American River Review 2019 - Flipbook - Page 50
I don’t remember when I woke up the next day but
there he was, standing there with a breakfast tray, a
yellow Gerber daisy springing from a glass vase, the
smell of bacon and eggs making me nauseous. I smiled
and said thank you as he fed me, then I folded him into
my arms as he sobbed. I pushed down the vomit, the pain,
the anger, the truth, swallowed all of it and fooled myself
into believing I could mend this man.
Dead me watches from the couch as Josh stands and
smiles, loads our Al Green CD in the player, “Melissa, I
just wanted you to be sufficiently…”
“…dazzled by my charm,” I roll my eyes and repeat in
tandem with Josh.
“But you’re right, Missy. It’s about time you came to
my place for a change. I haven’t brought many girls here,
and well, I just want you to know it’s, how should I say,
understated.”
He leans against the window frame, holds the phone
between his shoulder and cheek and smiles, shoving his
hands into his front jean pockets. The sunshine pouring
in casts a long lean shadow and he looks humiliatingly
handsome. His dark hair falls across his face as he
watches three small birds hop under an azalea bush.
“How in the world did a guy like me get so lucky?
Well, I tell you one thing. This place will look a lot better
when you’re in it,” he says into the phone.
Ah, forever the charmer. And so it went. The intense
attraction consumes them both. She giggles when he
has a house key made for her, squeals when he clears
out two drawers and some closet space and brings
home champagne when her lease is up. They move in
her furniture, curtains go up, a matching bedspread and
pillows blanket our bed, a juicer adorns the kitchen
counter. She is making headway with him. He’s stopped
dealing and started exercising, even started showing up to
work on time.
But he doesn’t have me fooled. I see the way his neck
stiffens when her friends come over. I notice the twitch in
his left eye when she comes home too late. I watch as he
goes through her phone and her laundry while she sleeps,
and I feel the trembling rage deep inside that rocks his
cage.
It won’t be long now I’m afraid. Not long at all.
Too bad a dead woman’s warnings are seldom heard.
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American River Review