How to Kill Your Husband (13 page)

“I'm having trouble with this thing I have to do.”

“What?”

“The office.”

“Claire, you still haven't searched that damned office?”

“Uh-uhn.”

“Why not?”

“I can give you several reasons. I've been coming up with them for a while.”

“Man, you crazy.”

“What if I find something bad and I start freaking out? The kids will see me. They'll tell George—”

“Do you know how many bitches
love
to look through their man's shit?”

“They've probably had a little more practice than me,” Claire said. “I only did it once in sixteen years, and it didn't turn out too good for me that time.”

“Are you really scared?” Melanie asked.

“I am,” Claire said. “I really am.”

“All right, girl. I'll come over and we'll do it together. But if you make me miss my Tila Tequila, and you still don't want to look, I'm going up there
by myself
!”

“I thought you said she was nasty.”

“She is, but who doesn't think about that sometimes? I'd get in the bed with her fine ass at least once. Wouldn't you?”

* * *

Claire knew her friend wasn't playing around as soon as she opened the front door. Melanie stood there wearing a baby blue pajama suit with fuzzy footies. She had her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side. A few tight curls hung over her beady eyes. In one fist she gripped a hammer. She held a small a crowbar in the other hand. Claire didn't know whether to laugh or slam the door and lock it.

“What,
wha
?”

“You ready?” Melanie asked.

Claire held her arms out, blinking quickly. “What are, what are the tools for, Melanie?”

“If we need them, you'll know,” she said.

Claire wavered in indecision, contemplating all that could go wrong with this. George was the most on-time person she knew. If he said he wouldn't be home until after ten, then he wouldn't be home until after ten. But with Claire's luck, today he might surprise his wife by showing up early. If he caught them in the midst of their search, Claire was pretty sure Melanie wouldn't attack him with the claw end of the hammer, but
pretty sure
seemed a little inadequate.

“We're not going to need tools,” Claire said. “Leave them in your car.”

“
You
called
me
over,” Melanie reminded. “If you wanted to do it your way, then you should have done it by now.” She stepped through the doorway, pushing Claire to the side a little. Claire said a quick prayer before she closed and locked it behind her.

“Y'all already ate?” Melanie asked, headed for the kitchen.

“Yeah, but I can make you plate if you want.” Claire followed her with butterflies in her stomach.

“What'd y'all eat?”

“Vegetable lasagna.” Claire went to the fridge, but Melanie headed for the stairs.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought you wanted something to eat.”

“Claire, quit trying to get out of this. I wanted to take a plate home with me. I don't want it now.”

“Oh.”

George Jr. stomped down the stairs like a three-legged horse. “Aunt Melanie!”

“Hey, boy!” She positioned her tools in one hand so she could throw an arm around him. “What you still doing up?”

“It's only eight-thirty,” he said. “I can stay up for another hour!”

“Cool. Do you think you can stay up for another hour
in your room
? Me and your mama have a little job we need to take care of.”

“What's
that
?” he asked, pointing at the hammer.

“That's a hammer.”

“I know what a hammer is. What's that other thing?”

“That's a crowbar,” Melanie said.

“What's it for?”

“
Ooh
, there's a lot you can do with crowbars,” Melanie said.

“Like what?”

Claire held her breath in the background.

“You can screw things on,” Melanie said, “and screw them off. You can hold it like a sword; you can poke things and hit things. If a monster comes out from under your bed, you can beat him with it. What
can't
you do with a crowbar? That's the real question.”

The little boy stared in wonder. “Mama. I want a crowbar!”

“You have to wait till you're eighteen,” Melanie said. “Now go on up to your room before I poke
you
with it!” She tickled his ribs, and the little boy clomped back up the stairs laughing. “Come on,” she told Claire. “We've only got an hour and a half.”

“That should be enough,” Claire said.

But she had no idea.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE SUNFLOWER GIRL

The Hudgens' office was not a very large room, but
large
is such a relative term. If your goal was to play a game of badminton in there, you probably wouldn't think it was very spacious at all. But if you wanted to find one sheet of paper or something small among all of the files, shelves, desk drawers and boxes, then the office was a very large place indeed.

