Keep Calm and Kill Your Wife (9 page)

S
UMMER OPENED HER eyes as if time had begun just at that moment, without any feeling of the seconds that had immediately preceded it. A great sense of calm and precise wariness seemed to overcome her as she embraced the needle-strewn terrain which cradled her prostrated body.
Take it slow and don’t panic,
she told herself, resisting the urge to fling her head upward. Hart and I will get through this. An assessment of the situation will be taken, but it will be done slowly and with exactitude, she told herself.

And then the pieces of the puzzle seemed to drift back into her consciousness in a dilatory fashion, the facts organizing themselves mechanically, as brains do.

Within moments, she became aware that Hart was not with her after all. She wondered where he was and if he was okay. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.

As she stood up, she zoned in on what her body had been through. The bumps, the bruises, the soreness. They were readily apparent but miraculously seemed to be minor and she was grateful that everything seemed to be in working order. She had survived, the trees acting, in a sense, like nets that had lowered her to the ground. Roughly, but safely.

The next thing she realized was that she was a long way down from where she had been previously standing. As a matter a fact, as best as she could surmise, she wasn’t even
straight
down from where she started. Her path had seemed to veer diagonally, due to the cut of the land, and it became clear that at some point she must have been rolling from one tier down to the next, deeper and deeper into the valley.

“Hello!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Hart!”

After calling out several times without so much as an echo in return, she figured she’d better save her energy. She was on her own and it would be getting dark soon— or at least eventually. The thought terrified her and from that point on, the idea of spending the night out here was expelled from her mind. There was no doubt. She would reach her grandmother’s cabin by tonight, period.

If there was any silver lining to the situation, it was that the diagonal course that she had tumbled in was at least in the direction of her grandmother’s cabin.

She walked along whichever of the valley’s tiers she was on, using the sun as her compass, hoping at some point there would be a natural path that would gradually lead upward and out of the heart of the valley.

As she advanced, she tried to be aware of everything around her, her mind at times battling between getting lost in theoretical strategies and speculations, and a real safety-driven need to remain hyper-alert.

One of her biggest problems was the pace with which she would settle upon traveling. Not knowing exactly how far away she was from the cabin and how long it would take, she didn’t want to blow all of her energy early on, sapping herself of needed strength later. On the other hand, if she moved too slowly, she might not beat the sun as it lowered itself into the mountainous horizon.

And then she stopped. Even though there was a glaring absence of
Snake X-ing
signs, there it was. Slithering across her path. And taking its sweet time about it, too. Summer put her hand to her mouth and gasped, suppressing the desire to scream her lungs out. She had no idea what kind of snake it was, and didn’t care.

“ Go. Go,” she whispered, waving her arms and dancing in place.

After what felt like half an hour, but was probably only thirty seconds, the snake complied, settling the matter as to how fast Summer would be walking. Double time it was.

After a few hours Summer couldn’t help but feel as though she had made great strides—assuming, of course, she was heading in the right direction. She had a slight sense of doubt about this, but all in all, a surprising feeling of confidence had seemed to eclipse fear as her new motivating factor. She would make it back to the cabin and she somehow knew this.

She remembered being lost once at Dodger Stadium when she was about eight years old and how scared she’d been. Would she ever see her parents again? Who knew?—at the time. It’s all so hazy and unstable when you don’t know the end of the story. But looking back, knowing the ending, makes it a lesson; a bit of strength for the spirit that each of us can carry in our arsenal if we choose to see it that way.

And so it was, with this mindset, that she trucked forward. Grateful that she had survived the fall, her will intact. Thirsty and hungry, she knew that when she would eat and drink later, she could look back at this moment with a certain degree of joy, the full story played out, the ending known.

The fate of Hart was the most difficult of all for her. It was the aspect of the narrative that she had the least control over. She prayed he was okay but that was all she could do for now, pray.

The sun was at her back and sinking fast. Summer hoped she would not have to spend the night out here, but even the prospect of that was accepted with a certain calm that surprised the hell out of her.

An hour later, this bullishness was bolstered even further when she at last saw a way up from the tier on which she had been tramping for the last several hours. It felt exciting that her movement would now be vertical.

As the tiers dovetailed, the slope of each became less severe. This gradual flattening had allowed trees to spring forth, where earlier the lay of the land had been too sheer to permit much growth.

The relative density of the trees would make it possible to scale the walls of the valley as she now had something to hold on to, and so up she went, almost giddy at her new discovery.

She moved from tree to tree with a new sense of vigor fueled by adrenaline and a positive will. Sometimes she almost leaped to the next tree. And when the trees were farther apart, she’d take steps in between like in the triple jump.

