Eight Steps

The woman was found eight steps from the creek bank. She lay on her side in a gentle ‘S,’ one hand, near her face, lay palm up with her fingers curled lightly towards the sky and the soft clouds that drifted there. The other arm outstretched a little, palm down. It looked as though she was spooned next to a lover none could see.
Long, fine, auburn hair shifted lightly in the breeze, mingling with tall grass. Touching the trunk of a fallen tree. Curled around stems of tiny mushrooms beneath. Playing across her face, shifting from cheek to jaw in a subtle caress. There was the occasional glimmer of a silver drop earring resting against her neck.
Anyone coming upon her like this might think she had simply been caught in the sweet lullaby of flowing water and wind through grass and treetops and the serenade of late-summer insects. Had there not been the blood.
The first blow crushed through bone and tendon and cartilage and finally cleaved muscle. The first blow had been fatal. The next 22 had seemed somehow necessary at the time. Rage overtook the hands that wielded the knife and drove it home for every fight they had ever been in. Every embarrassment. Every night spent alone — before and since. Every angry word spoken. For a lifetime of wounds this woman had failed to heal. The hunting knife, stained and tarnished, lay three steps from her body in dappled sunlight.
35 steps from her body was a truck, driver door ajar. The dome light shining feebly in the day.
Feet had carried the hands that wielded the knife those 35 steps. Those same hands fumbled behind the seat, numb and clumsy from shock. And horror. And elation and shame and sadness…and so many other emotions at one time that no human body could bear it.
The hands, red, cold, and sticky held the gun to a temple next to a cheek that, afterwards, no one would be able to tell had been streaked with tears.

They came to that lonely, lovely sight — the people of that tiny mountain town. They left behind flowers, and tears, and prayers, and curses, and their own stunned silences.
Word spread through the air like a pirate radio broadcast. People woke the next day, smiled and stretched in that new morning before memory came lapping at the edges of their minds. The smile faded from their lips. Some lay quietly under weight of the events. For some the weight was so heavy tears crushed from eyes unbidden.
In a town of 362 people, the sudden absence of two was palpable. The delicate web that connected them all was suddenly slack. Though few spoke openly about it, there were great holes in conversations the size and shape of two bodies.
In the small café Sophie watched two separate customers simultaneously burst into tears. Jeannie sat alone in the only booth by a window; Daniel at the counter, gazing into his cold coffee. Without comment she replaced the cup with a fresh, hot one and slid an extra napkin next to it.
Jeannie rose, angrily wiping at her eyes and apologizing as Sophie walked over. She set a crumpled bill next to her untouched plate. Sophie just shook her head and pressed it back into her hand as Jeannie lurched for the door. The bells on the closing door jangled noisily she as carried the plate to the garbage can and scraped its contents on top of the remains of other mostly untouched meals.

She took off her apron and set it on the shelf below the counter. There was a pack of cigarettes and a blue disposable lighter next to the extra table checks and a cup of pens. She slid the lighter into her pocket, tapped a smoke from the pack and set it between her lips. When she looked up, her husband Jack was just sitting down at the counter with a paper and a cup of coffee. His apron was stained with grease and blood and sauces from burgers. He didn’t bother to take it off. Sophie said nothing.
“Those things’ll kill ya.” He said without looking up.
“Yeah. So could a lot of things. I’m going to get the mail.”
“The mail? Now? What about the customers? Don’t you have some work to do?”
“What customers, Jack? Daniel’s drinking coffee. No one else is here. No one is hungry right now. They haven’t been for days. I’ll be back in 10 minutes.” She turned to the door.
“10 minutes? What are you planning on doing? It only takes five minutes to get the mail.”
“Fine then. 5 minutes. But there might be a line. Whatever. I’ll be right back.”
“10 minutes isn’t ‘right back,” Sophie.”
“Fine, Jack, fine. You’re right.” She pushed out the front door losing any reply he had in the clamor of bells.

