Chapter 24
Deb wasn’t doing terrible things to herself. That much I know. Which means he was doing terrible things to her.
When I get home, Marie has a chicken roasting in the oven. I open the oven door. I can tell just from the smell that it’s going to be the most boring roast chicken ever. I close the door and find her in the dining room cleaning the silverware.
I step away silently and return to the kitchen. Judging from the look of the chicken, it has been roasting for about thirty minutes, which means she intends to serve in about an hour.
I am ready. I grab a small compact mirror I’d left in the drawer this morning and slip it into my pocket.
Roy goes into his office, the way he always does. I prepare a drink for him, Scotch and soda, and take it in.
“Hello, did you have a nice day?” I say.
“Yes, yes. Thank you.”
“I brought you a Scotch.” I set it down on his desk.
He has his back to me, riffling through the papers in his briefcase. “Thank you.”
“I thought you might like a Scotch to relax for a change. You’ve been working so hard. Here. Let me take your jacket for you.”
I gently lift his jacket off his shoulders.
He stops what he’s doing and shakes his arm free.
I kiss the side of his chin. “I love you. I love you more than anything and anyone in the world.” I fold his jacket very carefully over my arm.
I am on my best behavior. I am loving, dutiful, and deferential.
I am the perfect housewife. He turns around and slowly, reluctantly smiles at me.
“Thank you.”
He picks up his papers out of his briefcase then walks to the safe. “Turn around, please, Jodie.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” I knew this would happen. It happens every day, pretty much. I do as he says, and in one swift motion I slide my compact from my pocket, open it, and position it at the correct angle, just as he types the first digit.
It’s…backward. It’s a 5, backward.
“Marie is making a lovely dinner. Roast chicken, I believe. Isn’t that exciting?” …8… My heart is thumping. “Maybe you could choose a nice wine for us to go with the roast chicken?” …6…4…1… Was that a 1 or a 7? Jesus. How long is that code anyway? I’m never going to remember all that. 3…and…click.
That’s it. 586413. I hope that’s it. 586413.
“That sounds nice,” he says, depositing a file inside the safe and closing the door.
I watch his fingers on the keypad as he relocks it. 586413. I think.
“You can turn around now,” he says.
“I’ll be upstairs,” I sing.
I return to the kitchen and wait. Marie is still in the dining room doing her thing. About fifteen minutes later, I hear her footstep approaching. I quickly put the oven temperature back to 350 and walk out.
“Thank you, Marie,” Roy says gravely when Marie brings out the chicken.
“It’s my pleasure, Dr. Davies,” she says softly. She already spooned the roast vegetables into a bowl, and Roy passes it to me.
I poke at a potato, and I’m thrilled to see it’s very much on the firm side. I spoon a few very boring vegetables into my plate and pass the bowl back to Roy. For all his posturing, I can see from the expression on his face that he thinks assigning the cooking to Marie was a mistake.
Meanwhile, Marie’s face has pursed so that it looks like the end of an orange.
“Everything all right, Marie?”
She’s frowning at the cut chicken, the pinkness of it.
Roy stares at it.
“I…” she begins.
Roy leans closer, picks up his fork, and pokes at the chicken. “This isn’t cooked,” he says.
“But I cooked it for the right amount of time,” she says.
“But it’s not cooked,” he says.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Davies,” she mumbles. “I don’t know what happened…”
I drop my napkin and push back my chair. “I’ve got a beef and red wine casserole in the freezer. I can have it on the table in twenty minutes.”
And from the look of pure hate that Marie gives me, I know she knows.
But I don’t care.