Lake Adoonee

Cynthia McCrea gazed at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked good. The silk green low-cut dress clung to all the right places. She twisted her body around to get a clear view of her curvy backside, smoothed out her dress one last time, took a deep breath and strolled to the stairs. When she reached the landing, she turned and walked out on the patio overlooking the lake. She’d always said this was her heaven on earth. The reflection of the setting sun on the water brought a tear to her eye.

            Joel, her husband, insurance man, president of the Chamber of Commerce, sat with Lisa Burk, Cynthia’s best friend from college at the kitchen table. Cynthia floated in, spun herself around, arms out wide.

            “So?” she said.

            “Wow! You look amazing,” Joel said.

            “I’ve never seen you lovelier, Cyn,” Lisa said.

            “It’s weird. When I stop the therapy, I get my energy back. For a day or so anyway.”

            A chill ran through Lisa’s body. “I couldn’t even imagine,” she said choking up a little.

            “Fix me a drink, Joel,” Cynthia said.

            “Sure thing, honey.”

            Joel got up to fix Cynthia a drink.

            “I want you to stop it, Lisa,” said Cynthia. “This is supposed to be a celebration. You have to understand, I’ve been given a blessing. I get to put my affairs in order. Tie up those loose ends in my life. I’m ready to move on.”

            Joel returned with her drink. The three settled in, presumably to talk about times past, barbeques, New Year’s celebrations, birthday parties… But Cynthia interrupted: 

            “A toast!” she said raising her glass. “To my best friend and my wonderful husband. Live life to the fullest!”

            They touched glasses and drank.

            Cynthia reached out grabbing Joel’s and Lisa’s hands. She smiled. “I’m famished,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They rode in silence Cynthia gazing out the window marveling at the reflection of moonlight off the lake. The trees along the shore. All these things would be there tomorrow, without her. The earth would continue to turn on its axis. Babies would be born. School would start in September. 

Babies, she thought. Her illness prevented her from having babies.

            Joel had convinced her to continue with the therapy, even as Cynthia’s health progressively deteriorated. It reached a point where nothing helped. As a botanist, Cynthia knew of natural compounds she could use to help her enter the next phase of life. The lethal cocktail inhabiting the syringe rested in the drawer of the bed stand.

Che’ Nu, the four-star restaurant located on the opposite shore of the McCrae home, where waitstaff wear starched white shirts with black bowties served Michelin quality cuisine. The trio of diners were escorted to a secluded booth in the corner of the dining room. They started with cocktails. Joel perused the wine list.

            “We’ll have a bottle of the Château Lafite-Rothchild,” Joel said to the waiter.

            “Very good, sir,” 

            “Joel!” Cynthia exclaimed. “Two thousand a bottle?”

            “We’re removing all the boundaries my love,” Joel said squeezing Cynthia’s hand.

            They ate, talked and laughed. When the waiter ignited the brandy for the Cherries Jubilee, flame shot up to the ceiling, customers gasped, then applauded.

            Demitasse coffees rounded out the feast. Cynthia was ready to go home.

The three sat in the living room, Lisa and Joel chatting about nothing, Cynthia felt tired, the alcohol had taken full effect. 

            “Well,” Cynthia said. “I need to get ready for bed.”

            Joel glanced toward Lisa. She swallowed hard. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Cynthia rose from the couch, moved to the kitchen, prepared the coffee maker. 

            “Whatcha doin’, Cyn?” Joel said.

            “Fixin’ coffee for tomorrow,” she said. “Old habits die hard.”

            Old habits die hard, she thought. She smiled to herself.

            Set the timer to brew a pot at 7 am as she had always done. Returning to the living room, Joel rose from the couch.

            “No, you stay for a while, I need to change,” Cynthia said.

            She and Lisa hugged. Cynthia said good night. Climbed the stairs.

            “I’d better go,” Lisa said.

            “No, please. Don’t leave me here alone. I need you,” Joel said.

            Lisa sat on the couch. Joel next to her. He put his arm around her.

            “I’m gonna put the place up for sale right away. I hated this place from day one,” Joel said. “Sixth miles away from the city.”

            “But it was Cyn’s dream”

            “Yeah! Cyn’s dream.”

            The two sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Joel rose, walked slowly up the stairs. Bedroom door open, Joel peeked in. Cynthia was in bed. 

            “It’s okay dear. Come in.”

            He moved to the side of the bed. Cynthia had the syringe in her hand.

            “Do you want me—”

            “No I need to do this myself,” she said. “Just hold my hand.”

Lisa was pacing the living room when Joel retuned.

            “It’s done,” he said.

            Lisa went to him. He wrapped his arms around her.

            “I was so frightened,” she said. “The whole evening I thought she knew. The way she talked.”

            “She never knew. She told me she wanted you there more than anyone.”

            Joel took her by the hand and led her to the downstairs bedroom.

            “No! I can’t,” she said. “She’s upstairs.”

            “We’ve done worse.”

            Joel started to unbutton her blouse. She put up her hand to stop him. He kissed her.

            “I need you now more than ever,” he said.

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted into the downstairs bedroom. Lisa opened her eyes, stretched her arms out high over her head. She rolled over, kissing Joel on his shoulder until he stirred.

            “Get up. I’m gonna make you some breakfast,” Lisa said tickling his ear.

            Lisa had omelets on the table when Joel entered.

            “Sit,” she said sipping her mug of coffee.

            “Looks good.”

            They sat and ate. Joel discussing plans for the lake home sale. They should consider selling Lisa’s place and purchase something close to the ocean.

            “Mmmmm, coffee smells good,” Cynthia said as she entered the kitchen.

            “Jesus Christ! Joel said dropping his coffee mug on the floor.

            “Cynthia?” a shocked Lisa said.

            “Yes, it’s me,” Cynthia said coyly. “Not a ghost.”

            “B…but… what—”

            “Yeah, I forgot to tell ya. Last night was just the first dose. I still need the second.” I wanted you two to feel really relaxed.’

            “I don’t get it,” Joel said.

            “Simple,” Cynthia said. “It’s a combination of toxins I concocted. I’ll take the second after you two expire. I wanted to watch. Tie up that last loose end. My cheating husband and best friend.”

            Joel and Lisa exchanged looks.

            Cynthia turned to the coffee pot. It was nearly empty.

            “Coffee. Brewed with an organic poison.”

            “Poison! Lisa cried. “You bitch! Joel! Do something.”

            Joel rose unsteadily from his chair. “Lisa! Call 911!".

            Lisa tried to rise from her chair.

            “Can’t… move my… legs,” Lisa said.

            “The paralysis starts from the lower extremities. Once it reaches the chest area, you’ll suffocate.”

            Joel move toward Cynthia but his right leg gave way and he fell to the floor.

            “Feelin' poorly, Joel?” Cynthia said.

            As Joel tried to rise, Cynthia planted her foot on his shoulder, pushing him down. She turned to Lisa who struggled to breath.

            “It’s gonna start to get ugly in a minute, so I’ll be on my way,” Cynthia said.

            She hummed a tune as she strolled away.

Cynthia pulled the covers up to her neck after administering the injection. Painful groans emanated from the kitchen. Inserting earbuds, she cued Beethoven’s Fifth on her device. 

Beethoven’s 5^th. “V”—for victory.

END