There were few cars in the street. Even the dogs picked up the mood of the town and lay quiet in doorways. Last week, on this very walk, she had seen her driving down the street in her beat up and faded two-tone Bronco, the sides rusting out over the wheel wells. Beautiful Anaya, smiling and waving through the window. She was smoking one of her thin, hand-rolled cigarettes; her hair blowing away from her face, getting caught in the beautiful silver drops she always wore in her ears.
Sophie knew she was wearing worn, button-fly Levi’s, good hiking boots, and a simple cotton t-shirt under her denim jacket. Wrapped loosely around her neck was a fine cotton scarf — large enough, almost, to be a sarong — with intricate patterns dyed in vivid colors. Sophie once thought it to be a simple pattern until one day she saw it up close in the café and realized it was many complex patterns woven together to create the illusion of a simple whole.
Anaya was neither waif-thin nor Rubinesque. She was solid, strongly built. A mountain woman. The kind of woman who could hike up fourteeners in jeans with a simple pack and sleep easily beneath the stars there. The kind of woman that did not need makeup or perfume or fancy clothes. She looked you in the eye when she spoke. She had a strong handshake that did threaten, but comfort. As though when you touched her, you were touching the center of the Earth. And she gave her full attention, as though when you spoke with her, the entire Earth — the whole of the Universe — was listening. She was warm, impassioned. A champion of good causes.
Strong, beautiful, and as close to perfect and Sophie had ever seen and ever hoped to become even half of. Down to her marriage. Anaya’s husband was withdrawn, but the few friends he had were ferociously close ones. He had come from some far off country shattered in violence. He had been a soldier in cruel and bloody and almost endless wars. Until he escaped and fled to America. Until he came to the mountains that were bigger than anything he had known. They dwarfed him and his past. There he had met Anaya, a woman stronger that any he’d ever known. He thought she was strong enough.
For herself, Anaya had seen in him a good heart. A handsome man with dark skin and dark eyes made all the more achingly beautiful because she was the only one allowed to see past them. She saw past the scars and the violence and through the second language to all the potential beneath. She was a strong woman. She thought she was strong enough.
Sophie had never been comfortable around Mel. He drank black tea, very sweet, in the afternoons, complained of the price, and never left a tip. He never looked in her face; never spoke more words to her than absolutely necessary. She often wondered how on Earth this man could be lovable. Anaya had to be some kind of woman to get past all that.
How did she do it? How did she get to be so strong? So good? How? How did she manage to love one man so much, so well?
If Anaya could love the unlovable, why couldn’t Sophie love the man who loved her? She knew Jack loved her — he had married her after all. She had been sure what she felt inside was love, but Jack always told her differently. Her ‘love’ was not enough, he had told her so. He told her she did not know how to love for real — and probably never would — and that she was lucky to have married him because now at least one of them understood what real love was for the both of them. He told her that, while she didn’t have Prince Charming, she had someone that loved her like no other.
What was it that she lacked? How could she love Jack more? Could she learn? She wondered sometimes. Jack always said she was too young and probably not smart enough to learn. She wondered, often, if this were true.

With the mail tucked beneath her arm she walked slowly back to the café. A dog in a doorway lifted his head and wagged his tail once. Sophie walked on without looking at him. He set his head on his paws and heaved a sigh. She watched the ground as she walked, following the lines of cracked pavement until they were interrupted by a pair of ratty converse sneakers.
Willow, Sophie’s best friend, stood before her with a lopsided grin. Then they both smiled and hugged one another. In the center of the hug Sophie felt everything collapse. Tears were falling from the tip of her nose before she realized Willow was sobbing on her shoulder. They rocked together on the sidewalk sniffling and holding one another. It was the first time they had seen each other since…since.

Sophie spoke first, “Are you alright?”
