Page 4 of The End of the World As We Know It

Abel was not a monster. His pecker didn’t like that blood, either.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, and Mrs. Blanchard crumpled like a tissue.

Abel entered the house. The baby was out of sight.

“Before you start… Don’t. I can’t do it, okay? I can’t leave him and it’s not his fault. My mother… If I leave him, who’s gonna pay for her assisted living? And Randy, you know?”

Abel knew enough to say nothing. To nod.

“Oh fuck,” she said, and she fell into him, through him. Nothing ever felt better than her tears and her trembling shoulders. She was honest now. She said she was a fuckup. She said she always chose the wrong men.

“Not possible,” Abel said. “There’s no such thing as the right man. They’re all evil.”

The pads of her little fingers went this way and that way. “You’re sweet,” she said. “It’s like you’re not… I’m sorry.”

And nothing had ever felt worse than her regaining her equilibrium, patting his backside, pulling away to pour coffee. She lit a cigarette. She sat in the chair and kicked her feet up on the table. Abel didn’t feel like a man, not anymore. He was a cop again. Nothing more.

“So,” she said. “Is this what you do all day? You go from one shit marriage to another?”

“Sometimes. But I’m not one to judge.”

She huffed. She was nothing like the Mrs. Blanchard in his fantasies. “Right,” she said. “Sure.”

“Would you like to press charges?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know that cake I made for Rona? She brought it back, left in on our porch, and the raccoons got into it, which pissed off Kip. So, I go to Rona and ask her to please not do that kind of thing and she says shehatesdevil’s food cake. She likesangelfood cake. I mean, who in their right mind would take angel food over devil’s food?”

Abel would do that. He preferred angel food. “I hear you.”

“I mean, hello… We’re talking about chocolate.”

He wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t cackle for her stupid stand-up act or spar with her and admit that he was like Rona in more ways than one, that he, too, found devil’s food to be excessively rich, heavy. He was here to protect, to serve.

“Would you like to press charges against your husband?”

She blew smoke at him. “Would you?”

“You’d be surprised at how many systems are in place to help women in this situation.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, in the meantime I have to go help my sister. She’s sick.”

“Can you and Randy stay with her for a while?”

She looked at him like he shouldn’t know her baby’s name. “Wow.”

“I’m good with names.”

“I’m terrible,” she said, and she was back. Lovely and scared and soft. “But I guess that’s no surprise… Do you want to know something sick?”

Her feet were on the ground now. He was quiet. Ghost-in-the-graveyard-level still.

“When he came after me today, after the wholecakefiasco, I ran into the bedroom. I wanted Rona to hear, so I made a dig about his dead brother. I wanted him to belt me because then you’d come back and… I’m repulsive. I’m amotherand I’m poking the bear trying to get myself killed so this cop I met once will come back and ‘rescue’ me.”

Abel’s insides were melting and hard. “Maybe he will,” he said.

She lit another cigarette. “Right. And then we’ll run away and live happily ever after and make a big happy family. Nope. I’m a fuckup, Officer. I’m a real true fuckity-fucking fuckup.”

“You’re an angel, Amelie.”