Chapter 13
Doug
“You look gorgeous, by the way,” Doug said as he worked on his tie in the car mirror. It was already dark, and his face looked
soft in the yellow mirror lights. Hellie was driving. He’d never learned to do a tie without a mirror. “Sorry I didn’t have
time to shave or anything. They’re just cramming my schedule with all these appointments . . .” He cinched the knot and smoothed
down the silk. It was holiday-themed: green silk spotted with bright multicolored lights. Hellie had given it to him for Christmas.
The last gift she’ll ever give me, I guess, he thought as he tightened the knot, but he didn’t feel sad. Instead, he felt strangely euphoric.
Last. It sounded so epic. The last gift. The last time he’d see his friends. His last night as a married man. It had been a ride,
and he was going to enjoy the final spin before it stopped.
“It’s good that you’re busy,” said Hellie in her thin sweet voice, her eyes never leaving the road.
Under her big puffer coat, she was wearing her green sparkly dress.
She had done her hair with the curling iron and it fell in sleek waves to her shoulders.
In general, she had been looking older these past two years.
Small tight lines around the mouth. A boniness to her jawline.
A sunkenness to her cheeks. But with a fresh hairdo and some makeup, Doug could see that delicate quality that, back when they met as teenagers, had made him want to scoop Helen Halloran into his arms and keep her safe forever.
“Busy is good,” he repeated. “Busy is good. How was your day?”
By design, they’d barely seen each other for five minutes before leaving for the party. Doug didn’t want to have to lie to
her face for a single second longer than was necessary, so even though he could have gone straight home after leaving the
bar, he didn’t. He napped on Ted’s couch and then they played a vintage version of Grand Theft Auto. Ted was in good spirits. Great spirits. Apparently, he had just inherited a lot of money. A “fuckton,” Ted kept saying as he laid the lines of coke out
on the coffee table and passed a little straw to Doug.
Like it wasn’t even a question that Doug would do a line.
“Old granny die?” ribbed Doug, taking the straw like it was no big deal, even as everything in him rushed up to meet the experience.
“Great aunt, great uncle?” He wasn’t born yesterday. He knew inheritance was code for massive drug deal. He snorted the powder. He could weep, that’s how good it felt to fall this fast.
“Yeah, man,” said Ted, laughing. “A couple grannies and an uncle.”
If Doug’s story was a tragedy, which he was willing to consider it might be, Ted’s wasn’t far behind.
He graduated high school with a 4.0. He was a Speech and Debate national finalist. Smart as a whip.
Sarcastic and cutting and funny as hell.
Then, instead of going to college like everyone assumed he would, he started dealing.
At first, it was fast cars and expensive sneakers and weekends at the BlueChip casino.
Fast-forward a few years . . . he got into some kind of trouble .
. . Doug didn’t know the whole story. Just that Ted was convinced there was a bounty hunter after him for some old conviction.
Ted had gone to Will’s to hide out in Indy, but the bounty hunter must have sniffed him out, because out of nowhere, cops showed up at Will and Jenn’s door and their kids had to watch as Ted was dragged away.
“I hate that my kids had to see that,” Will kept saying in a kind of dazed voice.
Meanwhile, Jenn was pissed, apparently. Middle-class bitch.
Her Facebook posts made Doug want to murder her. Self-satisfied whore. She was probably gloating as Ted was dragged off.
Will and Jenn didn’t deserve those three gorgeous kids—and they were gorgeous. You know who deserved kids? Hellie. His faithful,
hardworking treasure of a wife, who would have kicked Jenn’s ass as a mom all the way around the block and then some.
Anyway, a year in the clinker, and now Ted was out, and apparently back in the game. He wouldn’t say how much his fuck-ton
“inheritance” was, which either meant he was shitting Doug and it wasn’t much at all, or he was a fucking billionaire.
“You should come to the party tonight,” Doug told Ted spontaneously. After all, Ted used to kind of be part of the group.
He’d been at the first party. Definitely at the second party. The third? Hard to remember . . . Anyway, he should buy a little
baggy now, just in case Ted didn’t come. He pulled out his wallet. “Hey, what’s your current Friends Discount?”
Now, Doug glanced at his wife of ten years. Could she tell he was high? Nope, or she’d have called him on it. He reached into
his pocket and let his finger brush the top of the bag. He would have bought more, earlier, it’s just he had limited cash
available. Ted had better come tonight. Then he’d share, because it was a party, and Doug could save his baggy . . .
“You’re quiet,” said Hellie. “Did you sell any gutters today?”
“Ah . . . I haven’t told you my good news yet . . .” Doug’s heart was racing, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. He might
as well really live the lie. Be as happy as if he had gotten a promotion.
“What good news?” She took a left. Cornfields ran along the side of the road. They were just a few minutes from Phelps’s house.
Telling Hellie would be fun. But telling her in front of an audience . . . his insides lit up at the thought. All that good
cheer. All that approval. Everyone happy . . . happy about him . . . one last time.
“I’ll wait so everyone can hear.”
“Okay,” she said without even looking at him. Maddeningly neutral. Ultra calm.