Willow’s sobs stuttered, then she wailed, “I hate this town. I hate this whole goddamned place and everyone in it.” She sobbed loudly, sniffled, and then fell quiet. They stood a few minutes before she spoke again against Sophie’s shoulder, “I knew something was wrong. I was inside with the baby when Fiona started howling. I opened the trailer door and called, but she wouldn’t come. Fiona, she wouldn’t come in. She just sat there in driveway, howling and howling. So I went and sat with her and started crying, I didn’t even know why. And then I got scared. I got ice cold in the pit of my stomach and I thought of Anaya. She loomed so large in my head it hurt. I ran inside and called the cabin she’s been renting, but no answer. I called Ben at the gas station; Jeannie at the firehouse. I called her sister. I even called Mel because I thought, you know, maybe he’d seen her. But I couldn’t get hold of him, and no one else knew anything. So I just sat on my doorstep with Fiona and the boy and cried all night. My heart had broken in my chest and I didn’t even know why.” She shuddered and began to sob again. The story had built into a crescendo and crashed to the other side in sheer, unavoidable knowledge.
After a bit Sophie ventured, “I didn’t know she was renting a cabin. I mean, I knew I hadn’t seen her around town much lately. I just thought she was busy doing her thing, you know. And, we were never all that close.”
“She was renting Abby’s place. You know, the one with the green door with the window in it, just up the creek from where she and Mel were going to build their house.”
“Yeah, I know the one. But, where was Mel?”
“He’s been living out on Cal’s ranch in a tent for the summer, helping out with the horses.
“But…What happened? They were so…good. Together I mean.”
The question brought on a fresh round of tears. Willow had known Anaya, her sister Novi, and Mel for years. She’d lived with them when she first got to town. They were all her son’s godparents.
“They had been. Once. Their divorce was set to be finalized this week coming up.”
Little lights exploded behind Sophie’s eyes, her equilibrium was wrenched sideways and she would have fallen if not for Willow still holding her. All her beliefs, her hopes were snatched away in a breath and she stood gasping at the loss. Willow stepped back and put a cool hand to the side of her face, wiping an errant tear with her thumb, “They weren’t perfect, hon. You didn’t know? God, no. The fights they used to have…I walked around the house once because I heard yelling. And there she was. She had ripped open her shirt and was screaming at him to go ahead and kill her and get it over with. Mel turned and ran, he knocked me flat on my ass as he tore by. We didn’t see him for weeks after that.”

Willow stopped to swallow and gather her frayed thoughts. Sophie could see three full sleepless nights in and around her eyes. Willow squared up, took a deep breath and looked into Sophie’s eyes, “They’re going to call it a murder-suicide. But it’s not. And you can’t believe them when they say it. It was a double suicide and that’s the truth of it. Anaya killed herself with Mel’s hands and then he killed himself. It’s where they’ve always been headed. We knew it, they knew it too. I just hoped once the divorce was finalized that maybe they’d move on somehow. I…just hoped. That’s all.”
“But…what? I don’t understand. Why? Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was just…tired, you know? Tired of hearing how she was never good enough. Strong enough. Tired of never being able to love enough, I guess. I don’t know. I just don’t.”
They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms and walked back to the café together. Jack was still sitting at the counter, but Daniel had left. Jazz played over the jerry-rigged stereo. Jack turned at the sound of the door. He stood when he saw Willow and put his arms out. She stepped into his embrace while he whispered, “I am so sorry, Willow. God I‘m sorry for you. Are you doing okay? You know we’ll do anything for you. You just have to ask. You or the baby or both. Anything you need at all.” Willow nodded to his words and said into his chest, “Yeah. I know. You’re a good man, Jack. Thanks.”
The two sat down at the counter. Sophie gave Willow a cup of tea and refilled Jack’s coffee before retreating to the cramped office in the back with the mail. She emerged again at the sound of the bells to see Jack sitting alone, “Willow leave?”
“Yeah. Went to pick up her kid.” He eyed her as she tied her apron back on, “How’re you doin’ with all this?”
“Okay, I guess. I’m not sure it’s all sunk in, you know? I was looking for her truck on the street on the way to the post office, even though I knew she wouldn’t be there. Won’t be there ever again. Everyone is walking around shell-shocked. It’s scary.” She grabbed a towel and wiped at the counter as she cleared dirty mugs, “Did you talk with Willow much about it? Do you think she’s okay?”
“”Eh. She’s pretty bad off. Wouldn’t stop cryin’ the whole time. You’d think it’d been her own sister or something.” He shook his head derisively and reabsorbed into the paper.
