Then she started asking him to stay home from work to be with her. “I’m afraid, Al. The guy next door is home all day, and there’s something wrong with him, I just know it.” There was always a variation of this excuse, but Al knew full well that their neighbor was a single mom who worked while the kids were in school, leaving the apartment empty during the hours he was at the factory.
Every day it became worse, to the point that she’d some-times cling to him, weeping, begging him not to leave her. He’d have to peel her arms from around him and promise her repeatedly that he’d come straight home the moment he clocked out.
One morning, she was up before him as usual. He could hear her opening and closing the drawers in the kitchen, and the smell of garlic and scrambled eggs wafted through the rooms. He got up, dressed in his work jeans and blue shirt, and made his way to the kitchen, realizing at the last minute that the sounds had ceased. Maggie was nowhere to be seen.
The memory of finding her in the bathroom came rushing at him like a punch in the gut, and he raced through the small apartment, terrified of what he might have to face, desperate to find her anyway.
She was outside in their numbered parking spot under the carport, sitting primly in the passenger seat of his car, his lunchbox on her lap, a bright smile plastered on her face. She wore a pair of jeans and one of his shirts; she looked like a caricature of him.
“I’m going to work with you,” she declared. “Isn’t that wonderful?” She leaned over the driver’s seat and tried to open his door for him, but her fingers couldn’t quite reach the handle. “Come on! Get in, Al, honey! We’re going to have so much fun today!”
He’d missed work that day, because she refused to get out of the car, and he wasn’t about to make a scene and drag her out for all to see. He kept his keys hidden away after that.
But his boss wasn’t pleased. “You’ve been missing a lot of work this last year, my friend. You going to keep this up?” It wasn’t really a question, and Al knew he wasn’t really his boss’ friend, either.
Every day, Maggie tried a new tactic to keep him home with her. Sometimes it was as trivial as refusing to get out of bed to cook breakfast for him, something he’d never expected her to do in the first place. Other times, she went to drastic, if not very effective measures, like when she hid all his jeans and he had to wear his one pair of good slacks to work. Another time, she refused to come out of the bathroom so he could use the toilet. For a week straight, she pretended to have fainting spells, crumpling to the floor in the middle of breakfast. He only fell for that one once.
Al was exhausted all the time. He didn’t sleep well, for fear she’d do something crazy in the middle of the night, and he worried about her all day while he was away. He’d caught himself dozing at the wheel on the way to and from work more than once, and his patience was worn thin.
He knew he needed help, but he didn’t know where to turn. She had no family, at least none that she ever claimed, and all he had was his sister in Denver, and she’d never even met his wife. Maggie had no friends, and because she consumed his every waking moment, Al didn’t have any either. Even so, the guys he used to play poker with, or bowl with, weren’t really the “help-with-the-crazy-missus” kind of friends. Although she hadn’t tried to harm herself since cutting her wrist, she really wasn’t safe to be alone anymore.
Then, two weeks before their fourth Christmas together, everything changed.
Chapter 3
“You can’t go to work today.” She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that he got sucked into the conversation without realizing it.
“Why not?”
“I’m not going to let you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Maggie.” Al pushed up from the breakfast table and carried his plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs to the sink. He was no longer hungry.
“I’m not being ridiculous.”
He turned and studied her. She was too calm. He decided to ignore her and headed to the bathroom. It had to be another hair-brained scheme of hers, and he could feel his nerves pulled taut like tension wires.
But when he stepped out into the little hall, there she stood, blocking the way to the front door. She watched him, eyes wide, bold, like she’d done so many years ago at Ol’ Elmer’s.
“What’re you up to, Maggie Sue?” He kept his voice calm, calling her the name he whispered to her in the middle of the night when she came to him for comfort.
“You’re not going to work, Al. I told you. I hate your job. It’s destroying our marriage.”
In the back of his mind, lights flickered and flashed, a warning, telling him to pay attention, to keep his cool, to not let his guard down. But Al was tired of playing this game with her. He was tired of hoping the beautiful girl he married would miraculously reappear. He was tired of this life they were living. He was tired of her. No, he was sick to death of her.
“Go ahead. Do whatever you’re going to do to try and stop me. But know this. That job you hate so much is putting a roof over your head. Granted, it’s not a fancy roof, but it’s a roof none the less. That job feeds you, clothes you, bathes you, sustains you. In fact, that job is what keeps you out of the hospital. If I didn’t have it, we wouldn’t have this apartment, and if we didn’t have this apartment—”
“Shut up!” The words barreled out of her mouth like a freight train, the force of them making him reel backward a little. And then he saw the knife she held above her head as she came at him. “You’re staying here with me! Alive or dead, I don’t care!”
He lowered his shoulder and charged, his body reacting before he really thought about what he was doing. Ramming into her, he took her down like a bull does a matador, crushing her up against the wall. Her head hit the plaster hard—he heard the solid thunk—and bounced back, her face crashing into his shoulder. The knife went flying, skittering impotently away from them, and he breathed heavy with the strain of holding onto what was left of his self-control.