His mood soured and he fidgeted his fingers against the edge of his collar. Fuck. Why wasn’t she ever really happy or really
angry? Even when she gave him the ultimatum, she had been as cool as a cucumber.
Was it because he couldn’t give her kids—at least kids that could survive past week ten? Was it that? He wasn’t man enough?
He was sweating. His heart was still pounding, except now it was becoming unpleasant. Fuck . . . he was tired. Tired as a
dog.
He looked at Hellie. She had weathered everything with him—his times in jail, his times in rehab, all the times he’d been
unfairly fired by the middle managers of this country that kissed the asses of corporations like they were sugar cubes and
loved to kick around people like Doug, people who were just trying to make an honest buck.
If Hellie really loved him, wouldn’t she have been more upset as she gave him the ultimatum? Crying? Some show of emotion. Instead, she was as pale and calm and small as ever, sitting on their kitchen counter in their garden apartment
in Fort Wayne where they used to live. I can’t do this anymore unless you can pull your weight. That’s what she’d said. Word for word. Her pale legs dangling down under her slip dress. Her shoulders as delicate as bird
wings. He’d wanted to break her in that moment.
He’d never laid a hand on her. Never. He’d never wanted to either, except in that moment, when she was sitting like a damn bird on that counter with her damn pale legs dangling down and she said, I can’t do this anymore unless you can pull your weight.
Pull your weight, as if he’d been doing nothing the whole time they were together. Didn’t she remember that job he’d had bartending?
The leather jacket he bought her that one Christmas? The perfume he—well, he’d shoplifted that—but she didn’t know that! He’d
been a giver, not always, but not never, and with her pale legs dangling, it was like she didn’t remember a single good thing
he’d done.
The way he’d held her hand in the hospital and wept—Doug Pfluger weeping—because they couldn’t find the pinprick heartbeat. Weeping because he’d already imagined himself coaching his kid’s softball
team and going to the cheesy school Christmas performances and taking his kid to whatever new Marvel movie was coming out
the very goddamn night it released.
He adjusted his tie. It was choking him. He wanted to rip it off. Maybe he couldn’t wait for Ted to show up and share. Maybe
he’d hit up the bathroom as soon as they got there. He had to take care of himself, since no one else was fucking going to—
“You okay?” said Hellie, stealing a glance at him as she coasted into a parking space on the side of the street.
They were here. Phelps’s house was all lit up, with an inflatable Santa in the front yard. Doug would kill for a couple kids
for him and Hellie, some kids he could inflate a Santa for.
His heart ached, but it was an angry ache. Had Hellie forgotten their whole history? If Hellie really loved him, she’d fight
for him. If she really loved him, she’d understand that what happened today was an exception. That Doug had pulled his weight. That he truly was the victim.
It was uncomfortable to be mad at Hellie, because she was so small and calm. Doug wasn’t an abuser. He didn’t want to be the big scary guy when she was so fragile.
On the other hand, the fact that his life was about to explode was really fucking with him.
He thought of the gun, which he’d retrieved from the depths of his closet and stashed in his overnight bag, along with all
the cash he’d squirreled away since they moved in, including the thousand dollars his grandma kept in the Ben she was too far gone. He tried to calculate how much of the good stuff the thousand
dollars could buy, taking into account Ted’s Friends Discount . . .
He had been imagining using the gun on himself, but now that struck him as crazy. Why would he punish himself when none of
this was his fault? Maybe other times it had been . . . but this time it was clear as day. It was his boss’s fault . . . and
whoever had sent that fucking fax . . . and Hellie’s. Hellie’s fault for making this into a situation he couldn’t be honest
about. She wanted him to be truthful, but she’d cornered him and now it was impossible.
If she really loved him, she never would have put him in this impossible situation.
He adjusted his tie again.
She cut the engine. She was looking at him like she had in the hospital, her eyes both full and empty, both pleading and silent.
“What?” he said aggressively.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?”
His heart hammered harder. Was she looking at his pocket? Had she heard the crinkle of the bag?
“No.”
Did she know about his job? No. How could she? Maybe she could tell he was high, after all. Maybe this had been a horrible
idea, coming to this party, and he should cut and run.
“Too tight?” she said.
“Huh?”
“Your tie.”
“Too tight,” he said, yanking it loose with so much strength it cut into the back of his neck.
“Stop, you’re messing it up,” Hellie said softly. “Let me fix it.”
She unbuckled herself. The overhead lights in the car dimmed as she propped herself up on her hip to face him. Her small hands
went to work, unknotting it and restarting the whole process.
Looking at her, his heart pounded even harder. She was forcing his hand, making him lie. Well, he’d lie, then. He’d lie, and
lie, and lie, and see how she liked it.
How would she feel if he cornered her? If she felt the noose tightening around her neck?
He could feel the vein in his forehead popping, beating, beat, beat, beat.
“Perfect,” she said, patting the tie. “Does that feel better?”
“Fucking great,” he said, pulling away and wrenching open his door. He exploded out of the car, slammed the door shut, and
walked toward the house, not even waiting for Hellie. He could soon hear her quick steps, just behind. Sleet was wetting his
hair, zinging into his cheeks.
The weather was fucking awful, but it couldn’t be worse than the storm in his chest rattling for release.
Time to party.