Page 3 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Crone let go, but as he got up, he said something else. Something she’d heard him say a hundred times. But now, as those words broke the silence of her loss and her loneliness, they sounded as hollow as old bones.
She didn’t believe those words when she’d first heard them. She didn’t believe them now.
‘I didn’t kill your daughter.’
2
Ruth
Ruth Gelman poured the remains of the bottle of Pinot Grigio into her glass and instantly regretted it. Scott sat across the dining table from her, his wine glass empty for the past half hour of their Friday-night meal. He’d watched her pour the wine, tipping the bottle upside down until she’d taken the final drop. But he didn’t complain. The disapproving look was more than enough.
‘I’ve had a rough day,’ said Ruth, by way of apology.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get loaded before the game anyway.’
Ruth noticed he hadn’t asked her about her day. He never did on these Fridays. Ruth pushed her plate away. She’d barely touched the salmon, and the asparagus lay whole on the side. Even as she had prepared the meal, the thought of sitting down to eat it was far from her mind. She didn’t want to eat tonight. No appetite. Only a thirst. When the notion to drink hit Ruth, she didn’t want food. Food was antithetical. It didn’t help her get to that serene space after the fifth glass. Scott was going out tonight. He went out every other Friday with the guys. Poker. Bowling. Pool. Sometimes they dropped the pretense and just hit a bar.
‘Poker?’ she asked.
He nodded, said, ‘At Gordon’s place.’
‘How is he?’
‘Poor bastard has been hitting the bottle all week.’
Gordon was one of Scott’s oldest friends. A fellow Manhattan lawyer whose life was disintegrating. His wife, Alison, had kicked him out last week after she found messages on his phone from another woman. Gordon had been having an affair, and now he was paying the price.
‘How are Alison and the kids?’ asked Ruth.
‘She won’t talk to him. You should message her and find out,’ said Scott.
‘So you can tell Gordon? I don’t think so. Alison and I were never close. If she reached out to me, that would be different, but I’m not fishing for information for Gordon. He’s your friend. I don’t want to get involved. And hey, don’t tell me Jack will be there.’
Rolling his eyes at the mention of Jack, Scott said, ‘I don’t think so. Last I heard he was still on vacation in Atlantic City.’
That was one good thing, at least. Jack was an old friend of Scott’s that he just couldn’t shake, or more likely he didn’t want to. No matter how much Ruth pressed him. They had been friends in high school, and, while Scott had risen, Jack had fallen. Drugs, gambling, online fraud. If it was bad and illegal, then Jack was into it.
‘Well, if Jack’s not there, at least you won’t be high when you come home,’ said Ruth.
Scott sighed, rose from the table with his plate and carried it to the sink. He rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher then came back over.
‘Not hungry, huh?’ he said.
There was more in that question, and she knew it. They’d been trying for a baby for a few months now. At thirty-nine Ruth thought she couldn’t put it off for much longer. She wanted kids, truly. But, ideally, she wanted to be in a more stable position in the real-estate firm before making that jump. She didn’t want to be reliant on Scott and his income from corporate law.
‘What time will you be home?’ asked Ruth.
‘Don’t wait up. The state that Gordon’s in, I’d expect it to be a late one. He’ll want to get wasted and forget his troubles – at least for one night.’
She nodded. He took her plate, scraped the food into the trash. He still hadn’t asked her what was wrong. It had not been anything in particular that had got to her that day. Just the stress of being a Manhattan realtor. Traversing the city, meeting potential buyers and moving those sales. Competition was fierce and she’d lost a client during the week. Nothing unusual about it, but it hurt just the same. If she unburdened her troubles on Scott, he would feel guilty going out with his friends. He would still go out, of course, and that might hurt Ruth more. They’d been married five years and nothing much had changed since they’d moved in together. Scott still had his squash games twice a week, still went out with the guys every other Friday like it was holy writ, but since he’d insisted that Ruth stop her birth control pills he’d begun to give her dirty looks when she opened a bottle of wine.
If she opened a second bottle, she could expect to wake up the next morning to find an article waiting for her, hot from Scott’s printer, beside a bowl of granola on the breakfast bar. It was invariably some study on the links between female infertility and alcohol consumption. Ruth hardly ever went out with friends. She’d always been a little light in that department. Had been since she’d left high school. Ruth was never great at keeping friends. Always too busy with something. She had people she could call up, but never did. Letting old friendships slide and not making new ones was a failing. Something she recognized. A promise to call school buddies and meet new people regularly appeared on her half-assed New Year’s list of resolutions. A drink after work, on occasion, with some of the partners in her firm was all that she had by way of a social life.
Scott had worked in the district attorney’s office as a prosecutor the first year they met. It was always going to be a temporary thing. Putting in some time to gain criminal law experience – give a little back to the community. His last six months in post had been a series of interviews with white-shoe law firms from old money whose business now stretched across the globe. He took a position as a litigator. This was not a nine-to-five job. At first it didn’t bother Ruth – a realtor needed to do some evening appointments too. But, with Scott’s friends and social life, Ruth sometimes wondered where she fitted in to his plans other than as the little woman who would one day bear his children.
Ruth took a fresh bottle of wine from the fridge, filled her glass and moved into the lounge. She sat down on the plush, soft couch and began channel hopping. Scott’s arms folded round her shoulders and she felt his breath on her neck. First, his stubble grazed her cheek and then she felt his soft lips in that sweet spot just below her ear. He stepped over the back of the couch, sat beside her and they kissed. He held her then, for a time, and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Ruth.