Sophie glanced at him briefly, saw he was done talking and set about busy work. She filled the shakers and the napkin holders. Restocked soda and iced tea. Made coffee. Looked for more to do but found little. She eventually resigned to the end of the counter with an outdated magazine and coffee.

Jack had gotten up sometime earlier and was making noise in the kitchen. He came through the doorway with a plate of food and set it in front of Sophie with a flourish. She smiled at him as he leaned across the counter and kissed her. Sophie watched his back as he walked back to the kitchen. Muscular, well built and proportioned. He kept his long brown hair braided at work but let it lose after his shower at night. Kept his face clean-shaven except in the winter. Like to be clean. Liked the smell of fresh clothes. He doted on their dog, Zeke. Worked hard. Said he wanted kids someday. Everyone told her what a good man Jack was. Then why did she feel so sad? Why couldn’t she love this good man?
She ate and read. Glossy pictures of airbrushed models in clothes that cost more than she and Jack made in six months. Smiling faces and perfect skin. Playing on tropical beaches and haute resorts. Do-it-yourself home spas. Ten ways to improve your sex life. Show her how much you love her, buy her that new BMW. She had just finished is Is your dog really happy? when Jack walked in.
“Did we get any mail?”
Without looking up she replied, “Bills. Letter from Mom. Junk.”
“What’d your mom have to say?”
“Mm. Nothing much.”
“Yeah. Sure. ‘Nothing.’”
His tone made her look up. He stood, arms crossed, cocked on one hip with a bottle of beer in his hand. The tilt of his body and the color of his skin told her there were at least two more empty bottles in the kitchen already. She knew where this conversation was going now, and was powerless to stop it. But she tried anyway, “Really, honey. Nothing. She just sent a picture of her and dad on their fishing trip.”
“That’s not ‘nothing,’ Sophie. That is something.”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested. That’s all. No big conspiracy. Just a picture of a fish.”
“Where’s the letter. I want to read it.
“It’s on the desk, but — “
“But nothing. I can read my own goddamn mail if I want to.”
“Of course you can — “
“Unless you have something to hide. Is that it? You and your mom talking about me behind my back again? I’m not stupid, Sophie. I know. Oh I know alright. I’m just not good enough for her precious princess of a daughter.”
“Jack?! That’s not it at all. It was just a short note, ’Hi hon, here’s a fish I caught.’ That’s it. I really didn’t think you’d care.”
He didn’t say any more. He glowered at her over his beer as he tipped it back. His jaw held a tension that looked like it could snap steel. Flush was up on his cheeks. His nostrils flared with his breathing.
Sophie lost thing argument before it started. She’d lost it even before they got married. But she was used to it now. She had stopped trying to make any kind of sense out of it. He would drink the rest of the evening. He wouldn’t speak to her again until tomorrow morning and it would be like the sun breaking through the clouds, like none of this had ever happened. Tomorrow morning the sun would creep beneath the bedroom curtains and Jack would wake with sweet things on his mind. He would whisper loving things in her ear and brush her with butterfly kisses. Wrap her in strong arms and make love to her. And it will be perfect.
That’s what will happen tomorrow. But for tonight he will menace. Make more dirty dishes than necessary. Hurl pots across the room and leave it for her to clean. Cabinet doors will be slammed, walls kicked. All the time with his red eyes on her, accusing. She makes him do this. She does it on purpose. She always makes him do this.
Sophie is quick to say Jack never, ever hits her. In the three and a half years they’ve been together, he has never struck her with his fist. And she is lucky to have a man that loves her so, and does not hit her. Jack says there are women who would kill for a man like him.
In the very darkest parts of the night, quietly, to herself, Sophie wishes one of those women would take her good man from her. She thinks, sometimes, it might be better that way.
But Sophie holds onto hope that someday she will figure it all out and they won’t fight anymore. Jack will tell her he loves her and that everything is not her fault because she will have finally gotten it right. One day, she is almost certain, they will love each other just as perfectly as Anaya and Mel.
