Day Six （Joy Moore）
Joy Moore
Day Six
Staring out from under my handsewn quilt, I wish for the thousandth time I hadn’t visited the doctor. I wish I could go back and unlearn that Xander is dead. Wish I could unsee that tiny sac.
Dr. Singler asked me to come back in two days. “Perhaps then we’ll have a better idea about how to proceed.”
She said it like a question, as if to gently remind me that I need to make a decision, and I nodded my consent because I would love a better idea about how to proceed.
When Carlotta first mentioned the shelter, I could never have imagined it playing out like this.
It was three weeks after Ted ambushed me on the street, and I hadn’t left my property since.
Carlotta caught sight of me on my back terrace, slumpy shouldered and pale faced, nursing a midmorning coffee, and called me over for some “soil therapy.”
“I’m starting seeds for winter,” she said as I slipped through the side gate.
She handed me a spade and a plastic tray with twelve empty cells and led me to the glass porch table, which was covered in pocket-sized packets listing every winter vegetable under the sun.
I’d never started seeds before, and so she taught me how to handle each one: sprinkled atop the soil or buried a quarter-inch deep, single or multiple per plug, sprayed with a gentle mister until just so.
“How long do they take?”
“Some, one to two weeks. Others, two to four.” She sighed at the planter beds. “You always have to decide this time of year whether to cling to summer or prepare for winter. It hurts, uprooting the ones that still have something left to give.”
The cantaloupes had all been harvested from their vines, but the tomatoes and jalapenos held on to some fruit.
The bell peppers showed signs of exhaustion, as did the picked-over lettuces.
The butternut squash leaves were turning yellow, but the herbs were teeming and aromatic, more than any one household could ever use.
On this warm day in mid-September, it was impossible to believe winter would ever come.
“I can see that,” I said.
“I know you can.” It was an odd response, and I was still contemplating its meaning when she changed the subject.
“This whole business with Shake Awake…” Her baby-fine silver hair was wet with sweat; a drop trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “I feel just awful about it.”
I’d never mentioned the toxin poisoning scandal, but she would’ve heard our apology on the podcast. More people had landed in the hospital since the news came out. The only consolation at this point was that no one had died. “I do too.”
“The gall of those shady food scientists they hired, thinking they could get around the FDA like that. I swear to you, Emil had no idea. He thought it was a safe investment. A chance for everyone to make a little extra money.”
This sent an unpleasant tingle down my spine. “I’m not sure I’m following.”
Her cheek muscle twitched. “I thought…” She looked down at the table, now coated in a speckled layer of soil. “Xander said he was going to tell you.”
But of course Xander hadn’t told me.
That day, I learned everything I never wanted to know about the Shake Awake corporation. I believed we’d donated those ads out of the goodness of our hearts, but in fact Xander had traded TSMSYL’s premium mid-roll space for a personal stake in the company.
As for how it came about, Shake Awake’s cofounder just happened to be one of Emil’s longtime personal training clients.
In need of venture capital and aware that Emil trained a number of deep-pocketed A-list actors and producers (most of whom he’d met on set during his stunt-double days), this cofounder offered Emil a commission for every investor he brought in.
I wasn’t surprised Xander jumped at the chance to be involved. He would’ve loved being considered one of Emil’s A-listers.
What did surprise me, however, was that Xander had been making these little trades all along.
I didn’t want to believe it at first, but the details added up.
Every time Benny and I thought we were donating ad space, Xander was actually making a side deal.
Philanthropy, my ass. Xander’s “long game” equity investment portfolio from our early marriage had not proven fruitful, and that sneaky bastard was using our podcast’s clout to ameliorate his loss.
He’d found a way to invest risk-free, and he was goddamn proud of it.
So proud he bragged about it to Emil after sealing the Shake Awake deal.
Not long after, shit went down.
Now Xander’s outsized reaction to the whole ordeal made so much more sense.
Shake Awake didn’t recall their products quickly enough when they learned their “generally recognized as safe” runaround was in fact unsafe, nor did they inform Emil or any of their investors.
