Red Handed

I was all alone in the apartment for the very first time. Jim was gone. He had been laid to rest just three days ago. My older sister and her husband had stayed with me the entire time. Now they were both gone.They had jobs and two small kids to return to, so they could not stay any longer. Jim's funeral had been small. Exactly the way he had wanted it. Both of us had lost our parents over the years, and all I had left was my older sister. We both came from small families to begin with. That was something that when we first met, we had in common. On Jim's side, just an Aunt and a cousin that he barely knew.

   I had never realized how silent the apartment could be. How silent it seemed it would always be from now on. In protest, I turned the TV on. Just some background noise. I switched on both end table lamps on either side of the couch. I hadn't realized I had been sitting in near total darkness. Adjustments can be difficult. Everything changes, sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse. 

    Nor had I eaten anything since breakfast. I had eaten breakfast with my sister and her husband just before the two of them had headed to the airport, to catch their flight back to Rhode Island. I'd been curled up on the couch ever since. Frozen. Unmoving. Was there a reason to move? What reason would there be? My life would be a different thing now. 

    Alone in the world.... literally. I got up from the couch and walked into my small kitchen. I left the tv and the lights on in the living room. Signs of life. I flicked the switch for the overhead light, as I entered the kitchen. I knew I had to eat something. Food was survival. Nothing appealed to me. I finally decided on a toasted cheese sandwich and a cup of tea. I sat at the kitchen table by myself. Eating alone. Such a solitary business. I was glad.... frankly....when I was finished and could get up from the table.  

    But that begged another problem. What to do with myself? I had the entire long evening ahead of me. The whole evening. Empty. 

    When Jim was alive, we would settle ourselves on the couch and turn on the television. We would watch something together, comment to each other, and basically enjoy each other's company for the evening. It was part of our evening ritual, well established over the years. 

   Of course, it all changed that horrible evening.The evening when Jim told me he had something really important to tell me. I cannot remember now, what I thought he was going to say, but it was certainly NOT what he DID say. 

    He was leaving me for his long time girlfriend. I wasn't expecting that.They had 2 kids after all, and it was 

time he believed, for him to own up to his responsibility. He was leaving me. I wasn't expecting that. The reason? I was having a hard time comprehending that, too. 

    I was totally blindsided. I knew nothing at all about any of this. Nothing at all. Did he say they had 2 kids? My mouth hanged open. It had come as a total shock to me. All of it. With the loud echoing boom of the epic surprise. 

    Jim had decided right from the start that the two of us shouldn't have kids. We both had our careers, and that was enough. 

    Jim worked for an architectural firm, and I worked for a website designer company. That's actually how we met. My company provided the advertising for the architectural firm. I was no raving beauty, but neither was Jim. 

    As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, all these years passed by in a blur. The roaring in my head ceased, and I vaguely realized he was still speaking. Something about how he had never meant to hurt me. It had just happened. Simply happened. I was numb. From my head to my feet. I don't remember thinking clearly about anything at that moment. 

    He stood up as he was talking, and started to walk away from me. I was obviously shocked. Shocked. Like a robot, mindlessly I followed him. Mindlessly.  

    And I was more shocked yet, when I shoved Jim down the basement stairs. Imagine the horror! Just imagine. He was on his way down cellar to lug up his suitcases. I had followed him to the cellar stairs. Still numb with shock.  

    I was focused on his back. I was literally following him. His footsteps provided my agenda. I had no agenda. He was only something to focus on. Nothing less, nothing more. Simply following. 

    Meaningless. At that moment in time, everything was meaningless. Everything. A ship without an anchor, just sailing behind in the wake of another ship. He opened the door to the cellar and paused there. He never hit the switch for the light. He, actually, never had a chance to. 

    I have never sworn at Jim, cursed at him for any reason. Not ever. Jim abhors swearing. Hates it. Considers it "low." I called him the foulest names I could think of. Everything under the sun. And, I accused him of all the things that go with those terrible names. Every Iast thing. I think Jim reacted out of reflex. He swiped at my mouth. It didn't hurt in the least. Just a swipe, really. I rubbed quickly at my mouth. Bright red lipstick can really smear. Then I shoved him down the cellar stairs. He never made a sound. He fell voiceless. Silently. I'm not sure who was more shocked, him or me. I, who have never committed even one violent act in my life, actually did this. I had been looking forward to an evening of intimacy. I got more intimacy than I bargained for. Or wanted. 

    There he was at the bottom of the cellar stairs. Crumpled in a heap. I called an ambulance immediately, of course. They responded quickly and pronounced Jim dead, as I knew they would. They zipped him into a black body bag with great efficiency. 

    I climbed back up the cellar stairs behind the ambulance attendants. They gave me the required speech, regarding his remains. The hours of operation at the morgue, and the procedures for getting his body released to my choice of a funeral parlor. They expressed their condolences then, and left.  

    I continued to sit quietly, staring at a television that I wasn't actually watching. The evening wore on. It got later and later. 

    I had to do something normal. I was used to routine. Routine matters. It matters a lot. I shook myself and focused on the program now in full swing. I recognized it as being on close to 11:00 at night. I turned the television off. Jim and I had always retired about this time every evening. Habit. Routine. 

    I got up and walked woodenly into the small half bath off the kitchen. I turned on the light looked into the mirror, and gasped. 

   My red lipstick, long my favorite, was smeared all over my mouth. Jim must have smeared it when he swiped at me. I wonder what the ambulance attendants had thought? No one had said a word to me. My favorite shade. I had worn it for years. "Red handed" was the name. I grabbed onto the edge of the bathroom sink. My thoughts swirling. 