Sophie had been thinking while she cleaned up behind Jack. And this last thought stopped her cold. For one fleeting second, she was absolutely certain she and Jack would end up exactly like Anaya and Mel: absolutely, perfectly dead.

She stood in the kitchen with a pan dangling from her fingers. The contents dripping a messy puddle on the floor. Her fingers had gone numb, her stomach full of jagged ice. Sophie stood, barely breathing, trying to keep her grip on consciousness and the dripping pot. The edges of her vision were shading purple and she could feel the pulse in her temple, hear its rush in the tiny bones thrumming in her ears. She felt like she was floating and could not feel the tile beneath her feet.
Then a far away, tinny sound was calling her from the other side of the world. She focused on the sound and clung for dear life as it pulled her back. Back to her body, back to the kitchen. Something seemed terribly wrong with her vision until she realized it was only a very close up view of Jack, screaming, two inches from her face, “What the FUCK are you DOING? WHY are you JUST STANDING THERE when you have WORK TO DO?? I want to go the fuck HOME before fucking DAWN, if you can fucking manage that, YOUR-SPOILED-FUCKING-ROYAL-HIGHNESS.”
He was not on the other side of the world, Sophie realized; and then the thought came unbidden but wouldn’t it be nice if he were?
“Go home, Jack.”
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”
“I said ‘go home.’”
“Don’t YOU tell ME what to FUCKING DO. I will do whatever the FUCK I want to do.”
“I know that, Jack. But you just said you wanted to go — “
“Do NOT smart mouth ME.”
Sophie sighed bitterly, rubbed at her forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna be here a while. If you want to leave, then leave. If you want to wait for me, then wait. I don’t care. But I will be here until I am finished and that may not be as soon as you would like.”
Jack took a step back. She could see his jaw working in fury as he ground his teeth and glared at her. Suddenly his shoulders relaxed and he took a breath, then spat, “Sophie, you are a bitch. A spoiled, rotten, stupid bitch. You don’t give me the respect or the love that I deserve as your husband. You just don’t understand how good you got it. I know you’re just not smart enough to understand, and you’re so young. I was hoping my influence would rub off, but — ah god. You just don’t realize there are plenty of good women out there that know the value of a good man. If you’re not careful, I might just go find one of those good women, Sophie. And you will be alone, without a loving husband to take care of you. You keep that in mind. You just keep that in mind the next time you think you want to lip off to ME.”
He turned and stalked from the kitchen, knocking another pot to the floor by the sink. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up a spoon and whipped it across the room at her. Black bean broth splattered her face as it flew past. She did not flinch. Jack never hit her, that much she knew. It struck the wall behind her and clattered to the floor. “Clean this shit up, Sophie, and get the hell home,” he said as he walked to wards the back door. She heard muffled curses as he pulled off his apron and grabbed his jacket. The back door opened and slammed behind him, the muttered curses following him into the street. The windows rattled around her. A dog barked in the street and then his truck engine roared to life and tore down the road home.
Not knowing what else to do, she set to cleaning.

Three hours later she stood on the back step, just out of the pool of street light, and lit a cigarette. It was getting cold at night already, it was hard to know where breath stopped and smoke began. Cold air pried stiff fingers under her collar and waist, poked through the thin spots in her jeans. She walked without direction in the dark streets, hoping not to run into any bears. She was terrified of bears, but they were a small price to pay to live in this beautiful place. The cold pushed through her socks to stiffen the joints in her feet. Her fingers were red and stiff, shoved deep into pockets. She gripped the cigarette in the corner of her mouth and blew smoke out her nose and the other side of her mouth.
She thought of Anaya. She wondered if she’d been cold, lying out that night. Well, of course she was dead, but maybe her spirit hung around a couple of days like the Buddhists say. Just hung around the shell that used to be her in the cold and the dark.
