Premature Apologies

(Story contains sensitive themes)

The Choice

Gabe closed his eyes, imploring the universe to forgive him. 

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the words trembled from his lips.

He suspected his wife had discovered his secret. It was the look she steadied him with before leaving for work. He heard the side door slam, her way of saying goodbye. Sarah had always been reticent, one to reserve her truest feelings, and he sensed that she was privy to his act of betrayal. 

He let himself reminisce about the first time he saw Sarah juxtaposed against the initial encounter with Laci. They were opposites in personality and presentation. Sarah was his high school sweetheart, dark-haired with brown eyes that appeared black in their depth. She exhibited a gentle prettiness that he had often taken for granted, a simple approach. As she aged, she embraced a conservatism in how she related to him, especially in the bedroom. 

Laci could have been from another planet in the way that she moved and talked and set his world in motion. She was known by everyone in town due to the restaurant that she and her husband, Phil, owned. Laci was the rare knockout, with her short hair and curvy figure, never afraid to accentuate her God-given femininity. Her charms were magnetic. She asked pointed, direct questions akin to the lawyers he knew, but she did it with such skill and care that he wanted to answer. Privacy knew no limits. 

She talked about things foreign to him, like the myriad places she had lived, such as Canada, and the languages she could speak, if only partially, and how she really wanted to undress him. It was her bold sexuality that caught him off guard. He had been a police officer for twenty-five years, most recently elected to the coveted role of Sheriff; he had from his own account heard and seen everything imaginable. But it was Laci who left him speechless. There were times she would say things for which he had no response, and it was that unpredictability that kept him engaged. 

His cell phone buzzed next to his leg. It was Laci. For all the colliding emotions, he wanted to talk with her. He needed to hear her voice, but he hesitated long enough for the call to roll to voicemail. Picking up his phone, he moved it from one hand to the other, an intentional stalling. 

Laying his head on Sarah’s pillow, he could smell her familiar scent. She had been supportive during the interminable hours of his career. Their daughter, Sam, had followed in his footsteps much to Sarah’s chagrin. She had wanted Samantha Rae to be a doctor or a dentist, something far removed from danger. Sam was precise and instinctual, perhaps a better cop than him. He was proud to be the inspiration. 

If only he had turned away Laci’s advances. She was persistent, and he liked the attention. Feeling appreciated can be fool’s gold. It was mostly the uniform that would draw the ladies’ interest. He never understood the motivation, if they were simply looking for an authoritative figure. He ignored the flirtatious entreaties, never allowing himself to be propositioned. With Laci, it was different; she liked him for him, not his job, or uniform, or his stature in the community. No, she liked him for his smile, honesty, kindnesses, and for the way he made her laugh.

He couldn’t stay in bed. He was restless, and the morning was gaining ground to afternoon. They were expecting him at the precinct. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking into the mirror, feeling disconnected from the reflected image. He had aged into an attractiveness that he rarely acknowledged. There was a boyish warmth to his eyes, despite having been witness to more than his share of tragedy. His smile, when he felt prone to it, held back a full account of his face, because there was something of his personality that he kept guarded. Laci brought out a relaxed humor in him that he had forgotten existed. He was grateful, if nothing else, for being reminded that life held promise. He looked down at his wedding band, the binding constraint. 

His phone buzzed again, a persistent, feverish approach that Laci employed. To his surprise, it was Sarah ringing. He fumbled the phone, a desperate flailing as it slipped out of his hand and crashed on the floor. He lunged for it, then answered, scared of what she would say.

Her tone, cold and driving, “I’ve fixed your problem. Now you have to figure out the rest.” 

She left no time for a response. There was a sharp disconnect and then the repeating beeps, a cacophony of dread.

The reflex was confusion. What problem had she fixed? She couldn’t begin to solve his problems. His mind raced, a hurried slew of images. Frantically, he accessed his voicemail. His fingers tensed, as he tried to hit the correct keys on his phone. His heart beating wildly, he sensed he would never feel the same way again. After multiple attempts, he listened to Laci’s message on loop.

“Hey handsome, I dropped Sadie off at school, and surprisingly Phil told me to take my time coming into the restaurant. Just called to see if you might want to meet me for breakfast. We could have some morning fun. Oh wait, who’s that…oh my God, your wife is coming up the walk. What the hell?”

It concluded with a piercing scream and then white noise. He was floating in an orbit of shock, his mind searching for a way back to yesterday when everything lined up, serene and comfortable. His mind fought the urge to mesh the realization, Sarah’s directive and Lac’s interrupted goodbye.

