Ghost Light

by Hautala, Rick

  Where’s Daddy? How come Daddy’s not home for supper?

  Debbie guessed Alex had been out to the Eagle’s Nest, the bar at the airport, either that or else one of the strip joints in downtown Omaha. It was well after midnight now, and she knew with dread certainty that he would burst into the house, stewed to the gills. God, most nights he was lucky to make it home without getting stopped by a cop or killed in an accident.

  No, wait a minute, that wasn’t luck!

  She would have been lucky if one of these nights he wrapped his car around a telephone pole. But she was tired of waiting for something like that, some divine intervention to get her out of her own, private hell. After months of agonizing over it, of talking to her sister and her minister, she had made up her mind. Now, if only she had the courage to follow through. But, like so many times before, she was afraid that when it came right down to saying the words I’m leaving you and I’m taking the kids, she would chicken out.

  Lord knows, in the past he’d beat her for saying much less!

  Sitting on the edge of her chair at the kitchen table, she focused on the open kitchen window, waiting to see his shadow slide across the screen as he made his way up the steps to the side door. She regretted that she hadn’t gone up to bed and at least faked being asleep, but she knew from painful experience that he would come upstairs and wake her up as soon as he didn’t find her downstairs. No, facing him here in the kitchen was best. At least the kids might not wake up once they started in with the yelling.

  And, oh, yes—there would be yelling tonight!

  Debbie folded her arms across her chest, heaved a deep sigh, and rubbed her biceps in an attempt to get rid of the spray of goose bumps that had covered her arms in spite of the pressing heat of the June night. No breeze came in through the open window; nothing to stir the air. That was early summer in Nebraska, for you. The curtains hung there, damp and limp from the humidity. From outside came the high, whining buzz of the cicadas, and below that, like the clopping of an axe, Debbie heard the erratic scuff of Alex’s shoes as he staggered up the concrete walkway.

  Why does it have to be this way? she wondered as she twined her fingers together in her lap. Why in the name of Christ does it have to be this way?

  Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill, but she sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, fighting hard for composure. She thought back on what her minister had told her, that she was a vessel of God, and that she had an obligation to stop the suffering of one of God’s beautiful creatures.

  Don’t cry! Just don’t cry! The time for crying is long past! she told herself. She knew, if he saw her sitting here, bawling her eyes out, he might not even give her a chance to say what she had to say before he started in on her.

  Debbie sniffed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shook her head tightly.

  Christ, as if he needed an excuse to start in on her. She could be wearing the wrong color nightgown or the dishes for supper, which he hadn’t come home for, would still be in the sink, and that would be enough to set him off. She had learned over the last eleven years of marriage to this man that nothing—absolutely nothing she did would please him. And that’s why—tonight she had decided that she had to tell Alex that she was leaving him. She’d made up her mind. Upstairs, she had a suitcase packed for her and one for each of the kids, and she was going to spend a few days or weeks at her sister’s house until she figured out what she was going to do, but this was it. She was leaving! She had to if she wanted to hang onto whatever shreds of sanity and self-respect she still had. She had to if she wanted to spare Billy and Krissy any more of the agony of living in the same house with a man as violent as Alex.

  She jumped when she saw the dark smear of his shadow shift across the screen. His foot stomped heavily on the first step, sounding like a gunshot in the night. Debbie jerked forward and almost stood up, but then eased back into the chair.

  No, she told herself. Don’t go to the door to meet him. Don’t even stand up. Stay cool and calm, as detached as you can be, so you won’t be an easy target. Sit here and as rationally and as quietly as you can, say what you have to say. Don’t give him a chance to react, much less overreact. And maybe, if you’re lucky, if there truly is a God who watches over widows, orphans, and maybe even abused wives, maybe he’s so damned drunk he’ll pass out before he can beat the living shit out of you.

  Maybe…

  Just maybe…

  2

  “What the fuck’re you lookin’ at?”

