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“My brain feels foggy, like I can’t concentrate,” David said, watching the doctor take his blood pressure with all the detachment of someone watching TV.
“Well, your blood pressure is fine. You do look pale though. I’m wondering if it’s an iron deficiency?” Dr. Penney said with a frown. He looked lost, as if he’d shown up for an exam without attending the class. I suspected the plan had been for his father to train up his son before retiring but his untimely death had launched Penney Jr. into the deep end.
“It could be?” David said, although a question hung in his voice. He didn’t want guesses; he wanted a rock-solid diagnosis and a plan back to normal.
“I’ll be sure to cook him lots of red meat,” I said smoothly, patting his arm and smiling. “Even if you don’t have an iron problem, a steak dinner should lift your spirits.”
“Just last week I was out in that yard, chopping wood,” he murmured, rolling on his side to stare out the window. “Now I’m stuck in bed.”
“You’ll be back outside soon,” I said, kissing his forehead. “I’ll show the doctor out and then make you a steak dinner.”
But he was lost in his own world, the dappled light from the window throwing patterns on his haggard face.
“I think it’s time for him to be admitted to hospital,” Dr. Penney said to me in the kitchen, a week later. It was a warm autumn afternoon, the kind of weather that makes you feel incredibly happy to be outside. The sun was getting lower and the air was full of buttery golden light. I stared out the window, aching to walk away but knowing that this was the moment when I had to be the most cautious, a devoted wife above even the start of suspicion.
“Of course, doctor. He’s not getting any better. I just want my David well.”
“It’s a couple hours’ drive to Glendale, the closest hospital with the specialists he might need. I’ll call them today but let’s take him tomorrow. He’s already asleep and the trip will be exhausting for him. We’ll set out at eight tomorrow.”
“I’ll ask the neighbors to take the kids,” I said. “I’ll see if they can spend the night, so I don’t have to sort them out in the morning.”
“Okay,” Dr. Penney said. He shook his head and tried to speak a couple of times before he finally got the words out. “I’m starting to suspect David has an aggressive form of cancer. I think you should prepare for the worst.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, bleary from the exhaustion of being David’s nurse day and night. He nodded sympathetically.
“Well, we should get some answers soon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said, showing him out. After he left, I pursed my lips and began making David’s soup. I pulled the dexylchromate out of my hiding place in the cupboard.
That evening, as the sun faded behind the curtains, I sat with David in the bedroom, all tucked up in bed like a little boy. Strangely, he seemed to know that he was dying. I helped him drink more soup, knowing that it was so full of poison he’d never live to see the bottom of the bowl, not in his weakened state. He seemed so comforted by me, the secret source of all his troubles.
He slipped away peacefully, a smile on his face that made me feel almost good about killing him. He died knowing what it was to be a husband and father and believing that he was loved. Meanwhile I felt a strange thrill at his death, the same feeling I’d had when I stared at Ted’s body or contemplated the way I’d changed the Flanagan family’s life on a subway platform. Except this time, I felt it even more intensely, as if I was injecting it straight into my veins. It was power. Pure unadulterated power. I decided who lived and died. Everyone existed at my mercy. And once you’ve felt that, well, it’s hard to go back to tuna casseroles andI Dream of Jeannie.
David did love me. I still feel a little bad about him. He thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with me. And I suppose he was right.
Chapter Twenty-One
DAPHNE:After David died, Dr. Penney became certain that it had been cancer. I guess it made it easier for him to cope with the fact that one of his first patients died undiagnosed and untreated. So, by the time the obituary ran in the paper, ‘cancer’ had become ‘late-stage leukemia.’ Just one of the many sad, ordinary deaths that made up a season in a small town.
RUTH:How long did you stay in Leosville after his death?
DAPHNE:Two months. I hated every minute of it, but I needed to lie low, make sure no one was questioning the death. Then I sold the house to some out-of-towners and pocketed my inheritance. David was richer than I could have imagined, the kind of guy who always earned and never spent a penny on himself, socking it all away for me, his rainy day. He really was the best kind of man. Then I loaded the kids and the dog into the back of the car and left town.
RUTH:The dog came too?
DAPHNE:Oh yeah. Ruffles came too. That damned dog outlived my next two relationships. In the end, he died of old age, a rare occurrence in my house.
RUTH:How did the kids take leaving?
DAPHNE:Oh, they cried and cried, but I knew they’d also been happy in New York. And I felt so excited; the whole world seemed to shine with possibility. Leosville was a dump. Had David lived somewhere with decent shopping and a nightlife, he might have gotten another two years with me.
RUTH:I-I. . . just can’t believe you did that! You killed a man who loved your kids, wholovedyou, just because you were bored? Because you hated small-town living and wanted to get back to New York?
DAPHNE:It really was the best thing.
RUTH:According to who? Certainly not David! I would have loved to have a parent like him! Doesn’t it bother you? You killed the only proper dad your children ever had! Don’t you think about the fact that the men you’re killing had mothers, sisters, children?
DAPHNE:Who, exactly, are you talking about? David was alone.