For all the things that he couldn’t change, he knew that he had to brace for today. He grabbed his gun, phone and keys, madly running to the front door, knocking over everything in his path. The man who he had been was gone, coalesced into a new image of wretched helplessness and a bold-driven fear. He sped out of the cul-de-sac, nearly grazing his neighbor’s mailbox, a full-on desperation to somehow find himself again.

The Outcome

As he pulled up to Laci’s house, he knew it was over. Not just that the final breaths had escaped from her body, but that the entirety of the last two years with their sense of wonder and intrigue had been snatched away with a viciousness. He questioned everything in his absence of faith.

He jumped out of his truck, narrowly putting it into park. Running toward the porch, he noticed that the front door was ajar. He took the three steps in one leap and yanked open the outer glass door. There she laid, in a pool of blood, looking somehow angelic in a discordant way. He lifted her fragile body to his chest, holding her and shaking. He knelt there, anchored by an uncontrollable torrent of sobs, feeling wholly responsible for her demise.

A grave wound to the chest, the bullet had silenced her heart. The blood from her clothes stained his shirt and pants, a streak of dark magenta that was tacky to the touch. He stroked her hair away from her beautiful face and kissed her forehead tenderly. He held her for what seemed an eternity, allowing himself to be swept into the multitude of words and phrases that they owned between them, pleading for her to open her eyes and tell him one more time how much she needed him. 

Laci had been free with her feelings and desires, never making apologies for what she wanted. She had pressed him to risk things, to take a chance at another kind of happiness. In some ways, he relented, but now he sat there a prisoner to his regrets for never having fully reciprocated. If only he could tell her that he loved her, a different love, but one that was real and heartfelt, fully devouring him.

She was the light that projected out his stored darkness, the perpetual baggage that he carried from his time on the streets. He had witnessed the collective evils and griefs of humanity. Laci eased his burdens, while igniting his sexual desires. She left him longing for more every time they talked or shared a bed. Now, she was gone. She was really gone. Looking at her lifeless face, he struggled to breathe, a brutal finality to their love story. His soul blew up into millions of particles, feeling himself disconnecting from his body and floating into an otherworldly pain.

The alarm on his phone rang a loud cadence, snapping him back into the moment. What should I do? The question cycled through his brain on repeat; he rocked back and forth to the rhythm of it, pondering his next move while grasping Laci tight to his body, holding out the slightest hope that she would open her eyes. He laid her back down softly on the hardwood floor and then went into the kitchen to retrieve some oversized garbage bags. It would serve as a temporary transport until he could find something fitting for her burial, a temporary dishonor. 

He went through the motions, his limbs moving and reacting, but there was no understanding, a schism between living and ceasing, a blurring of right and wrong. He labored to get her frame into the plastic bags, using two of them, one starting at her feet to her waist, and the other one fitted on her head and ending in the same mid-place. He used ropes from the back of his truck to secure the loose bags together and then mustered all his strength to lift and carry her to her car parked in the garage. He quickly ran back in, closed the front door, grabbed her keys, and stole out the side door into the garage, determining his best course of action would be to leave her car in the parking lot of the nearest Baptist church. 

Once there, he ran the mile back to her house, taking a hidden path through the woods. Sprinting against the cool autumn breeze, it was the sole sensation he could feel, the one sensory reminder that he was still alive. Leaves crumpled with each footfall, but he scarcely heard the noise of them cracking and splitting under his weight.

He went back into her residence, an effort to tidy up the scene, but he didn’t want to take the chance of leaving behind substantial clues. He quickly paced the house, looking for her purse. It was absent. With time working fast against his reserves, he left by way of the front door, rubbing down any areas with his shirt sleeve that might foretell his fingerprints, and then closing it behind him. He made a dash to his truck, and drove single-mindedly back to the church, idling close enough to her vehicle to move her lifeless form into the backseat of his truck.

Gabe drove carefully through town. He held his breath, taking in shallow air until he pulled into his driveway, finally exhaling while suppressing the urge to collapse. His garage door was open, his wife’s silver Toyota neatly parked; he could see her watching from the living room window. A draft of anger pushed its way from his clenched throat down into the pit of his stomach. He pulled out of his driveway and then forward, angling back in, so he could back into the garage. He was met with a caustic look from Sarah, a rigid defiance as she leaned against the doorframe leading into the laundry room.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed.

She charged at him, hitting him squarely in the chest with her closed fists, a hissing sound coming from her lips, “How dare you blame me.” The words twisted and hung in the air with a foreboding. “I have done everything for you and our family, and this is how you repay me, by sleeping with that whore in town.” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.

“Did you ever stop to think about why…why,” the rage intensifying, “why I might want to be with her instead of you?” And it was a question, aimed squarely at Sarah and her shortcomings.

