Knowing Penelope

by Donna Carrick

  I shut my eyes and let my jaw go slack, possum-like.

  “Still asleep?” he said. “You must need to use the bathroom. I brought coffee. It’ll help with the headache.”

  There was no point keeping up the charade. Anyway, I needed to pee.

  I opened my eyes. “What did you do to me?”

  “You’re not hurt. A few hours’ sleep will take care of the hangover.”

  He replaced the tape he’d removed from my mouth with a new piece.

  “Don’t try to get up too quickly,” he said. “I’ll help you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  Big of you, I thought, but could only mumble behind the tape.

  Jim reached for the blanket.

  I had to think fast. Which was a problem, since my mind was set to slow-mo.

  Once Jim pulled the blanket off me he’d realise I was still holding my pocket-knife. It wasn’t much of a dagger, but the self-defence class I’d taken would come in handy.

  ‘Surprise’ is a girl’s best weapon.

  Surprise, and a mean right hook.

  The blanket came off gently.

  “Careful, now,” Jim said, reaching to help me.

  I sprang to my feet, pushing him off balance. With both hands wrapped around the pocket-knife, I raised it and stabbed, allowing the full force of my rage to guide the tiny blade to his left eye.

  He shrieked, but the injury wasn’t deep. It would only slow him down, not stop him. Fighting to keep my balance, I brought one scuffed boot up and plowed it into his groin.

  Jim went down hard.

  Even that wouldn’t stop him. He was a big man, and physically fit. I, on the other hand, was still the pipsqueak I’d been when my mother strapped me into that child seat so many years ago.

  I’d have to make sure Jim stayed down.

  Looking around, I saw a heavy ornament, a china cat of all things, on the table beside the couch.

  I grabbed it and slammed it against his head, more than once, I’m ashamed to say.

  Then I ripped the tape off my mouth.

  Before staggering away to get help, I couldn’t resist a parting shot.

  “Not today, you son of a bitch. You don’t have what it takes to finish me.”

  My bravado was wasted on the unconscious con-man, and my speech was still slurred anyway.

  Still, it felt good to have the last word.

  From that point on my memory gets shaky. I was running on adrenalin and it carried me out of Jim’s house. I didn’t know what time it was, but it seemed to be morning rush hour. I flagged down a passing car and convinced the driver, a middle-aged man, to use his cell-phone to call the cops.

  When the police arrived, they found 3 million in cash stuffed into a carry-on bag beside Jim’s front door, along with a single suitcase. A bus ticket in his pocket told us he’d planned a trip to Miami that afternoon.

  He would have known better than to fly into the U.S. carrying a bag of cash, with the airport security in place these days. He’d take the bus, just one more snow-bird in search of sunshine.

  Once he arrived in the ‘land of sand’, he’d pop the money into a number of off-shore accounts, then book a flight to anywhere.

  He must have damn nearly pissed himself when I telephoned, asking questions about “Mr. Winger”.

  And, speaking of peeing… I did a rain dance at 52 Division. The receptionist pointed to the ladies’ room, where I avoided looking into the mirror as I washed my hands.

  I ran my comb through matted hair and straightened my poppy, which had miraculously survived the ordeal. Still keeping my eyes averted from the mirror, I splashed cold water on my face. I used scratchy paper towels to dry, hoping to scour away at least one layer of grime.

  I couldn’t wait to call my real client, Bob Regent. My head was still pounding, but my tongue was not as swollen as it had been. I’d be able to talk without slurring my words, and that was one conversation I was looking forward to.

  After all, there’s nothing like a happy customer.

  Axe Husband

  People often asked Kimberly why she’d left.

  Ray was a good man by most accounts.

  He seldom drank excessively, opened doors for her, never raised his voice, worked hard to provide.

  Besides, they’d been in love. Everyone knew it.

  To this day both boys, Phil and Paul, held the divorce against her. They never said so, but she could see it in their eyes. They blamed her for the loss of their father. Gone, for no apparent reason.

  Kimberly Johnson never knew what to say, so she held her tongue.

  Fifteen years of marriage. You think you know a person. You split your body in half giving him children, hold his hand, listen to his worries, even when you’re full to the breaking point with your own. You watch your spending, even though you work hard too, because you know money is one of the things he worries about.

  You’re gracious to his family and friends, and always careful not to pay too much attention to anyone else, because even though he doesn’t mention it, you get the feeling he disapproves.

  You walk the dog when it’s your turn, feed the cat, clean the house and cook the meals.

