“Clearly there’s a side of me you never knew.”
“Clearly.” He tips back his drink and holds up two fingers, gesturing for another round.
“That’s too bad,” I say, looking wide-eyed and flirtatious. He leans back, running his hands through his hair, nervously.
“Wow.” He sort of pauses and looks at me a moment, and I don’t know if I’m pushing this too fast. Then he shakes his head, and holds his drink up to cheers and gives me a wink. “This is unexpected.”
We spend the next hour talking about nothing of importance. Like two people on a first date, we flirt and make small talk, and then he lets his hand rest on mine, and looks in my eyes, and he wants it so bad, he’s waited for years. But he is really good at this game, so he’ll keep the charm coming until I’m ready. I have to be home by midnight, so I move this part along as quickly as I can.
“Listen, Collin and I are staying together for our family, okay, and the only reason I can’t let what happened with Luke get out is because it would be all over the news and ruin my kids’ lives. We have an arrangement.”
“What arrangement? What do you mean?”
“We can see other people, but we’ll stay married for now. So, yes, Luke and I had a relationship and I don’t regret that. It was good.”
“I bet it was,” he says, lustfully. “And, I mean, I told you, I never thought you did anything, but I had to cross you off the list and with this affair stuff hanging out there...”
“I know. So I’m telling you now. Sorry I had to lie about it, but you get why. I have a family to protect.”
He’s too drunk to really process it right now, or maybe he doesn’t care all that much about his job at the moment, when potential sex is dangling in front of him, and just thinks that me having one affair means I’ll easily have another. With him.
“Anyway, I better get going. Thanks for the drink. And the talk,” I say, as sweetly as I can muster. He scrambles to his feet as I stand, trying desperately to hold on to his shot.
“You’re going? It’s still early.”
“Yeah, I should get home. This place is so loud.”
“Well, let’s get out of here. Take a drive with me. We can get a drink somewhere quieter.” He’s hammered, trying to fish clumsily in his pocket for his keys.
“Only if I drive,” I say, and he doesn’t have to think about it. I drive down the same rural road I took when I drove Lacy home that night. Moonlight flashes, dull and pale, through tree branches in the woods that stretch for miles along the road.
“We could stop at the Roadhouse Inn,” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s just interested in that drink in a quieter place, but of course, I know that it’s a motel with a dumpy karaoke bar attached. Technically quieter I guess, since nobody really goes there for the bar.
“Sure,” I say, making a right turn to head toward the Roadhouse Inn. We pull up to the one-story strip of building with a pale pink exterior and an empty, calcified swimming pool in front. The sign for Zippy’s Liquor store blinks neon red across the street, and the remoteness of the place is making me uneasy, but I came here for a purpose and I need to stay on course. If I make it too easy for him, will that be suspect? Should I play harder to get?
“If you want to have a quiet conversation, I could grab a bottle of wine across the street and we could relax in a room. I mean, if you want,” he says, still refraining from touching me, but leaning in seductively. I’m happy he suggested it. It may be a bit unrealistic coming from me.
“I don’t know,” I say, feigning shyness. “There’s a bar, you know.”
“Well, I mean that’s fine. I just know karaoke gets loud. And you said yourself you just need some fun sometimes. Not that I assume you... I mean, we’d just be hanging out as friends, of course.”
“Well, as long as it’s just as friends, I guess so.”
He tries to play it cool as he walks into the glass encasement where the check-in desk sits. I wait in the car and see him get impatient when nobody is minding the place. He rings a little bell and leans over the desk, stretching to see if there is anyone in the back. A small, tired-looking man trudges to assist him. When he gets the key, he gives it to me and says he’ll run across the street for that bottle.
Inside the room, I feel hot tears spring to my eyes. I wipe them away. I tell myself to focus, that this is the only way. I needed a few minutes alone before he came back, so I get myself ready. This is it. I have to follow through.
He forgot a bottle of wine needs a corkscrew, so he shows me his old college trick and pushes the cork down into the bottle with his car key. He pours two glasses into plastic motel cups and the wine bobs around the cork, leaking everywhere as he tries to fill the cups. When he finally succeeds, we toast to “old friends.”
“Just goes to show, you never really know people,” he says, sitting himself on the king bed. I sit in the desk chair near him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, you. You and Luke.”
I look at the floor, and he quickly realizes that he brought up something painful. He’s so focused on the sex, he’s not thinking that I lost someone I actually cared for. He changes gears.
“Well, the arrangement you have with your husband, the fact that you’re here. It’s just...I would never expect that. From you.”
“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“So, tell me.” He holds his hand out for mine, so I sit next to him on the bed. I take it, and we sit so close our shoulders squeeze together.
“You want me to tell you my life since, what, when’s the last time we really talked, high school?” I laugh, playing into his hands.
“I would listen to the whole story. You look exactly the same, by the way.”
“Yeah, right.” I give him a dismissive gesture with my hand and take a sip of wine.
“Really, I wouldn’t say that if it weren’t one hundred percent true. You’re really...” He brushes his hand against my cheek. He is a gifted charmer. “Just so beautiful.”