  Alex pulled the screen door open and braced it by leaning against it as he gripped both sides of the door jamb and glared into the house. The overhead kitchen light was much too bright. It stung his eyes, making them water. The whining sounds of the cicadas rose higher and higher, spiraling around him like the whine of those goddamned jet engines he worked on at the airport five fucking days a week. He couldn’t see Debbie’s face clearly; it was nothing more than a watery blur, looming at him from the glaring yellow room, but damned if it didn’t look like she was smiling at him.

  Christ, the bitch was laughing at him!

  “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

  “…nothing…” came the reply, but he could barely hear her voice over the buzzing cicada sounds and the high-pitched ringing inside his head. For several seconds, he thought that he might still be staring up into the spotlight, and that the woman he was looking at wasn’t his wife at all, but one of the dancers who would soon begin to gyrate to the heavy beat of the music and start taking off her clothes.

  Breathing deeply and shaking his shoulders, Alex took a step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. When it hit with a bang, he noticed Debbie’s reaction: she jerked back quickly as if he had slapped her. And that—goddamnit!—was exactly what he was going to do if the bitch didn’t stop sitting there, smiling at him… laughing at him! The overhead light shadowed her eyes, and she looked like a raccoon—like a big-assed, fucking crazy, grinning raccoon.

  “You got supper ready for me?” he asked.

  He took a few lurching steps into the house toward the refrigerator, then tripped. He had to grab onto the door handle to keep from falling. The tile pattern on the floor spun around like the colored lights of a merry-go-round.

  “I—there might be a few slices of left-over pizza,” she said. Her hand lifted and, trembling, pointed at the refrigerator.

  “Pizza? Cold pizza? You expect me to eat fucking cold pizza?”

  “I can put it in the microwave for you,” she said mildly, but he noticed that she made no motion to stand up. She just sat there, staring at him with that dumb-ass smile plastered across her face.

  I’ll take care of that smile, he thought. I’ll wipe the goddamned floor with it if you don’t cut it out!

  He moved toward her but tripped again on his own feet and banged into the table. Debbie let out a thin squeal and leaned back, but not fast enough to avoid his hand as he swung it around at her. The palm caught her squarely on the side of the face with a loud crack, and her head snapped back.

  “Then get it for me!” he shouted, fumbling to pull out a chair. He sat down heavily and let loose a rumbling burp. “And get me a fuckin’ beer while you’re at it!”

  He was satisfied by the expression of utter surprise in her eyes as she clamped both hands over her face and stared at him, trembling. He felt even better when she took her hand away and stood up, and he saw the wide, red welt blossoming like a flower on her cheek.

  “That’ll teach you to just sit there like a fuckin’ stooge when I’m hungry.”

  He cupped his face in his hands as he leaned forward onto the table. One elbow slipped off the edge, but he caught himself before he banged his head on the table.

  “So what’d you do today?” he asked, watching like a hungry hawk as his wife took the cold pizza from the refrigerator, quietly spread three slices on a paper plate, covered them with a paper towel, and slipped them into the microwave oven. The bee
p-beeps the oven made as she set the timer felt like thin spikes were being driven into his ears. He glared at her, clenching his fists tightly.

  “What’s with you tonight? Cat got your tongue? I asked you what the fuck you did today? You go shopping, or out to eat with your numb-nuts sister, or what?”

  Debbie turned and looked at him, but she remained silent. Was that fucking irritating grin still on her face? Goddamn he was going to have to teach her a lesson if she kept that shit up!

  “Noth—nothing,” Debbie finally replied with a quick shake of her head. She leaned back against the counter as though she needed it for support.

  “Well I’d say you’re acting pretty damned peculiar,” Alex snarled. “What’d you do, total the car or something? Or did you blow the rest of this week’s grocery money on a fucking dress or something?”

  “Well, I did do a little shopping,” she said. Her voice trembled terribly and was still almost too low for him to hear. “I—I had to get Billy some new sneakers.”