  None of these things are beyond the call of wifely duty. Billions of women carry out these tasks every day. You seldom complain.

  Because you’ve got a loving husband and decent children.

  That makes it all worthwhile.

  Kimberly certainly thought she knew Ray. She’d seen him at his worst, when the worries got to be too much and the boss was pressing his buttons and the car broke down.

  She’d seen him at his best, full of joy when the boys were born, when they spoke their first words, took their first steps.

  She thought she’d seen every side of him.

  **

  “Get the flashlight, Paul,” Phil shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

  Phil was the oldest and used to giving orders, which six-year-old Paul cheerfully obeyed.

  “I can’t find it,” Paul said.

  “It’s in my room. Look on the dresser. It’s got new batteries. We’ll need it at night.”

  “Found it!” Paul tore down the stairs, almost falling but catching the handrail just in time.

  “I got the fishing rods,” Phil said.

  “Are we going to see fireflies?” Paul asked.

  Phil looked at his father.

  “I sure hope so!” Ray said.

  Kimberly took the fishing rods from Phil and tucked them into the back of the van.

  “This time of year there should be a lot,” she said.

  Ray nodded. “Yup. Lots.”

  The boys laughed.

  “Come on, guys. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Ray drove. Kimberly could have used another hour of sleep, but she stayed awake to keep him company. Besides, the boys were so excited – she didn’t want to miss the fun.

  Choosing a campsite was easy. They’d left the city early enough to beat the crowds, and opted for a large, isolated lot away from traffic, but still within easy walking distance from the bathroom facilities and the beach.

  Pitching their new tent was another matter. Ray’s family had never camped when he was growing up. Kimberly had plenty of experience, but as every woman knows, it isn’t wise to butt in when Dad is instructing the kids, so she offered only subtle hints regarding how best to construct the canvas walls.

  After several failed attempts to secure the centre-pole, Ray’s normally cheerful mood began to fray.

  Being the oldest, Phil was expected to help the most, so he bore the brunt of Ray’s jagged comments.

  Finally, Kimberly could no longer stay on the sidelines.

  “Let me help with that,” she said.

  Ray snarled something inaudible, but Kimberly stepped in anyway.

  Within half an hour, the tent was up and the air mattresses were pumped.

  Ray was quiet, but his sulking was preferable to snapping at the boys.


  “Can we go to the beach?” Phil said.

  “Yeah,” Paul chimed in. “Let’s go to the beach.”

  Kimberly looked at Ray. It took some effort on his part, but he finally smiled.

  “Come on,” he agreed. “Let’s change into our swim suits.”

  Not wanting his mood to slide again, Kimberly herded the boys into the tent to change.

  “What about you, Mom?” Phil said.

  “It pays to think ahead,” she said. “I wore my swim suit under my clothes.”

  It was a hot day, even in the relative cool of the wooded National park. The kids ran down the beach path, anxious to jump into the water.

  “Not too fast, guys,” Ray said. “Wait for us.”

  He was struggling with the beach chairs and a small cooler.

  Kimberly had a large beach bag over her shoulder with towels, books and sunscreen. She held out her free hand for the cooler.

  “I’ve got it,” he said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  The shady beach path opened onto a stretch of sparkling sand around a silver lake.

  “Outstanding,” she said. “Great choice!”

  She’d never been to this park, but Ray had heard from a friend it was well-maintained and woodsy, with a sandy beach.

  Somewhat mollified, he grinned.

  Ray set up the chairs and Kimberly smoothed her towel on the sand. It had been a particularly stressful time at work. The competition was heating up and the talk was all about cutting costs.

  Which meant more work for everyone, as well as reduced job security.

  On top of work stresses, Kimberly also had to spend a fair amount of energy keeping a positive tone at home. Ray had been testy during the past few weeks.

  She couldn’t blame him, really. He struggled with balancing the family finances, especially as their investments took a beating.

  In any event, it was out of character for him to snap at her or the children. She thought it best to bite her tongue and let the difficult period pass.

  He needed this vacation as much as she did.

  He sat on one of the chairs and pulled the other closer to him.

  “Not going to sit?”

  “I will later,” she said, lying down on the towel. “I’m beat.”

  “You were tired when we left the house,” he said.

  Kimberly nodded.

  She cracked open her novel, but couldn’t focus on the words. The sunshine and the happy sound of children playing smoothed her raw nerves and before long she was dozing happily.

  She woke abruptly as Ray nudged her with his right foot.