Then he kisses me. I’m glad to get this started without too much more painful effort. I kiss him back. His five o’ clock shadow burns my cheeks as we kiss harder. He pulls at my tank, but it’s impossibly tight, so I help him get it over my head. He tosses it across the floor and pushes me down on the bed. I start to unbutton his shirt, but he pulls it off over his head instead. He kisses down my body and I shimmy out of my skirt. He kneels over me, my body straddled between his legs while he unbuckles his belt and smiles down at me, biting his lip, stopping to slip his hand into my panties a couple of times while he gets himself out of his pants and slides on a condom.
He moans and pushes his way into me, and I can tell he won’t last long by the pace he’s going.
“I want it hard,” I whisper. He doesn’t stop but slows a minute and looks at my face.
“Hard?”
“Yeah. Rough. Can you do that?”
“I can do whatever you like,” he says, biting my neck softly.
“Rough,” I repeat. “Make me tell you to stop.”
“Yeah? You want it rough?” he says, trying a little too hard for it to sound sexy.
“More. Punish me.” He starts to get into it now, holding my hand, restrained in his grip while he goes at me hard. Then he slaps my face.
“Yes! Do that until I beg you to stop. Then choke me.”
“Jesus, Mel. You really do like it kinky.”
“Do it,” I demand, and it’s turning him on. He obeys. He slaps me in the face, then a bit harder.
“No!” I scream, and he’s getting off on it. He slaps me again and I holler “no” and “stop.” Then he puts his hands around my neck and presses. He holds them there, and I grow light-headed, but he comes and falls to the side before it goes too far. He pants, slapping one limp arm over my waist.
“Jesus, Mel. That was...” He rolls off the condom and ties it in a knot, flicking it into the garbage near the bed. “Hoo-eee.”
He pats me, approvingly, then jumps up and goes into the restroom to pee. I gather my phone and my purse. And I collect my clothes from the floor. When he comes out, naked still, I’m trying to pull my top on by stepping into it and pulling it up around my hips.
“You’re getting dressed,” he says more as a fact than a question.
“Yeah, I stayed out way later than I should have. I’ll take you back,” I say, and he walks up to me and holds my breast, kissing me again.
“That’s a shame. We could do that a few more times.”
“Well, I have some time on Monday. We could meet here.” He looks astonished at this suggestion.
“Yeah, shit. I mean I’m on duty Monday, but only till about ten.”
“Do you have a lunch break?”
“I do now.” He smiles. And with that, he dresses and we drive back to his car. I couldn’t give a shit how he gets home from here. As soon as he shuts my car door in the Spits parking lot, I rush back to the motel room. When I arrive, Leonard Cohen sings “Hallelujah” from the speakers in the bar, and it pipes out into the parking lot. I creep back into the room carefully, as if someone might be there, ready to catch me midcrime.
I throw away the cup his lips have touched, and I pick up the soiled condom with a tissue like I’m collecting the remains of a smashed insect. I take out the small, plastic medicine syringe we used for Ben’s cough syrup when he had the flu. I suck up the contents of the condom into it and lie on the bed to inject it between my legs. I look at the footage I captured from the video I took on my phone. His run to the liquor store gave me more time than I thought I’d have to hide the camera perfectly out of sight and record. It’s all there. All of the slapping and asphyxiation are there, and when I get home, I can edit out the rest, so the only clip I have shows him assaulting me.
Then comes the hard part. I have been taking Claire’s prescription Xarelto out of her medicine cabinet for the last few days because it causes easy bruising and will help a lot with this next part. The blue circles around my neck are already starting to surface and look eerily like the ones he gave Lacy. I feel bruised between my legs from the power of his thrusting, so now it’s just my face left. Just one blow. Every other bit of evidence is there. I empty the wine bottle and look at myself in the mirror. Tears are already falling, but I have to finish.
I look at myself in the eyes—eyes that look so different than they did six months ago, because now I am a completely different person that I no longer recognize. I take in a deep breath and aim for my cheekbone, just under my eye. I strike it so hard that blood gushes from the cut the glass makes on the side of my eye, and my cheekbone swells and turns purple almost immediately. I let myself weep and scream for all the pain I’ve caused and the wrong I’ve done. I sob for what I have just done to Collin, but it’s the only way to save him.
Then I walk back to my car as Leonard Cohen turns to Tom Waits puffing out a sad melody into the night air, and I drive myself to the emergency room to report a rape.
32
THEY TAKE SWABS AND samples in the ER and bring in a domestic abuse counselor for me to talk to. They take photos of my injuries. I’ve already taken extensive photos of my own on my phone, and they ask if I want to press charges, and if I will talk about who did this to me. I say I can’t say who did it, that he’ll come after me, and I’m too scared. Lying to kind, genuine people somehow feels like the worst part of this so far, but I don’t need to say his name. Yet. His semen and DNA is safely tucked away from the samples they took, and a police report has been made, noting that the victim is too fearful at this time to offer a name.