But still, must have been pretty, with the creek next to her and the moon through the trees and the grass soft. Had she been surprised to die? Or did she welcome it like Willow had said? She wasn’t afraid, Sophie was pretty sure it had been okay for her. Maybe sad, but okay. Anaya wasn’t a person to be afraid, suddenly realizing her body was dead. Sophie bet she hung around and watched everything. Bet she tried to comfort those that came to cry for her. She had been that kind of woman. Sophie imagined Anaya, a spirit, sitting in the cold moonlight thinking, “Well, hot damn. Here I am, and nobody to tell about it. Ain’t this a hoot?”
These thoughts carried Sophie like her own ghost through the streets until she landed on Willow’s front step. She was shivering and it stung her knuckles to knock on the door softly. She had to step back to let the door open. Willow stood silhouetted from the light inside. Sophie heard her smile as she said, “Sophie, honey. Come in out of the cold. The baby’s just asleep. Come in and warm up.” Fiona jumped and put her paws on Sophie’s belly and smiled a dog smile. The three stepped inside and closed the cold outside.
Needles prickled Sophie’s fingers and toes and the tip of her nose as warmth seeped back in. Willow put a cup of hot apple tea and bourbon in her hands and sat beside her on the couch. Sophie clasped it in her hands and let the steam kiss her nose. Willow briefly did the same before proposing a toast, “to a surprise visit from my loved and infrequent guest.” She smiled over her cup as she sipped. Sophie closed her eyes as the warm, liquid fire momentarily rushed all her senses.
“So. What brings you to my doorstep at midnight, hon?”
“I’m not really sure. I don’t know. I — I’m sorry. I just sort of…arrived.”
“Well, there are worse ways to end up here, isn’t that right, Fiona?” She scratched the dog’s head that rested on her thigh. Fiona looked up at her and sighed and then closed her eyes again, content. Willow looked from beloved dog to beloved friend and her smile faded as she saw tears well up and pour out of Sophie’s eyes, “Sophie, honey, what is it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. God, I — just — don’t know.” Sophie shook her head from side to side, wiping angrily at tears only to give over to a fresh round, “There’s just…so much. I don’t even know the words to tell you…”
“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything — “
“But I have so much to say! Oh god. I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry. You’ve only recently lost…I should be letting you use my shoulder…not this. Here I am crying and there’s nothing wrong.” Sophie gulped back another sob and clenched her fist. Willow put a hand on her knee and said, “Honey, look at me. If you are crying, something is wrong. Please talk to me. Please let me help.”
The phone ringing startled them both. Sophie’s eyes grew wide and desperate as she grabbed Willow’s arm, “I am not here. I am not here and you haven’t seen me. Okay? Please? Okay?”
“Okay, alright, Sophie. Jesus.”
“Promise!”
“Okay, I promise. I promise.” Sophie let go as Willow, reached for the phone, “Hello? Oh hi Jack…Sophie? No, why? No I haven’t seen her tonight. I’m sure she’s fine, Jack. No, no need to come over. I just got the baby down and he’s really fussy. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her if she comes by. But I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry. Okay, talk to you later. Bye.” Willow hung up the phone, her eyes never having left Sophie’s face. Sophie was shivering despite the warm trailer.
“Sophie. What the hell was that? Hon, he’s just worried about you. Why didn’t you want him to know…”
Sophie burst into tears and could only shake her head and weep. Willow gave up talking. She took the teacup from shaking hands, knelt beside her and rocked her in an embrace until she cried it all out and fell asleep.
Sophie woke later under a blanket. Willow sat across the room in a rocking chair, nursing the baby and dozing. Sophie said Willow’s name and her eyes snapped open and focused on her.
“Willow, I am going to die.”
“What? What on earth are you — “
“ — No, just listen to me. Please. I mean, someday I am going to die, but I will be an old woman; and I will go in my sleep with a smile on my face. And I will stand to the side while my loved ones look on and try my best to comfort them and give them ease. Dying isn’t hard for the dead. It’s hard on the ones left behind.”