The real challenge, of course, was when the span between the trees were spaced at a fairly large distance. When this happened, Summer really had to bear down, clutching rocks and clumps of not-so-established dirt in an effort to avoid sliding back down. Sometimes she’d push herself into the rock wall, feeling herself trembling and gradually losing the battle with gravity.

On one occasion she lost about twenty feet, not to mention some skin. She felt her heart pounding the whole way down and for minutes after. It was at this time that she became aware of the darkening aura that was surrounding her as the sun made its final descent behind the mountains at the other side of the valley.

She hoped the moon would be fairly bright tonight, realizing that she didn’t have much by which to gauge it as she hadn’t paid much attention to the sky the night before. And even in the light of day she hadn’t been able to get a good sense of the moon’s size as something had been blocking it whenever she had tried to look.

As she reached the top of the first tier, the feel of the forest had changed and Summer was very much aware of it. The terrain had remained the same, but an altered backdrop had unfurled to accommodate a new act in the play. Darkness was now dominating, but tempered by a haze of light led by a milky swath of stars and more importantly a moon that was thankfully almost full.

“I
LOVE YOU, TOO, SWEETHEART. I can’t wait to see you.”

At first Summer thought the words were directed at her. But they made no sense. I love you,
too
?
Too
? She hadn’t even said anything.
I can’t wait to see you
? Why would you say that to someone who was a few feet away, just outside?

Maybe she hadn’t heard right. She was exhausted. Thirsty. Maybe just not thinking clearly. Besides, the words were faint, coming from behind the door.

This last hour had in some ways been the toughest of her trek back to the cottage. Even though the terrain had been relatively flat, this hike had had an attritional effect on Summer that seemed to weigh the heaviest that final hour. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Her feet were like lead and she had long ago blocked out her bumps and bruises as her desire for water, rest and peace of mind had obscured all else.

When she had seen the light coming from her grandmother’s cabin, it felt like one last shot of adrenaline had been injected.
Hart! Hart must be home. He must be safe,
she thought.

And then, “I love you, too, Sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you.” It was as if Hart had read her mind and answered her before she could speak. Or maybe she had said it. Was she that punch drunk?

Summer stood not quite at the door. For some reason she lingered back a few feet, her body swaying like she was trying to get her sea legs.

Hart continued: “We just have to play this the right way and we’re home free. It’s going to be great.”

Was she dreaming? Who was he talking to? And what was he talking about?

“I’m going to kiss you all over when I see you.” That was the next thing she heard. Or thought she heard. And then her hand jetted out and seized the knob of the front door.

“Wait! I heard something,” he said.

And before she knew what she was doing, she was knocking.

Then silence. Or shuffling. Maybe whispering. She didn’t know what she was hearing. She was ready to faint, she felt so lightheaded. The words she had just heard hung in the air. And as the door felt like it was about to open, she filed them in the back of her brain. They would not be forgotten but would instead be played like an ace—used when most needed, rather than when it would cause the table to fold before its time. And though it surprised her that she was thinking this way, it felt like the most prudent thing to do. After all, maybe she needed more information or maybe, in her semi-delirious and dehydrated state, she had just imagined the whole thing. Maybe she’d wake up any moment now. Or maybe she was fooling herself.

H
ART FLUNG THE DOOR OPEN the way one might tear off an adhesive bandage. He had forced himself to stand up straight. He would face the cops without a hint of guilt or wrongdoing. After all, he hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

But what he saw when he opened the door made the blood drain from his face. A million thoughts flooded his head. But one thought wisely bolted to the forefront of his mind: hug her. He did, as he said her name and other requisite things like, “Thank God you’re alive.” He actually pulled it off quite well, aided by the emotional aspect of it all bubbling so close to the surface.

Summer was in a daze, but she hugged him back hard, the tears coming easily.

How are you not dead?
Hart wanted to scream but composed himself enough to ask it in a way that didn’t make himself sound like he was either bitterly disappointed or like some kind of sick maniac.

Hart played the doting husband as he led Summer to the couch and brought her as much water as she needed and tended to her scrapes and cuts.

The relief and comfort she felt could hardly be expressed and she broke down a few times, each episode greeted with warm embraces and comforting words from Hart. He had dramatic flair after all, throwing himself into his part, dying to know what happened—why she wasn’t dead, how she’d destroyed his seemingly serendipitous plans—all while treating her with kid gloves.

Hart listened with great interest to Summer as she explained how she was not in the car when she heard the horrible explosion. He sympathized with her when she recounted how she had made it out of the valley and back to the cabin, even managing to diplomatically confirm that she hadn’t been seen by a soul. And he, of course, expressed how relieved he was that she was home safe.

