The Late Mrs. Leigh

 Through the blue sky, the artificial chirp of the canaries echoed through the morning air. At the bottom of a certain chestnut tree, Anthony’s casket was lowered into the ground, leaving Mrs. Leigh, a wife without a husband. The audience around the tree cried, holding their black skirts in bunches, their black ties being used as handkerchiefs. Friends and family had gathered at the chestnut tree to mourn the well-known, well-liked Anthony Leigh. Not a dry eye was in sight but no one ever noticed Evelyn as she was, not without Anthony. 

Behind her brim hat Mrs. Leigh smiled, her mascara bunched under her dazzling eyes, making them seem damp with tears. Whether with happiness or nostalgia or melancholy, one could not tell but the audience assumed she was terribly upset. As they walked away they told her how strong she’d been and what a caring wife she was for even attending. She smiled her sad smile, the one she had learned all those years ago. 

Walking away from the burial site, the crowd walked sadly back to their cars, the memories of the Anthony Leigh they knew still freshly engraved in their brains, like the recently etched letters in the grey tombstone. But none of them knew Anthony as well as Evelyn did. She knew him too well at times and other times, not at all.

Narcolepsy. That’s what he had, the doctors said. Evelyn hadn’t realized how much he slept during the daytime or how little he slept during the night. The two slept in different rooms and worked different jobs, Evelyn the night shift, Anthony the day. 

Lana, Anthony’s nurse, had told her that he had been put on medication but frequently forgot to take it. Lana asked if Evelyn could please see that he got it every day as she was coming in the next morning. It could be dangerous for him not to have it. Of course Evelyn would, after all, she was the kind, caring wife that everyone thought she was. 

Besides, Evelyn noted, he seemed to be getting better, so it only made sense that she hadn’t noticed when he didn’t come into the house the night of October the first. 

It occurred to Cheryl Thompson that Anthony hadn’t driven by her front yard that morning of October the second. Little Tommy Weatherfield could not make sense of the fact that Anthony hadn’t hollered hello to him on the way to work. 

  The news rang out the following day. In the small town of Galares, a town where everyone else knew the other, from the number of children they had to their medical history, the close-knit town met a tragic loss. Anthony Leigh, lawyer to one of the town's most successful law firms, the epitome of a gentleman, was dead, killed by monoxide poisoning. 

The detective came and went and just like everyone else in the small town, he knew Evelyn well. What had happened and when? Where was Evelyn at the time? Had anyone else been in the house at the time of Anthony's death? Who, what, where, when, to Evelyn, the words all sounded the same. 

A few days later, the results came out and Anthony’s death was ruled an accident. At twelve o’clock he drove into his garage from a company party. At twelve oh five he was overcome with sleepiness. Evelyn, coming home at eight from work, could not find him in the house. Neither could Lana who came on the same day. They found him in the garage a short while after.  

As grief stricken as they were, it seemed natural to the people of Galares that Anthony was overcome by sleepiness and stopped to take a nap at driver’s seat of his car. They reasoned that he had had narcolepsy, had he not? And didn’t he frequently forget to take his medicine?

For Mrs. Leigh, she became a young bride just as quickly as she did a widow. The neighbors brought over casserole dishes and pies, in hopes that they would make her a tad bit happier. It seemed strange to them, though that she did not cry. Her face was solemn, but like a rock’s her expression did not change. The people of Galares felt sympathy that she was to die an old maid. 

Sadness, they assumed, was tearing away the heart of poor Mrs. Leigh. They looked at her with pity and patted her shoulders, telling her that her husband was in a better place. 

Evelyn hated all of them. She hated this darned town. She hated how cheerful the people were, how they planted pink flowers in their flowerbeds. And just as easily as she’d killed every one of Mrs. Bennet’s hydrangeas (the event had left her gleeful for days), she also killed one of the city’s most admired flowers. All she needed to do was close the garage door and lock the door leading to the house. The car was left running. It really was fairly simple. 

To the rest of Galares, she was Mrs. Anthony Leigh, the immaculate, caring wife that everyone wished to be. But to those who knew her well, which was practically no one, she was simply Evelyn Martin. 

Evelyn Martin had been a part of a dance troupe for much of her teenage life. She’d been there since she was fifteen, running away from the girl’s school she’d loathed going to for more than a decade. She was friends with the other girls of the group but she sometimes felt that they didn’t understand her in the way that she wanted them to. Evelyn was lonely. She longed for something completely out of her control.

It was the corner bench of Fifth Avenue that Evelyn met Anthony. She’d been waiting on Cora, a fellow girl from her ballet troupe, who had fallen in love with yet another author figure that she needed to keep from the troupe director. Anthony asked Evelyn if he could take her out sometime and Evelyn thought it might be nice. Anthony seemed like such a dear at the time, and sure, it had been fun at first.

By the end of the first week, he had fallen terribly in love with her and asked her twice to marry him. But Evelyn loved dancing, she told him, and couldn’t leave the troupe. So continued Evelyn’s affair with the successful lawyer who still needed help tying his own bowtie.

By the second week, they were married. She needed the money anyway, and he had it.

They were both bored but the difference was that Anthony was in love with Evelyn. Evelyn was only looking for something to do. To the dance halls they went to win the Charleston contests; Anthony always stepped on her feet. When they went to the horse races, he always rooted for a mad horse named Spotty who never won, not once. In their time at the races he lost more than he had made in the first place, because he felt bad for Spotty. Evelyn could not believe there to be a more idiotic individual than Anthony Leigh. 

And yet, the more idiotic individual had been Evelyn all along. She had sacrificed a whole lifetime to a man she hadn’t even loved. But, she realized seemingly for the first time, Anthony was gone and Evelyn was finally free. Free from the shackles of Mrs. Leigh, the immaculate wife who would never again marry. 

Now at the beginning of the next month, she stood up from the grave of Anthony Leigh. The day was fine and it was lovely and she was no longer Mrs. Anthony Leigh. A few headstones from Anthony’s, a young man eyed her carefully. Evelyn Martin went to meet him, a mysterious but alluring smile playing on her face.