She slapped him across the face, and set her teeth in a posture to fight, her jaw square and tight, the next words snarling with hate, “You take that whore and bury her in the backyard where you will always remember how you betrayed us. While you’re throwing dirt on top of her dead corpse, you think about how close you came to ruining this perfect life. I did what had to be done. I will not be made a fool, Gabe. Not in this lifetime.” She turned with reckless vehemence and went back into the house.

He buried Laci by a row of pine trees on their two-acre plot, his wife holding sinister vigil from the kitchen window. It was a blur of sadness and loathing, some of it directed toward Sarah, some of it toward Laci, but mostly at himself. He knew what he had been pursuing was wrong, inherently sinful, but he couldn’t resist, and it reduced him to this state of nothingness. Sarah would never forgive him, and he doubted if he could forgive her. He wondered how he could walk forward with their secret. Once the earth was compacted, he fell to his knees, head bowed, saying a little prayer, imploring the angels or demons to lead him out of here, to a place where he might be able to begin again. 

The crisp air carried his gentle whisper, “I’m sorry, Laci, I am so very sorry.”

It was the second apology of the day.

The Denouement

After washing up, the cleansing water rinsing away the dirt and blood, Gabe dressed and went into the dining room. He lingered by the window, staring out at Laci’s resting place. He could hear Sarah behind him, smell the roast as she placed it on the table. The last thing he wanted to do was eat.

“Sam is coming to join us for dinner.”

“Do you really think this is the evening to have her over?” He stood heavy in

despondency, shaking his head.

“It’s over. We might as well start acting like it.”

With the table fully set, Sarah lit a candle. They sat across from each other, waiting for the inevitable.

“After I shot her, I took her purse. I dumped the wallet at the lake. Someone will find it. Oh, and you can thank me for that too, for thinking ahead, for covering your ass,” the smugness held in the air.

“Anything else I should know about?”

She stared through him, piercing with her resentment and fury. They heard the door open and shut, followed by the lighthearted walk of Sam.

“Hey Mom and Pops. Y’all here?”

“We’re at the dinner table,” said Sarah.

Sam kissed her mom on the top of her head and nudged her dad’s shoulder. 

“You guys look somber.”

“It’s just the rush of the upcoming holidays. Feeling like there’s never enough time to get it all done. We’re fine, aren’t we, Gabe?”

“Never better,” he replied, making little eye contact, absorbed in the catastrophic events.

Dinner moved along at its usual stride with talk of next month's Christmas plans and idle chat about the neighbor's bid for Mayor. They relaxed into the meal and conversation, a soft November night with family. 

After dessert, Sam leaned forward with riveting news, “Oh my goodness, did you hear that Phil’s wife, what’s her name, ummmm, Laci, she’s missing. I was called out to the house, and there was blood everywhere. No sign of a struggle, but her purse and car are gone. It’s the strangest thing. I just left for a short bit. I do need to get back soon though. Told them I would help with the search.”

Sarah and Gabe sat motionless, casually hanging on to her every word.

“You know who I’m talking about, right?” asked Sam, curious as to why there was no reaction.

“Of course,” chimed in Sarah, “she owns that restaurant.”

“Yep, sounds like she’s been having an affair.” 

Gabe stiffened in his chair, fearful of the unmasking.

“You don’t say,” implored Sarah.

“You’ll never believe who it is either. Chuck Dunwoody. The guy who works at the car lot. I would’ve never guessed it,” said Sam with disbelief, as she got up from the table.

With all the day’s hellish surprises, Gabe couldn’t process what he was hearing. Captive to his thoughts, he stared out into the darkness where Laci laid, forever still, with her known and unknown secrets.

“Thanks for dinner. I’ll keep you posted when they find her. Love you guys.” With those parting words, she left, her youthful gait fading with her departure. A long silence ensued.

“I told you she was a whore,” Sarah retreated to the kitchen with her dirty plate.

He sat there, transfixed by the candle and its wavering flame. He didn’t know if it was a dream or a joke or the worst nightmare that he would never un-live. He badly wanted to be engulfed by the flame, to burn out the pain, laughter and all the suffering to come, to return to ash. Sarah’s phone, next to him on the table, announced the arrival of a text. He looked over, half-seeing, not feeling anything, until he noticed who it was from:

Phil                6:50 PM

Hey Sweetie – Love you. We’ll talk tomorrow. Goodnight.

He read it again, convinced his eyes must be deceiving him. He stood, stealthy and quiet, leaning forward to blow out the candle. With his hand resting on his revolver, he walked slowly toward the kitchen.