Honesty, we said. From here on out. But it’s far too late for honesty. Sometimes, the truth will not set you free, but do quite the opposite. I’m the only one who can save us now, and I’ll do so by any means necessary. I think of sweet Ben as I drive home, his five-gallon bucket filled with crayons from many Christmases’ worth of stockpiling, his kickball game with the neighbor kids at the end of the cul-de-sac on summer nights, the easy way he shows affection and his chapped-lip smile. I think of Rachel’s first school dance coming up, of French braiding her hair on the back deck as we drink sweet tea and talk about the boys at school and her future as a veterinarian. We are their whole world. What would happen to them if one of us went away forever?
With that, I drop my fake cubic zirconia ring into a dumpster behind a Denny’s. In my car, I push out of my skirt and awkwardly pull on jeans in the driver’s seat so my outfit doesn’t raise any red flags, and I drive home to explain to Collin what happened.
“Jesus Christ!” He drops his keys and rushes to me when he comes home not long after I get there.
“It’s okay, I just. I was attacked, but it’s...”
“You didn’t call me? What the...Christ, what the hell happened?”
“I’m sorry, I was with the police. I just. I agreed to pick Lacy up at that strip club she works at, she called me, desperate ’cause her kid was gonna be left home alone if she didn’t get back before the sitter had to go,” I explain. “I was waiting in the parking lot for her to come out, and you know how that area of town is, some guy came up.”
“Oh my God, you were robbed?” he asks, his eyes wide, his face still, waiting for more detail. I rub the spot where my ring should be and he looks down and takes my hands. “Oh God, you were...”
“It’s okay, really. He only got my ring. I left so quick to pick her up, my purse was still at home on the counter. I thought I’d be back in a half hour, ya know?”
“You made a report.”
“Yeah. It’s okay, he clocked me, but I’m okay. Really.” But tears come, and he holds me to his chest. I let myself break down, and I sob apologies into his shoulder, so sorry for everything I’ve done, and when he asks what I mean, why I’m sorry, I tell him it’s because I can’t believe I let them take the ring. He brushes his hands through my hair and holds me tighter. I can feel him shaking his head in disagreement.
“It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry this happened to you. My God.” He guides me to the sofa, where we sit, the top of my head under his chin, and he rocks me. We don’t say anything for a long time, then I pull away.
“It’s been a really tough night, I just—I just want to take a bath and lie down.”
“I’m here if you need to talk about it. Is there anything I can do? Did they get the bastard?”
“I don’t know who he was. I already told the police everything, and I just need to...”
“Okay, yes. Of course. Let me run you a bath. They checked you out though, you’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” I lie, because I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.
On Monday, Collin says he’ll work from home and we can order takeout and be lazy together, in an attempt to try and take care of me and my battered body, but I insist I’m fine. I tell him that being made to feel like a sick patient just makes things worse, and that I’d like to go about my regular plans. Ben’s tree costume from the school play needs to be done by the weekend, and I want to create as much normalcy as possible.
He sweetly kisses my head and tells me he can be home in ten minutes if I need anything at all. When he leaves, I get ready for my one-thirty lunch date with Joe Brooks at the Roadhouse motel.
I arrive early so I can pay for the room and get myself ready before he arrives. I keep the door open a crack, so when he parks, he can’t miss my car parked in front of the same room with the door ajar. A soft tap on the door makes me jump even though I’m expecting him.
“Hey.” He smiles, still dressed in uniform, eyes sparkling even in the pale winter light. I’m suddenly very aware that he has a gun in a holster, and of course I don’t think he’d just up and shoot me for what
I’m about to do, but a hot glint of panic still burns in my chest at the thought that he could. He could call it a suicide or something. I think of a last-minute layer to add to my plan, and feel my breath calm a bit. He shuts the door behind him and is already slipping his police belt off his hips.
“Holy shit. What happened to your face?” he asks, tossing the belt on the bed and coming in for a closer look.
“You like to beat up women. It shouldn’t be so shocking to you.”
“What?” He’s still smiling, maybe unsure about whether I’m role-playing and maybe he should play along.
“Sit down.”
“What is all this?” he asks, sitting at the tacky, peeling table across from me. He looks at the photos I have spread out on it and doesn’t understand.
“A police report.” I point to one of the printouts he’s looking at.
“For what? What are you talking about?”
“For sexually assaulting me,” I say as calmly as I can, so he knows I’m in control now, but my heart beats so fast, I can see my blouse vibrating.
“Is this like foreplay thing, or...”
“No. You like to beat up women and you like to have sex with them even when they beg you not to.”
“You fucking told me to make it rough. Are you fucking with me?” He stands, his face hot and red.
“I would sit if I were you.” I manage a calm tone.
“Or what?” he screams, dots of spit reaching all the way across the table, a rage I have seen in him before. In the parking lot that night.
“The rape kit they took from me the other night is stored in a crime lab for fifteen years, and your semen is just waiting to have your name attached to it.”
“What the actual fuck are you talking about?”
“I didn’t say who did this to me. I thought maybe you and I could make an arrangement so I don’t have to.” I watch him work out in his head that he used a condom and they don’t have a name, and for sure he never hit me in the face. There is a moment, just a second, where relief forms around his bulging eyes. The next thing he says is quiet, pointed.
Such a Good Wife Page 25
