Page 92 of Nash Falls

“Have the police called?” she finally asked.

He looked up to see her pouring out another cup of coffee. She was unemotional, calm, robotic even. It was starting to freak him out.Was she on drugs?

“No, they haven’t.”

She nodded, pursed her lips, and took a sip of the coffee. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, Walter. You’re too thin as it is. It won’t do Maggie any good if you collapse from hunger.”

Nash grabbed a banana from a bowl, stripped it, and ate it.

“There. Happy?” he said.

She started rummaging in the fridge. “I’ll make you a proper breakfast.”

“Judith, I’m not hungry, okay?”

“You say that now, but I know you. You’ll be fussing in no time. ‘Where’s my damn dinner? Why isn’t the house clean, woman?’”

“I don’t believe I’veeversaid that, in over two decades of marriage.”

“Maybe not in actual words, but with your eyes, with your manner. Men do that, you know. Women talk, men just emote, badly.”

He shook his head in bewilderment at this ridiculous conversation. Was this her guilt coming through? Or was it something more? He felt inclined to find out.

“Did you take some meds that are doing a number on you?” he asked.

“Eggs, bacon, toast, avocado, and fruit. Protein, carbs, fiber, and some healthy fats. In a jiffy, Walter. You can always count on me. You know that.”

He watched her pull skillets and bowls out of cupboards and food from the fridge. She put things together, and soon the kitchen was filled with the comingled smells of eggs, sizzling bacon, and bread toasting. She tossed blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries in a bowl with some yogurt, and sliced up an avocado after de-pitting it and scooping it out of its skin. She set out a plate at the table along with utensils and a cloth napkin pulled from a credenza drawer.

When the meal was ready she plated it, took his empty cup,refilled it, poured out a glass of orange juice, and set it down next to his plate.

“All ready to go. Eat up.”

He was oscillating between telling her to go to hell and sitting down to the meal. For reasons not readily apparent to him, Nash chose the latter. Perhaps it was because he could imagine the brittle fragility of his wife’s psyche right now and he did not want her to fully collapse.

As he took up his napkin and started eating she hovered next to him and said, “Everything to your liking?”

“It’s fine, Judith. Thank you.”

“I’m so glad.” She squeezed his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and walked back up the stairs.

He swallowed some eggs, had a piece of bacon, spooned two mouthfuls of fruit and yogurt into his mouth, took a couple bites of toast, and ate one slice of the avocado. Then Nash stood and went upstairs.

He saw Judith’s shoes lying outside of Maggie’s room. Next, he saw that the police tape had been ripped down. He peeked through the opening and saw his wife lying on her daughter’s bed, curled into a fetal position. She was saying something over and over but he couldn’t make out the words.

As he drew closer he finally heard it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He quietly withdrew and went to his room, showered, and changed into slacks and a polo shirt.

He walked to the guardhouse. Billy Adams was already off duty, and Nash hoped he was at the station telling the police what had happened. He was concerned because Ramos had not called him back.

Rolf was now on duty. He did not look good at all, Nash thought, as the man came out of the guardhouse.