And Xander couldn’t explain why he was so angry, because then he’d have to admit he’d started the entire venture with a lie.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people had taken seriously ill, and due to my husband’s greed, we were connected in a far more tangible way than I originally believed. I had no way to know what these side deals looked like on paper, or if Apex Plus was clued in, but either way it didn’t bode well.
I found myself struggling to breathe. Xander had been in charge of our money since day one, and now I wondered what else he’d been hiding.
He paid our bills. Balanced our budget. Filed our taxes.
I once asked if I could take a more active role in our accounting, and he laughed.
“You’d be lost without me,” he always said, and now I realized he was right.
When I pushed my sleeves up, overtaken by the dizzying heat of anger, Carlotta let out a heavy sigh. Gaze locked on my forearms, she said, sadly, “I had a feeling.”
Mortified, I yanked my sleeves back down, but it was too late. She’d already seen the bruises.
“I—I fell out of bed.”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing I haven’t heard.”
I knew she was referring to her years as a judge. The cases she’d presided over. “It’s not like that,” I insisted. “He’s just stressed. It’s been a bad month.”
“It has. I’ve seen his anger directed toward my partner and it’s not pretty. But I’m not worried about Emil.” Touching my sleeve, she said, “If a man is capable of that over a bad month of business, I’m afraid of what he would do over a bad month of marriage.”
“It’s not like that,” I said again, but I was already losing steam. “I can leave.”
Carlotta glanced out at the garden, frown pulling down her weathered cheeks. “I imagine a lot of the victims in my courtroom would’ve said the same thing.”
I didn’t respond. She took my hand.
When I was ready, she knew a place.
But it still felt impossible. There was the podcast, and I would have to tell Benny, and if the energy shake scandal didn’t end our prospects with Apex Plus, my disappearance surely would.
The life-changing money I’d counted on to start over was no longer a given, but I couldn’t rule it out.
The stress resulting from this intolerable limbo depleted my central nervous system.
For days, I slunk through life as if trapped in a debilitating hangover.
I was nauseated, and tired, so very, very tired.
So tired I nearly convinced myself I was better off doing nothing.
And then, a week later, I learned I was pregnant.
Everything hurts. In the past, when I was like this, Xander would reposition me every few hours, placing a pillow behind the small of my back, between my knees, under my elbows.
When the need passed, I marveled that it was ever necessary in the first place.
“What would you do without me?” he would ask.
What would I do without him?
I need a shower. My armpits are oniony. My breath is foul. If Xander were here he would carry me to the bathroom and lather me from head to toe, and I would play puppet, accepting my role. He would rinse me and dry me and return me to bed, naked and clean.
He loved me this way. I let him love me this way.
I don’t feel bad that he’s dead.
IT’S UNCLEAR WHAT time it is when Mitali visits. The light outside is gray, which means it could be morning or night, or midday shadowed by a passing cloud, but I don’t care. She smiles down at me, cheeks flushed, wearing the same navy sweatshirt and skinny jeans as the night we met.
“How was the doctor?” she asks. “Did you get what you need?”
I consider telling her but decide I don’t want to talk about it.
She doesn’t press. “Have you eaten?’
“A little while ago.” Another tray from Gloria I could barely keep down. I clear my throat with a slight cough. “Is there any news? Have you checked your email?”
She hesitates long enough that my heart begins to flutter. “Still nothing.”
“Nothing from Benny?” I’d assumed Benny would pass along a message as soon as he learned I was okay.
Mitali blinks hard. I can’t read her face. “Do you want me to reach out to the police again?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but something feels wrong. “No.” I should do it myself. I try to sit up, and I’m so lightheaded I may as well be floating.
“Don’t overdo it.” Mitali smiles. Presses a hand to my leg. “I’ve got this. You rest.”
Again, I try and fail to get up.
“I’ll go now,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”
I find myself unable to respond. A rush of cold sluices through my body as she pauses in the door. “Anything for my favorite podcaster.”