  “Oh, yeah—and I suppose you had to buy him some of them fuckin’ designer sneakers, right? Nikes or Reeboks, right? Them kind that cost like a hundred dollars.”

  “No. Actually, I got a pretty good deal at—”

  She stopped talking when the sudden high-pitched alarm sounded from the microwave. Alex plugged his ears until the sound stopped, then sat back, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, and watched her with slitted eyes as she slid the plate across the table to him. Was it his imagination, or was she still shying away from him, cringing, like she expected him to hit her again? Christ, didn’t she realize he only hit her when she irritated the shit out of him, when she made him do it?

  He frowned as he looked down at the pizza in front of him. The cheese had turned into a thin, black crust, and watery tomato sauce ran onto the plate, threatening to soak through within seconds. Steam curled up like thin fog. The burned tomato smell almost made him gag.

  “This is the best you can do?”

  Debbie shrugged and went back to leaning against the counter. “I… had no idea when you’d be home.”

  “You tryin’ to scald me or what?” Alex said, prodding the pizza with his forefinger. “And by the way, I thought I asked you to get me a beer, too.”

  Debbie stayed where she was for a moment. Alex watched as her lips moved back and forth. She looked like she was trying like hell to say something, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “Well… I’m waiting…”

  “Alex,” she said at last, after clearing her throat. “I think we… we have to have a talk.”

  “Oh, yeah? A talk? ’Bout what? Tell me the truth. You didn’t fuck up the car or anything, did you?”

  Debbie was chewing on her lower lip as she shook her head in denial.

  “Not about the car,” she said, barely a whisper. “About us.”

  Alex licked his forefinger clean as he glared up at her. The light in the room was still much too bright for him. He had to squint to see her… to see if she was still laughing at him.

  “And what do you want to say about us?” he asked, letting the words slur to show just how little he cared.

  Debbie stood there, wringing her hands. Her eyes kept shifting around the room, from him to the door to the window and then back to him.

  “I—uh, I don’t know quite how to put this,” she said, “but over the last few weeks, you know, I’ve been thinking… a lot, and I … I don’t like what’s happening between you and me, and I—”

  “Don’t like what?” Alex shouted, so loud it hurt his throat. He was pleased to see her cringe away from him. She was getting the message. She knew who the luck was in charge around here!

  “I… I don’t like how you’ve been acting,” she said. “How you’re never around and how you’re—”

  “Never around?” he shouted. He clenched his fist and brought it down hard onto the table. “Never around! You mean I’m never around ’cause I’m out at the fucking airport ten or twelve fucking hours a day, bustin’ my goddamned knuckles, workin’ on that machinery? Is that why I’m never around?”

  Debbie shrugged and obviously wanted to say more, but she remained silent.

  “I mean, Christ on a cross! I don’t see you out there looking for a job.”

  Debbie looked down at the floor, twisting her hands together. “I thought we agreed that I wouldn’t look for work, not until Krissy was in school full time.”

  “Oh, yeah—sure! Jesus Christ!” He pushed his plate of pizza angrily away from him so fast it shot off the edge of the table and landed face down on the floor, not far from Debbie’s feet. Slouching back in his chair, Alex eyed her angrily, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

  “So that’s the level of appreciation I get for what I do for you, huh? You wait up ’till after fuckin’ midnight just so you can start bitchin’ at me how I’m ‘never around.’ What is it? You begrudge me the little time off I get to spend with my friends? Is that it?”

  Debbie shook her head tightly. “No,” she said, no more than a whimper. “But I—”

  “But you nothing!” he said in a sing-song, pouty voice. Then he pounded the table again, even harder. “Christ, you get to fly around all goddamned day, doing whatever the hell you want, pissing away my hard-earned money. I don’t see where my going out for a few beers after work is asking all that much. Do you? ’Never around!’ Jesus Christ! You’re fuckin’ lucky I bother to come home at all, considering the bullshit I have to put up with from you!”

  “Come on, Alex. Keep your voice down. You might wake up the kids.”

