It was Friday. February 26th and I was thinking of killing my husband.
"Why are you complaining?" Howard asked me. "It's a good job, and this sounds like a promotion."
I wasn't sure of the specifics, but I knew that we had life insurance, and there were some military benefits. My mother had left me about twenty-thousand dollars years ago and I'd never touched it - just let Howard put it in a savings, then in some kind of investment fund.
"You know what your problem is," Howard continued. "You're too insecure sometimes. Not adventurous enough. You like to keep things nice and safe."
I'd never done anything illegal in my life, except smoke a little weed every now and then. I could kill Howard and probably get away with it. As long as I didn't do something crazy like set him on fire or cut off any of his body parts...
I watched as he stood before the dresser mirror and oiled his face. It was part of his night-time ritual. First, he showered with some of his special gel, and then he spent half an hour lotioning and oiling himself from the top of his shaved head to the bottom of his manicured feet. Every night I watched this one-man act of his and wondered if he might not have homosexual tendencies. In the beginning, when we were newlyweds, I tried to imitate him. I showered in the morning and at night and I used gallons of lotion and scents. Somehow, I thought that maybe I was unclean since I wasn't the hygienic fanatic that he was. After a few months, my skin started to flake and peel. I went to see a dermatologist who told me that I was drying out my skin with all that soap and water. I don't know why Howard didn’t have the same problem. Shit, maybe he was some kind of freak of nature. Whatever. I gave up the routine and apparently didn’t smell any worse for having the regular morning shower and a normal dose of lotion.
"Want to celebrate the promotion?" Howard asked, sliding into bed and breathing Colgate in my face. It made my eyes water and tingle. He slid his hand down my stomach.
I was thinking that I could put something into one of his many vanity products. Maybe some kind of lethal but hard to trace poison in that slimy shit he liked to massage his feet with.
When I didn't resist his damp fingers probing under my t-shirt, he sucked at the side of my face.
I ruled out the idea about the poison in his foot cream when he pushed one of his fingers inside me. With my luck I'd get vaginal poisoning and die right there in bed with him.
After ten minutes of heavy breathing (him), some well-practiced moans (me) and a choreographed dance of desperate movements in the dark, Howard fell back and sighed. I rolled over and lit a cigarette. My smoking after sex was the only kind that Howard tolerated in the house. Whether he knew it or not, it was the only reason he still got laid two or three times a week.
"Maybe this promotion is just what you need," Howard said.
Shit. I'd hoped he'd gone to sleep. I don't know why he couldn’t be one of those men who just turned over and passed out after sex.
He turned to face me in the dark and I blew a cloud of smoke to keep him at bay. He said, "You said this new job is in Training, right? That's good. That's the kind of job that's going to bring you right out of your shell."
He had no idea.
#
I spent the weekend thinking about Monday. I was dreading the new job, the new people I would be working with, and I was really dreading any more of Howard's fucking pep talks. I don't know if he thought he was helping or what, but by Sunday afternoon I was ready to give up subtlety and just shove him in front of a speeding car.
Poor Howard. It wasn't really him. He was such a good guy in a lot of ways. Really. I mean, this was a man who had rescued me from Texas and shown me (via his military career) the world. We'd lived in Italy, Germany and all over the United States. We'd been poor kids when we started out, but Howard had been such a tightwad that when he'd retired last year after twenty-one years in the service, we had a nice life to look forward to.
Maybe that was my problem.
I looked over at Howard as he negotiated our 4-Runner through the maze of downtown traffic. Typical, he was focused on his driving, careful and intense about it. All of a sudden, he grinned.
"Right out front," he said. "How you like that, baby?"
I smiled, feeling guilty for all my thoughts of murder.
We'd parked directly at the door of the little café Howard had picked to treat me to a celebratory Sunday brunch. Always the gentleman, he got out and opened my door, holding my arm as I dropped down from the running board.
"Now, remember," he told me as we entered the café, "you order anything you want."
That might not sound significant to most people, but Howard had always been so tight with a dollar that we rarely ate out and when we did, he practically planned the meal in advance so we'd stay within budget. Since his retirement last year, he'd been a little less likely to strangle Lincoln and Washington. He had landed a job as a systems technician with one of the security firms in town and was making much more than he ever had in the Air Force.
He held the door for me and as I stepped in, I immediately saw an incredibly handsome twenty-ish busboy.
The waitress came over and took my order for grilled chicken and a garden salad. Howard ordered salmon and asked if I was sure I didn't want to try some of the seafood.
"I'm fine, baby," I told him. I was ashamed when his eyes lit up at my endearment. I hadn't been exactly free with them for the past several months.
We toasted my promotion with a glass of house wine and Howard kept giving me that strange and hard-to-read look that men give to the woman they are so proud to be in public with. I tried look pleased and girlish.
While we ate, we kept trying to find things to talk about. I'd noticed it a few years ago, but I think it was the first time that Howard was beginning to realize that we didn't have the same comfortable compatibility we'd once shared.
"So, who are these new co-workers?" he finally asked.
I raked my fork through the milky dressing on my salad and tried not to stare at the busboy who was moving quietly around the café. I think the little bastard was showing off for me.
"A couple of women they pulled from other departments when they got this bright idea," I told Howard. The busboy glanced at me, smiled and wiped the table across from me.
Howard chewed a piece of salmon while looking out the window at the slow traffic. "I'm surprised you guys never had a team dedicated to training before," he said. "I mean, you've got - what? - three hundred people at the facility? I bet half of them just feel their way around their jobs."
There was a tiny bit of something on the side of his lip. I turned my head and sighed. I said, "It's definitely needed. I guess we're going to be getting a lot of help from the Seattle station to get us up to speed."
That got Howard's attention. He looked at me and (thank God) wiped at his lip so that the chive or whatever fell away. He said, "Seattle? Does that mean you have to travel a lot?"
The busboy had his back to me and I was entranced by the way he moved, sort of in a mannish swagger. I looked at Howard. "Not a lot," I told him. "Well, maybe at first."
He chewed, looked at his plate where there was half a meal left, and then pushed back a little from the table.
The waitress came over to see if we needed anything else and I declined dessert but asked for coffee. Howard wanted to try the chocolate cheesecake.
"So, once you guys get settled in, you won't have to travel?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "You know how it is with a new job - you never think of questions until later. I'll check with my boss tomorrow."
"I don't mind you traveling," he said. "It's just not a good time when we're finally get to spend more time together."
I craved a cigarette.
"All those years," Howard continued, "when I was in the service, all I thought about was when we could settle down somewhere."
I lost interest in the busboy when I heard his braying, Urkel-like laugh. I sighed and looked at Howard. "You've been more excited about this promotion than I have," I reminded him.
"I'm still excited," he said. "I'm proud of you, but, damn, Trina..."
Suddenly I was excited about the promotion. Maybe I'd start leaving town and just tell Howard it was for the job. Maybe I could find someone to help me kill him off.
The waitress came with the cheesecake and coffee. I realized that the coffee would only fuel my nicotine fit so I just took a sip and told Howard it was watery. He excused my waste of good money and asked the waitress to bring him a take-away container for his leftovers and dessert.
We rode home in silence.
I looked at people in the cars sharing traffic and wondered how many of them were living lives like us. How many of them were wearing faces of fearful deception? Too scared to make a change and too tired of what they had?
#
That night, I pretended to fall asleep while Howard performed his routine. He came to bed and touched my shoulder and I went into Academy Award mode, sighing deeply and throwing my hand over my face. I felt him watching me for a minute before he finally turned over and went to sleep. I lay in the dark for hours, tears rolling down my face.
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