“Enough. Enough!” The words were like ripped canvas between his clenched teeth. They were both on the floor, Maggie propped up, her back to the wall, Al on his knees straddling her thighs, his arms around her, pinning her own to her side. “Enough!”
Everything stilled in the aftermath of their collision, and he took some steadying breaths, preparing for a volley of words, or fists, or whatever else she might throw at him. It took him a moment more to realize she wasn’t moving, limp in his arms. Sitting back on his heels, he grasped her shoulders with both hands and held her at arm’s length.
Her eyes were open and she was looking right at him, but her head lolled a little to one side. In slow motion, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Stay home,” she murmured.
Al cursed loudly, something he rarely did even quietly, and let go of her, pushing himself up. “Why are you doing this to me?” He raged. “I have done everything I know to do to make you happy, Maggie. What more do you want from me?”
She slid down the wall to lie to her side, but her eyes stayed trained on his face. He knew this trick; how many times had she fallen off her chair at the table before? “Get up, Maggie. I’m not playing your stupid games anymore.” He just wanted to go to work, to get away from her and her toxicity.
She didn’t move, except for a slow blink. It took her a long time to open her eyes again. “Stop it, Maggie.” He said it less vehemently. “Get up now, come on.”
“Stay.” It was barely more than a mumble, and the word trailed off as her eyes drifted shut.
“Maggie?” He was suddenly terribly afraid. He dropped to one knee beside her and put a hand to her cheek. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter. “Maggie. Open your eyes!” He could hear the panic in his voice, his insides churned and clenched in fear. “Maggie!”
He scrambled up and across the hall to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth for her face, just making it to the toilet before he threw up what little there was in his stomach, his body heaving up his insides in a delayed reaction to all th
at had just happened.
When his stomach stopped heaving, he splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth, then wet a washcloth for Maggie.
When he ducked back out into the hall, she was sitting again, clutching her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. She was moaning softly.
Al hurried to her side and held out the wet cloth where she could see it. “Here. Let me wash your face. This will help you feel better.” His hands were shaking as he wrapped his fingers around one of her wrists and tugged her hand away from her face. Maggie lifted her head and looked up at him.
“Thank you. I’m sorry. I must have fainted.” They were the same words she’d used repeatedly during her week of fainting spells. Like flipping a switch, his fear turned to anger again.
“Not a problem,” he snapped. He stood up and adjusted the waist of his jeans, tucking the tails of his shirt in a little more snugly. “I have to go to work, Maggie.”
At first, she didn’t say anything, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, she sighed, and replied, “I know. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
It took him so by surprise that he faltered, hesitated. “Do you want me to help you get up?” He reached out a hand to her.
“No, no. You go to work. I don’t want you to be late because of me.” She smiled sweetly up at him. Was this another trick? Did she have another weapon hidden away somewhere? Was she going to throw something the minute his back was turned?
“Maybe you should go lie down for a bit.” He didn’t feel right about leaving her slumped on the floor in the hallway.
“Stop worrying about me, Al. I’m fine. I’m just going to sit here for a few more minutes. I’m fine; really, I am.”
At a loss, his fatigue not helping him think straight, he turned and headed through the kitchen, scooping up the knife she’d wielded en route. On impulse, instead of putting it away, he spread a kitchen towel on the counter, and emptied the sharp knives from the utensil drawer into it. Wrapping the towel around them, he shoved the bundle under his arm and headed for the front door.
“Bye, Al. Have a good day.” Maggie’s voice drifted from the hallway, soft, but steady. He opened the door, and all but ran from the apartment.
By noon, he knew he had to take his lunch hour to go check on her. He felt like the worst kind of man leaving her on the floor like that, especially after he was the one that put her there. He could easily have disarmed her without throwing her against the wall, but something had snapped in him when he saw her coming at him with that knife, and it had taken everything in him to reel it back in. His reaction scared him now, far more than anything Maggie had done.
Donning his jacket, he clocked out for lunch, and hurried out into the crisp December air. Winter in these parts rarely delivered anything worse than chilly temperatures, a few rain showers, and maybe a brisk winter wind on sunny days that dried the skin and chapped the lips. Today was one of those days, and his face burned from both the wind, and from his shame.
Ten minutes later, he was pulling into his parking spot at the apartment, his anxiety almost consuming him. He barely had the emergency brake on before he was out of the car and dashing to the front door, key at the ready.
He burst inside, immediately aware of the stillness in the air. “Maggie? It’s just me, Al,” he said, as though she might not recognize the voice of her husband of nearly four years. There was no reply. He hurried to the hallway and stopped dead in his tracks.
They didn’t share a room—they hadn’t since she lost Billy Raven’s baby and moved into the tiny room at the end of the hall. Maggie lay like a ragdoll, crumpled on the floor just outside her door, her legs stretched out behind her like she’d been dragging herself along.
Rushing to her side, he put a hand against her cheek. Her skin was warm. He watched her chest; he could see her taking shallow breaths.
“Maggie,” he murmured around the tears that threatened to choke him. “Maggie, I’m home. I’m here, baby. I’m calling an ambulance.”