All the while, however, behind those commiserating eyes, the wheels turned. He felt like the winning lottery ticket had been yanked out of his hands. She had been out of the picture and now she was back. So the narrative would have to change and he’d have to stay one step ahead of it all if—

“What are you looking at?” Hart asked, interrupting his own thoughts. But they both knew where her eyes were.

“Oh, the phone,” he said. Hart had some explaining to do. The phone. He glanced back at it to give it the full effect.

“Oh, I was just talking to your cousin Brandy.” And now he was really scrambling, trying to remember what he said; wondering how long Summer had been on the porch before she had knocked; what she might have heard.

“I was worried about you and I just needed someone to talk to,” he continued.

“Oh,” said Summer. Her thinking was still cloudy so she decided not to question Hart about what she thought she might have heard. For a brief moment she asked herself if she was just trying to avoid a confrontation. If that was the case, it made her feel ashamed, but, no, she didn’t think that was it. She just wanted to be on firmer ground before proceeding. But her antenna was definitely up. For the first time in her life she wasn’t sure if she could trust Hart.

It just seemed odd that of all people to call, Hart would choose Brandy. I mean she had never been particularly close to her cousin. And Hart certainly never had been either. Or had he?

“Yeah, she’s on her way up now,” Hart said. “To see if she could help out. Thank God you’re okay though. Now it’ll be like a little family vacation.”

“I’m surprised you even have her number,” Summer said, regretting it the moment it came out. She wanted Hart’s guard to be down; not wanting him to know she suspected anything.

“Oh, well it was in one of the drawers in the kitchen along with other family numbers. That’s why I called her actually.”

“So are you going to call her back and tell her I’m alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I better. I just got so caught up I forgot about her.”

He definitely played it well and Summer wasn’t sure what to believe. She decided to listen closely, pretend like she wasn’t, and see if she’d pick anything up by the way Hart talked and acted.

He walked over to his phone.

“Hart, did you try calling my cell, by the way?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. Many times. There was no answer.”

It made sense, seeing as her phone had blown up in the explosion.

From his point of view, of course, his response was a big risk that he could have been called on if Summer did in fact have her phone. On the other hand actually saying “no” to the question she posed would have been bordered on ridiculous.

“Hi Brandy?” Hart said into the phone. “This is Hart. You’re not going to believe this. Summer’s alive!” There was a beat and Summer noticed that Hart was smiling from ear to ear. “Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t in the car.” Hart was nodding and smiling and pacing. “I know, I know, it’s unbelievable. Anyway, we’ll tell you all about it when you get here...I know. I’m so relieved, too. Thank God she’s okay...Okay, you drive safe... We’ll see you soon...Bye.”

Hart hung up the phone. “She was so relieved. Oh my God. I know you guys were never that close but she was really worried.”

Summer, still on the couch, smiled and sipped some water.

“Anyway, she’s on her way up,” said Hart.

Summer yawned, got up, and headed in the direction of the bedroom. “Well, I guess I’ll say ‘hi’ tomorrow morning. I’m exhausted.”

“Good night, Honey,” he said, coming over to her and embracing and kissing her.

She returned his embrace and began shuffling toward the bedroom. Then she stopped and turned. “Hart?”

“Yes, Honey?”

“What’s going on with the police?”

Hart felt his face flush. “What do you mean?” For the first time tonight, he sounded a little jittery.

“I mean you reported me missing, right? I assume they’re out there looking for me.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I already talked to them after the explosion.” He tried to choose his words as carefully as he could while trying to sound like he wasn’t thinking too hard.

“They actually drove me home.” He felt dumbfounded, being thrust into the main performance without ever having a chance to hear how his lines sounded out loud. Then he figured the less said, the better.

But despite her weariness, Summer just looked at him, gesturing slightly with her hands, clearly waiting for more.

“Well, it feels strange to say this out loud, but, uh, they’re not really looking for you because they think you’re, you’re dead. I mean that you, you blew up in the explosion.”

Summer pursed her lips and nodded. “Hmm.” It did seem strange hearing that. But it made sense. After all, Hart had thought she was dead. Why not the police?

“Well, let’s see what the news says. It must be on the—”

She stumbled as she moved toward the coffee table, reaching for the remote. Hart sidled over, trying to appear casual but unavoidably looking awkward in the process.

He clutched the remote. “It’s actually broken. I was trying all day.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Listen, Sweetheart,” he said, hugging her. “You’ve had a long day. I’m worried about you. Why don’t you get some sleep, huh? I’ll call the police and tell them you’re okay. And I’ll see if I can get the damn T.V. working.”

He held her loosely now and put his forehead against hers and smiled. Then he kissed her. “Get some rest Sweetheart.”

She nodded and headed into the bedroom.