  “Are you watching the kids?” he asked.

  His voice was testy again. She didn’t know what his problem was, but these mood swings were unpleasant to say the least.

  Sighing, she got up and sat in the chair. The seeds of a nasty headache were beginning to take root. Exhaustion. Too many hours of trying to say the right thing, walking on eggshells.

  “Hey,” Ray said, “if you don’t think they need to be supervised, go back to sleep.”

  “I thought you were watching them,” she said.

  “I’m tired, too.”

  “I know you are. Do you want a nap? I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

  “Forget it.” Ray reached into the cooler and pulled out a covered plastic cup.

  She knew he’d mixed a drink before-hand. He offered her one, but she shook her head. It would only knock her out.

  Ray wasn’t much of a drinker normally. She hoped the alcohol would take the edge off his mood.

  Kimberly reached for her book.

  The boys laughed and played, waving at them from in the water.

  “Come on in,” Phil said. “It’s great!”

  She slipped the book into the bag and pulled her t-shirt over her head. The water might energize her.

  “Yay! Mom’s coming!” Paul shouted.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Ray’s face contorted in an uncharacteristic scowl. Before she could react, he’d lost the dark look and was smiling.

  “Last one in…” he shouted, leaping from the chair.

  He had a head start, and besides, Kimberly didn’t try very hard to race him. She ran till the water was up to her knees, then walked, letting her skin adjust to the cold.

  “Brrr,” she said. “Chilly.”

  “It’s fine once you’re in,” Ray said.

  Without warning he turned and knocked her into the water.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Knock it off!”

  “Don’t be a baby,” he said, laughing. “You’re not ice cream. You won’t melt.”

  Kimberly didn’t know what to say. In their fifteen years of marriage and the two years of dating prior to that, Ray had never handled her with anything but tenderness.

  She was offended, but she wasn’t hurt. She decided to let the incident pass without an argument.

  “Come on, guys,” Paul called, waving at his parents.

  She waved back and ran to the boys. Ray followed.

  **

  That evening, Ray paid ten dollars for a large bundle of firewood. Kimberly baked potatoes and barbecued steaks on the Hibachi while Ray sharpened sticks.

  After dinner, they roasted marshmallows.

  “Who wants to hear a ghost story?” Ray asked.

  “I do,” Phil said.

  Paul shook his head, but seeing his big brother’s enthusiasm, he held his tongue. He sat on Kimberly’s lap.

  “A long time ago…” Ray began.

  “How long?” Paul asked.

  “Hundreds of years,” Ray said.

  “Were there TVs?” Paul said.

  “Stop interrupting,” Kimberly said. She could see Ray was becoming annoyed.

  “There were no TVs,” Ray said. “No cars, no guns, no video games. People would gather together to tell stories to pass the time. That’s how people far from the cities would learn the news. Travelling groups would act out plays, sing songs and tell stories.

  “One of those stories has been passed down from father to son for hundreds of years. And now, tonight, it’s finally time for me to tell you both the Story of the Headless Harlot.”

  “What’s a harlot?” Paul asked.

  “A prostitute,” Phil said.

  “A lady,” Kimberly said.

  “A lady,” Ray answered, “who isn’t a lady. Mwah haha hah….” He held the flashlight under his chin, causing light and shadows to compete for dominance of his features.

  “I’m scared,” Paul said.

  “Shhh!” Phil put his finger to his lips.

  “Come on,” Kimberly said, lifting Paul from her knee. “I have to use the washroom. I’ll take you with me. Maybe we’ll see some fireflies.”

  “It’s just a story,” Ray said, turning off the flashlight.

  “I want to hear it,” Phil said.

  “Forget it. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

  Great, thought Kimberly. Now he’ll sulk again.

  Still, better that than be up all night because the boys are having nightmares. Paul was only five, too young for stories about decapitating scarlet women.

  Sometimes Ray had no sense at all.

  When she returned from the bathroom with Paul, she found Ray sitting alone staring at the fire.

  “Where’s Phil?” she asked.

  “Getting ready for bed,” Ray said without looking up.

  “I’ll take him to the bathroom.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Paul, you go get into your jammies, too.”

  The picnic table and campfire were a distance from the tent, on the other side of a minor ridge. Paul was too short to see the tent from where they stood. He pulled his mother’s hand, not wanting to cross the distance alone in the darkness.

  Kimberly walked him to where the tent stood on higher ground at the edge of the woods.

  “You ready for bed?” she called in to Phil.