closed her door. Annie and Henry exchanged a look. “I’ll go,” Henry volunteered.

  “All right.”

  Annie waited at the foot of the stairs while Henry went up and quietly entered Rosie’s room. Moments later he called for Annie. Worried, she went upstairs and opened the door, only to encounter her tearful little girl holding up her shirt and baring her naked midriff, where a large red cross had been drawn.

  “Who did that to you, Rosie?”

  “Someone.”

  “A man? A woman?”

  “A lady at school.”

  Suddenly weary, Annie sank to her knees. She opened her arms to Rosie and Rosie came over and crawled inside. “Tell me, honey. Tell Mommy what happened.”

  “She said she had Molly. She took me in her car and got me ice cream.”

  This was no time to admonish Rosie for getting into a stranger’s car. “Have you ever seen her before?” she asked gently. Rosie shook her head. Annie swallowed her tears; she did not want to cry in front of Rosie. She would do it later, in the privacy of her room.

  “What kind of car was it?” Henry asked.

  “White. I got to sit in front.” She paused for a moment, her eyes filling with tears. “She didn’t have Molly. She said she did. She lied.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Black hair. Her nose was bleeding.” Annie imagined some demonic creature. She waited for Rosie to give her more description, but the child climbed back onto her bed and curled up, hugging the doll she had saved from the mailbox. They had something in common now, after all, Annie thought.

  “I’m going to call the police. Henry, stay with Rosie.”

  Henry sat down on the end of Rosie’s bed and began to read to her from one of her books. Annie went into her bedroom and made several phone calls. First, she called the school and explained what had happened. The principal questioned one of the teacher’s aides who’d been on duty at the time. The woman claimed that Rosie was with the group the entire time. Annie became so incensed that she hung up on the man and called the police. The female officer on the other end listened to her story. “I’ll send somebody out there to write up a report. Of course with this weather coming, it may take a while.”

  “Please, tell them to hurry.”

  “They’ll be there just as soon as they can.”

  Annie hung up and paged Michael and when he called back she told him what had happened. For a moment he said nothing. “Michael?” She could only hear his breathing, erratic gasps of rage. He told her he would be home within the hour and hung up.