She didn’t respond.
“I won’t let them take you away, Maggie.”
Chapter 4
By the time the ambulance arrived, Al had thought through it all. If he told them what he’d done, he’d be sent to prison. He knew he deserved it, and had circumstances been different, he would have come clean on the spot.
But he also realized that without family and him in jail, Maggie would become a ward of the state. She would be a number in the system, and all those things she’d feared might well come true. She’d be institutionalized for certain, most likely kept drugged because of her mental instability, and who knew what else. Al had heard the stories about the nut houses, and if he got locked away, there’d be no one left to watch out for her.
Al chose the lesser of two evils that day, and lived with the burden of that decision for over a quarter of a century.
Maggie suffered a stroke, most likely caused by hitting her head when she fell off the step stool while changing the light bulb in their hallway. It was fortunate that Al had forgotten his lunch and had come home for it, but her prognosis wasn’t good. Al made a promise to himself that he’d see her get the best care until she passed, then he’d turn himself in.
To everyone’s surprise, Maggie turned out to have a little more living left to do, but she was in no condition to come home. She lived in a world of her own making, and like a naughty toddler, couldn’t be left alone or unattended even for a moment. Al found a full-care facility that he’d heard nothing but good about, and signed the paperwork that said he was the sole provider for his wife’s needs, and that he would pay the exorbitant costs that came with the facility’s upstanding reputation.
He moved into the trailer park that same year, cutting his own expenses down to almost nothing. And he waited. Even when he met Myra in Space #6, and he felt his heart jolt back to life like he’d been electrocuted, he waited. Just like Maggie was doing when he first set eyes on her, he waited. And waited.
And now, twenty-six years later, his ride had finally come.
~ ~ ~
“Got a minute?” He didn’t know who else to turn to, but he knew Doc would be slow to hand out pat answers, and even slower to judge. He was surprised the man had even opened his door; Doc was even more private than Al was.
The man nodded and stepped outside onto the landing, pulling his door closed behind him. For as long as the veteran had lived here, as long as they’d known each other, Al had yet to set foot inside Doc’s place. In fact, Al didn’t even know if Doc ever let Eddie in, although the park manager had every right to do so.
Doc’s place was actually a small loft apartment over an old garage on the property. Even though The Coach House was called a trailer park, five out of the twelve spaces were actually permanent structures: Willow Goodhope’s cottage, Kathy Kekoa’s, the upstairs and downstairs apartments in the main building, and Doc’s loft.
“I’ve got some cold ones in the fridge.” Al knew Doc didn’t drink beer, but he didn’t have anything else to offer him. Doc nodded anyway and followed him down the stairs. The two men walked together, their paces unhurried, not saying much, but Al could tell Doc was gearing up for what he was about to hear. Al didn’t make a habit of knocking on his neighbor’s door unannounced. Ever.
Al slid the glass door closed behind them, leaving the blinds open so he could see the row of mailboxes across from his place. It was after three o’clock, and Willow Goodhope would be coming around the corner at any minute to check her mail. He could just about set his watch by her. She always made a point to look for him, too, and her smile and wave were the highlights of his afternoon.
Al perched on one of the two swiveling barstools at the counter that divided the sitting room from the kitchen. Doc settled into the sofa, one elbow on the armrest. With his other hand, he stroked his thick gray beard, slowly, contemplatively. He didn’t speak, didn’t push, just waited.
Al was tired of waiting. It was time to finish this.
“I kille
d my wife.”
After all these years of the story playing itself out in slow motion on Al’s life, it sure didn’t take long to spell out the necessary details. Doc didn’t say a word while Al spoke, and Al appreciated his silence. No questions, no accusations, not even a raised eyebrow. Doc just listened.
“And now I guess it’s time to come clean the rest of the way.” Al stood up and thought about grabbing one of the beers in the fridge, but for some reason, he didn’t really want one. He rounded the end of the counter and took a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water instead.
“That was all a long time ago, Al,” Doc finally said. “Doesn’t sound to me like you killed her. And even if they found a link between her death and that incident, it sounds to me like you were acting in self-defense.”
Al took a long drink, and even at room temperature, the water went down easy. But he shook his head gently at Doc’s words. “I’ve thought about that, believe me. But I don’t want to be the one to make that call anymore. I’m tired of carrying this around my neck.”
But Doc was watching the door, no longer paying Al any attention. “You got company,” he said.
Willow Goodhope tapped lightly on the slider. She held up a letter for them to see.
Doc got up to let her in; Al stayed where he was behind the counter, as though the barrier would hide more than just the lower half of his body from her line of sight.
“Hi, guys. Boy, it’s definitely August out there. I think it might hit a thousand degrees today!” All that red hair was pulled back into a braid at the back of her head, but loose curls lay damp against her skin, softening the lines of her angular face. “It sure feels good in here, though. Isn’t air conditioning wonderful?”
Doc grinned at her the way he always did, like he was surprised to be charmed by her. “Ms. Goodhope,” he said by way of greeting. Al swallowed the last sip of water, and almost went for the beer after all.
Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection Page 23