Willow closed her eyes as her throat squeezed tight and her eyes ached to cry from ducts already empty. She rocked gently, baby still at her breast, until she could breathe again and opened her eyes. Sophie continued,
“I always thought they were perfect. Did you know that? Anaya was so beautiful. And Mel was handsome in his angular kind of way, but he frightened me. But I still thought they were perfect, that they were what I should be, what Jack and I should be. I thought they were better than me because I just couldn’t understand what was missing in me that I couldn’t love Jack enough. I mean, there was Anaya with a man who was so…hard to love. And yet they there they were together, smiling, perfect. And then there’s me with, by all accounts, a good man who loves me, who doesn’t hit me, and yet, I can’t love him enough. Why? And then you tell me they weren’t perfect. That they fought, and I just couldn’t….do you know, sometimes I’d rather he hit me.”
Willow shifted in concern and moved to interrupt, but Sophie continued, “No, just listen, because if he hit me, if everyone could see the bruises, then I wouldn’t have to feel so crazy for hurting all the time. I would rather be hit than to continue living under the constant fear of what destruction will be waiting at home for me if I speak to a customer the wrong way. Or my brother calls out of the blue. Or my mom would sends a card. Will the sewing machine be broken this time? Or the rest of my books gone? Will the computer be wiped to zeros? Do you know why I don’t come to visit anymore? Because Jack tells me I am selfish. Do you remember last year, when you took me to town to go shopping for his birthday? When we got home, he wouldn’t speak to me for two days. He screamed at me about how selfish and thoughtless I was to abandon him like that, the day before his birthday. For being gone three hours to buy him a gift. And he has still never forgiven me for it. Willow, I love Jack, but he is not a good man. I mean, inside he is. Deep inside there is a good man…just like somewhere deep in Mel there was a good man. But I don’t think death is worth finding that good man. That may make me a terrible wife, but it’s just not worth it.”
The two women sat in silence. Fiona twitched and growled on the floor, chasing rabbits in her dreams. The baby made smacking sounds and patted his mother’s chest sleepily while he nursed. A breeze in the night air pushed cold in through the windows and under the door, and stirred branches with their yellowing leaves. Water dripped in the sink into an overflowing cup. Willow looked from her friend’s face, to her baby, and then followed a random pattern over the room. Sophie stared without seeing at the ceiling. They stayed that way even as gray morning light yawned and crept over the window sills.
Sophie checked her watch and stood. In the bathroom she splashed warm water over her face and rubbed her eyes. Skin tightened to goose bumps in the cold air. She looked in the mirror and realized she had no more tears to cry.
The kettle on the stove began to whistle as she emerged from the bathroom. Willow shuffled about in pink, fuzzy bunny slippers. The right one was missing an ear and had a Band-Aid in its place. Sophie leaned against the fridge as Willow made coffee and toast and oatmeal with dried fruit. The friends sat in strained silence at first, but then began giggling, the outright laughing at something absurd and not all that funny. After days of crying, it was their very own rainbow. Their laughter woke the baby and brought Fiona to the table, wagging her tail.
Sophie sighed and stood to leave. Willow stopped laughing and stood as well.
“Honey, you’re not crazy. And I am so sorry you are sad. My house is, and will always be yours. I love you hon.”
“Thank you. I love you to.”
They embraced. Then Willow watched Sophie through the kitchen window until she disappeared from view.

The café was still dark, it was early yet. Sophie let herself in and busied herself with set up work. Coffee, ice tea, silverware. She put on music and sang along while she swept and dusted. She did not hear the door open, and she did not hear Jack walk in. She turned from opening the curtain at the window to see him standing across the room. His stance was not angry, but deeply sad. He simply asked, “Where were you last night?”
Sophie felt cold in her stomach, but smiled anyway, “Good morning, Jack,“ and continued working. The next moment he stood beside her gripping her arm, “Where were you last night?”
“Willow’s.”
“You’re lying. I called. You weren’t there. Why are you smiling?” His grip was crushing and he shook her. She felt the bruise rising under his fingers.
“I got there after you called, Jack.”
“You are lying, damnit. Don’t lie to me. And stop smiling.”
“I am not lying to you, Jack. I never have. And I am smiling because I just can’t cry anymore.”
“You didn’t call. I was worried sick. I didn’t sleep last night. I didn’t know if I should call the sheriff or come find your cheating ass myself.”