    An almost scandalous shade of bright red. It had been my one vanity as a teenager. I never left the house without it. Still never do. Jim always liked that shade. At least he said he did. I believed him. As bright as it was, it was a flattering shade. "Red handed." 

    I grabbed a wash cloth and after running it under the faucet I picked up a small bottle of my facial cleanser and wiped the smeared lipstick off my face. I patted my face dry with a tissue, then I reapplied my Red Handed. There. Back to normal. All set. Now. Then I realized what I had done. My nightime routine was to wash my face, and brush my teeth, brush my hair, and go to bed. And I was going to bed. Not the time to apply lipstick. I washed my face. Brushed my teeth. Brushed my hair and headed for the bedroom. 

    Jim and I had seldom argued. We got along extremely well, I thought. Our personal life has been satisfying. At least, for me it had been. Apparently not for Jim. That hurt. 

    I had no regrets about the way I had handled any of this. It was what it was. And boy, was his "girlfriend" in for a surprise! I had a small stab of guilt for his two children, but I could not change what had happened. It was over and done with. Almost, any way. 

    Life is full of these little surprises, I believed. I was trying hard to "normalize." And what a surprise I had gotten! As I headed into the bedroom I began to engage in more wool-gathering. Had their been any signs? Nothing leapt out at me. I could recall nothing that would have pointed to anything like this.

    Understandably, literally, it was the shock of a lifetime. Totally unexpected. And now my life would be a different thing. Very. 

    I knew I had to preserve some semblance of familiarity, so I walked into the bedroom and undressed. Two pillows side by side. Mine on the inside, Jim's on the outside. My side was closest to the outside wall. But I liked that. When I had gone through my "change of life," the coolness of lying with my back toward the wall had helped during the hot flashes. I tried not to think about any of that. The past, I mean. I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, positive I would not be able to sleep a wink. I was out in seconds. 

    I must have slept soundly because when I awoke, the sun was peeking in around the blinds and my alarm clock said, 6:15. Same time Jim and I woke up every morning.

    Jim.......As I laid there, I remembered the events of the night before. After some few fuzzy searching minutes .... I focused on the tasks immediately before me. Literally. I slid out of bed. Grabbed my robe. Tied the sash. Slipped my feet into my slippers. I headed into the en-suite, washed my face, ran a combo through my hair, brushed my teeth and, of course, applied my "Red handed." Next I headed for the kitchen to start the coffee maker for my morning cup of coffee. Not two coffee cups, this morning. Just one.

    I remembered shoving him. I remembered swiping across my mouth, just before I did. And then he was gone. Lying all crumpled up at the bottom of the cellar stairs. 

    I hard boiled 2 eggs for breakfast, and sat down to eat. Before I could finish, the doorbell rang. It was a police detective. He showed me his badge.Then he showed me a picture of a young woman, and he asked me if I knew who she was. I recognized her immediately. She had been our housekeeper for three years. With both Jim and I working, a housekeeper seemed a practical choice. Young, fairly attractive. 

    The police detective asked me if I had been aware that my husband and her had been engaged in a long term affair? Did I know that they had two children together, and that he was planning on leaving me?

    I looked that nice young man with the close cropped brown hair and the neatly trimmed beard right in the face, and said, "Yes" to both questions. 

    "I am asking you because your husband had a smear of your lipstick, the same shade you are wearing right now--it looks like--both on his right hand, and a splotch of it on the back of his shirt about the length and width of a hand. Would you care to tell me how that happened? Were the two you alone last night?" 

    "Yes," I answered him calmly. "We were alone." I was amazed by how calm I was. Dead inside, actually. 

    "The Squad Room wonders if you lost your temper and pushed him down the cellar stairs? I would think after nineteen years of marriage this had to have been a horrifying shock." 

    I looked down and kept my voice low. "No, not really. It was no shock. I was totally aware. The entire time. I knew almost right from the start. It actually started years ago when we employed his woman friend as a housekeeper. They have two children now."

    I knew full well the police department already knew this. 

   "It wasn't so much that I approved." I laughed softly.

   "I just really didn't care." 

   He looked at me incredulously. "That's hard to believe." 

    He held my gaze steadily. I looked right back at him, straight faced.

    "After we decided to separate, he gave me a big kiss and smeared my lipstick. I wiped my mouth and then gave him a real hug. I wondered at the time if I got lipstick on the back of his shirt. I guess I must have. I certainly didn't mean to." I smiled. "We were fine with this. Both of us. Our marriage hadn't worked for a long time. If anything, it was habit. I had money of my own before I married Jim. I was what you would call "somewhat wealthy," to a certain degree." Not rolling in money, but plenty of it." 

    I was sure the police department knew this as well. How could they not? Our lives, while not terribly affluent, were top tier. This condo, the furnishings, the artwork, our bank account, our vehicles. All this bespoke wealth. 

   "I am fine with this," I insisted gently. 

    "Are you also fine with the fact that he emptied your joint bank account. You do not have a penny to your name. And he gave it all to his girlfriend, your former housekeeper? And he hired one of the most expensive law firms in the country to do this? And all of this was done behind your back?"

    I tried to maintain my expression, but I couldn't do it. I exploded with rage. All that pent up rage that I had had to deal with for years, came roaring to the surface. Totally unexpected. I was so good at squelching. It was a lifestyle choice for me.

    I began to scream......I began to curse. The police detective took out his cell phone, and barked out three words: "I need help!" 

   I heard the sound of running feet coming closer and closer. Uniformed cops burst through my door. The police detective turned me around, and snapped a pair of handcuffs on me. 

    He turned me 

back around facing him and said, "I'm going to read you your rights." He droned on and on. 

     I barely heard a word. The apartment was too silent. Always would be from now on, I guess.