Page 8 of The Last Road Trip

“Like on the way here,” Buck continues, his voice casual, like he’s not ripping my heart out in front of everyone. “I slipped her a Xanax in her water. Even prepared the thing ahead of time since I knew she wasn’t going to shut up. Gives me hours of peace and quiet.”

I can’t move. The soapy water ripples around my wrists, but I feel entirely detached from my body. Years ago, my doctor prescribed Xanax to help with my flight anxiety. I never even took the pills, too terrified of being altered if the plane actually went down. Now, the mystery of why I collapsed in the passenger seat evaporates into a sickening reality. My own husband intentionally drugged me.

I pull my hands from the sink, water dripping onto the front of my shirt. I reach for the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and slowly dry my hands. I’m not even entirely sure what I’m doing or going to say, but I can’t continue to wash the dishes like nothing is wrong. I go to the sliding door and open it fully.

Buck and Gary stand at the far end of the deck, cigars in hand, beers on the railing beside them. They turn at the sound, identical expressions of surprise flashing across their faces. Gary recovers first, straightening his shoulders, raising his cigar to his mouth for a quick puff. Buck continues to stare.

“You,” I say, my voice clipped after stepping outside, “are despicable.”

Buck’s brows draw together. “Harriet, I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, but you need to calm down.”

“No. I am done,” I continue, stepping fully onto the deck. “Twenty-five years. Two children. A home. A life. And you drug me to shut me up?”

Behind me, I hear the twins moving in the kitchen.

“I cook,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “I clean. I volunteer. I remember every birthday, every anniversary, every preference and allergy and medication. I have been looking forward to this trip for weeks. I packed your special shampoo. I didn’t complain when you ate my dinner and didn’t put up too big of a stink when you ‘forgot’ I’m allergic to fish. Nor did I pick a fight when you called me ‘too heavy’ to sit in your lap. And my thanks for being a saint in our marriage is you drugging me.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Buck says, setting his beer down on the railing. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture defensive. “You were stressed, so I helped.”

“Shove it,” I shout. “I’ve had enough. I know you’re an asshole, and I’ve managed to tolerate it against my better judgment, but I will never look past a blatant violation of my body.”

Gary holds his hands up. “Harriet, I think—”

“No,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to think. You don’t get to have an opinion. You stood there and listened to my husband admit to drugging me, and you didn’t say a damn word.”

Buck takes a step forward, one hand reaching. “Honey, you’re overreacting. It was just one pill.”

“Don’t you dare,” I say, talking straight through his attempted downplay. “You are a horrendous husband and now we can add criminal to the list.”

The kitchen door slides open again, and the twins step onto the deck, their faces tight with worry.

“Mom?” Coris says. “What’s going on?”

Buck moves faster than I’ve seen him in years. One second he’s standing at the railing, arms crossed, face set in that incredibly defensive expression, and the next he’s taking two quick steps toward the twins. His posture opens, his expression shifting to that carefully concerned look he wears when he turns our girls against me.

“Your mother is escalating a misunderstanding,” he says, his voice smooth, calm, and utterly convincing. “You know how she gets when she’s tired and stressed.”

“No,” I cut him off, staring straight at my daughters. “He secretly drugged my water with Xanax to knock me out. There is no twisting or justifying that.”

The girls freeze, looking at Buck in shock. Maren blinks. “Wait. Dad, is that true?”

Buck rubs the back of his neck, letting out a heavy, patient sigh. “I gave her one of her old flight-anxiety pills because she was completely worked up before the drive, girls. I only wanted her to rest. It was a clumsy mistake not to tell her, but look how she’s screaming at me now. I was just looking out for her health.”

Maren turns back to me, her brow furrowing. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. She’s accepting his framing.

“He violated my body!” I shout, the horror of it choking me.

The twins exchange a quick look. They aren’t seeing a crime; they are seeing their mother blowing a family dispute entirely out of proportion.

Sure enough, Coris steps closer to Buck’s side. “Mom, please. You’re throwing around horrible accusations in front of Uncle Gary. Can you stop making a scene and settle down?”

I look at my daughters, who have my eyes and their father’s total blindness to my humanity, and the final string snaps.

“I want a divorce,” I say.

“Harriet, be reasonable,” Buck stupidly says.

“I’m done,” I continue, talking straight through his attempted interruption. “There is nothing to save in this marriage. You are awful, and I’d have to truly hate myself to stick with you for a second longer.”