“My cheat — Jack, I have never, ever cheated on you. Not once, not even a little. Now, please let go of me, you are hurting my arm.” Jack dragged her to the kitchen, shook her again by both arms as he brought her face close to his. Sophie had the fascinating sensation of being out of her body, watching the entire scene. Her face refused to stop smiling. Jack shook her and screamed. She was sure his words meant something, but she couldn’t make them out. Suddenly Jack pushed her away and she fell onto the floor with a thud and a shooting pain in her tailbone that left her gasping. All at once she was back in her body, jaw gaping open. He had pushed her. And now he stood flinging anything he could reach at her — but still did not hit her. Sophie realized she was speaking, her voice soft at first, “Jack, you need to stop.” She said. “Jack, stop it. Stop it right now for fuck’s sake, Jack.” Until she was yelling in voice neither of them had ever heard, “Jack. KNOCK IT OFF. RIGHT NOW.” Jack stopped in mid-throw, spoon in his hand, his chest heaving, face red, veins pulsing at his temples.
“You pushed me, Jack.”
“So?”
“You pushed me onto the ground. You pushed me.”
“You were the one in the way. Don’t exaggerate. You just fell down.”
“I fell because you pushed me, Jack. And how could I have been in your way when you were holding me there in the first place?”
“You shut up. Do NOT smart mouth ME. You just shut the hell up, Sophie.”
“Jack. Do you want us to end up like Anaya and Mel?”
“What? What the hell are you talking about, Sophie? They have nothing to do with us. You can’t bring them into this conversation. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sophie pulled herself up by the worktable and leaned against it as she spoke. She knew her tailbone hurt, a lot, but she couldn’t really feel it at the moment. Her blood was up, heart beating in her ears. She felt if she let go of the table she would fly, straight up. She looked at Jack and was, for the first time, not afraid. Her smile was back. An amazed and joyful smile of wonderment. She wasn’t afraid.
“I will most certainly bring them up, Jack. And you will listen to me.” As she stood there speaking, she had the distinct feeling he was shrinking. He grew smaller and smaller until she felt she had to bend over to see him clearly. He was angry, shouting, but it wasn’t frightening. It was like watching a two-year-old throw a temper tantrum, not a grown man. His face was red and it made her laugh. What had she been so afraid of all this time? This? This blustering child in front of her?
“Jack. Shut up.” And, surprisingly, he did.

“I will bring up Anaya and Mel because they belong exactly in this conversation. Do you know why, Jack? Because this is where they started, Jack. Right here. Just like this, just like us. I love you, Jack. I married you because I loved you with all my heart. And I vowed to be with you through thick and thin til death do us part. And now, Jack, I am dead. Everything that was me before we met, before we married, is dead. I quit school for you because it was too expensive, and took too much of my time from you. I cut ties with my friends, even my family, Jack. My books are gone because we didn’t have room for them in the house, because you needed more room for your weights. I can’t buy the clothes I like or get my hair cut because you deem it a waste of money and tell me I look like a slut anyway. Everything that defines me as a person is gone. So I am dead. And as I am dead, our contract is null. So go find yourself one of those good women to love you, Jack. Go find that woman who will give you the love and respect you deserve because it is not me. Not anymore.”
Sophie pushed past him and limped down the back hallway and paused by the door as she slipped into her jacket. Jack stood transfixed, “But, where will you go? You have nothing. No one will love you, you know. There’s no Prince Charming out there. You’ll be alone and I won’t be sorry for you. If you leave, you can’t ever come back. Do you hear me?”
Sophie turned and looked at him, “I hear you just fine, Jack. You know, I really did love you. I always loved you, and I never, ever did any of those things you said or thought or fantasized about. I ‘m sorry you could never see that, Jack.”
Then she turned and pushed through the door.

The hand tapped the cigarette pack and pulled a smoke and set it between the lips that spoke the words that changed their lives.
Eight steps from the back door was the road. Feet carried the lips that spoke the words 463 steps from the back door to the front step to the house of a friend that waited. And no one came with flowers and prayers, but no one came with curses either. And the silences were only those of contented friends that no longer needed words.