  “Yeah—? Well, who gives a fuck about the kids! Fuck you and the kids! I tell you, I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of the way you lay this bullshit on me. ‘Never around!’Christ, I’ve had it! Right up to here! “He made a quick cutting motion with his hand as if he were trying to slice his own throat. “I’ve fuckin’ had it!”

  “Well then maybe I’ll do you a favor, and you won’t have to put up with me anymore,” Debbie said. The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth so fast Alex wasn’t exactly sure he’d heard her correctly. He sucked in a breath between his teeth and held it a moment, scowling at her.

  “What’d you say?”

  “I said, maybe you won’t have to put up with my shit anymore. Maybe I’m just as fed up with all of this as you are!” She swallowed noisily before adding, “Maybe I want out just as much as you do!”

  “What’re you sayin’?”

  Alex bobbed his head like a chicken and shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightening at his sides. Blood rose to his face in a hot rush.

  “What the fuck are you saying?”

  Debbie squared her shoulders, but Alex thought it looked like she was shivering. And he saw—yes, goddamnit!—she was still smiling at him, smirking, like she had some huge, private joke. And in her eyes, he could see that she was laughing at him, laughing her mother-fucking ass off at him! Hell, she might look a little bit scared of him, but he’d just have to show her. He’d make damned sure she was scared of him! He leapt to his feet, kicking the chair back so it fell behind him as he glared at her, fuming with rage. His fists bobbed at his sides as if he were hefting bricks, testing their weight.

  “Are you trying to tell me you want to leave?”

  Debbie reached up and gingerly touched the red welt on the side of her face where he had slapped her. She nodded.

  Alex stepped around the table moving slowly toward her, like a jaguar, stalking his prey. His wrists and forearms ached with a low, burning heat as he squeezed his fists tightly. He gritted his teeth, grinding them back and forth, bottling up the bellow of rage that was building up inside him.

  “Do you think…” It took a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady. “Do you actually think that after all the years of putting up with your shit, that I’d let you walk out of here like—like that?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, inches from her chin. She cowered away from him, her back arching over the kitchen
sink. Her lower lip was trembling, and her eyes, round and glistening, reflected back two distorted images of himself as he loomed close to her face.

  “Is that what you really think?” he hissed, smothering the last word with twisted laughter. “You really think you can just walk out on me and stick me with two kids to raise and an ass-high pile of bills? Your fuckin’ bills? Huh? Is that it?”

  Debbie whimpered and shook her head, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her breathing was as fast as a frightened rabbit’s, hissing between her teeth.

  Alex reached out and, almost gently, cupped the back of her head with one hand. Then he twined his lingers through her long, brown hair and pulled her forward, pressuring her until their noses almost touched. He felt a strong impulse to open his mouth wide and bite her, but instead he smiled, feeling wave after wave of exhilaration when he saw the look of stark terror in her eyes.

  “Why, Debbie… Debbie darlin’,” he said in a low gravelly growl. “You know goddamned right well that I can’t let you walk out on me like that. No-fuckin’-way! Whatever gave you the idea that you could?”

  “I—we—it’s just that—”

  “Your sister! I’ll bet it was your fucking sister who put you up to this. She did, didn’t she?”

  He balled her hair into his fist and pulled down, shaking her head roughly up and down, as if she were agreeing with him. A flood of tears streamed from Debbie’s eyes. Her lips and face were pale except for the bright red splotch on her cheek.

  “Didn’t she?”

  “… no …”

  “Bullshit! I’ll bet my left ball she did. I’ll bet this whole fucking thing is something you and she cooked up, right? Right?”

  He shook his head as though scolding a small child who had disappointed him.

  “But you should have known that I wouldn’t let you do it. Why—hell, darlin’, my life would be a fuckin’ wreck without you. I’d miss your yummy home cookin’.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the pizza smeared on the floor. “And I’d miss the cute little way you wait up for me when I stay out late. And you know, the thing I’d miss most is the way you fuck me! I’d miss the cute little way you suck my dick.”