Claire had no idea where to begin the search or even what they were looking for, so she didn't put any limitations on her friend. On the east side of the room, they had bookshelves covering the whole wall from corner to corner. At the bottom of these shelves was a row of identical drawers for additional storage. Melanie started on that wall, and Claire headed for the desk in the middle of the room.

Their mission was simple: Everything needed to be looked at, and anything with Kim's name on it was like the Holy Grail. The girls got started solemnly and didn't speak much for a while.

After about thirty minutes of searching the desk, Claire figured this probably wasn't where she would find the incriminating evidence she sought. George sat there often, but only when he had to work on drawings for work. All Claire could find in those drawers were small engineering tools: pens, pencils, protractors and rulers.

Similarly, Melanie wasn't having much luck on the other side of the room. There were no hidden papers among the many manuals and textbooks George kept over the years. And Claire's Stephen King collection was just that. There were no secret compartments behind her Dean Koontz novels, either.

Melanie did find a lot of interesting things in the row of drawers, but nothing that confirmed the existence of George's secret lady. She interrupted Claire every few minutes with something new in her hands.

“What's this?”

“Those are worksheets I made for the kids.”

“What's this?”

“Those are old report cards, transcripts.”

“What's all this?”

“Uh,
oh
, that's a couple of books I wrote back in the day.”

“
You
wrote books?”

“I played with it for a couple of years.”

“What are they about?”

“One's about a pimp and his main girl. The other's about a sultry love affair.”

Melanie's eyes widened. “Nigga, I didn't know you wrote books.”

“I don't. I just wrote those two. I wrote them when little George started school, before I got into medical billing.”

“Damn, Claire. You should've told somebody. How do you know enough about pimps
to write a whole book?”

“What's there to know?” Claire asked. “I know what they do for a living, and all of the characteristics I gave him came out of my head. It wasn't that hard.”

“Did you ever try to publish them?”

“No. It was just a hobby.”

Melanie took a seat and starting flipping through the pages.

Claire brushed the hair from her face and closed the last drawer on the desk.

“I can make you a copy if you want to read it
later…
” she suggested.

“Oh. Oh, yea.” Melanie returned the papers to the drawer and moved on to the next one.

“What are y'all doing?”

Claire looked up and saw Stacy lounging the doorway.

“I'm looking for some papers I stored away,” she said quickly. “Melanie's helping.”

“Can I help?”

“
No
!” Claire said, almost too forcefully. “I mean, no, sweetie. You've got to get ready for bed. What time is it anyway?”'

“9:15.”

“Oh.” Claire stood quickly. “I gotta go check on George Jr.,” she told Melanie.

“Gone,” Melanie said without looking up.

When Claire got back, Melanie was on the other side of the room examining a model plane George Sr. put together.

“Did you find anything?”

Melanie shook her head. “What about that?” She pointed to a file cabinet Claire kept her important papers in.

“I'm about to check that,” Claire said. “We only have about forty minutes, though. I don't want to be in here when George gets home.”

“What's in there?” Melanie pointed to a small closet this time.

“Should just be clothes,” Claire said. She went to the file cabinet and pulled out the first drawer. There were only more worksheets in there.

“What's this?” Melanie asked. She backed out of the closet with a well-worn briefcase in hand.

“That's George's,” Claire said. She stared at it oddly. “He hasn't used that one in a couple of years.”

Melanie crossed the room and set it on the desk.

She fiddled with the lock unsuccessfully. “What's the combination?”

“I don't know,” Claire said. “I don't think I ever knew the numbers for that one.”

“
Umm, hmm
,” Melanie hummed. She went back to the bookshelves and found her crowbar.

“Girl what are you doing?”

“I'm gonna open it.”

“Can't you use something else? You're going to break the lock.”

“You said he doesn't use it anymore.”

“Yeah, but what if he sees it?”

“Throw it away,” Melanie said. “I'll take it with me if you want.”

Before Claire could voice another objection, Melanie slid the tip of the tire iron between the leather and wrenched it open like a huge clam. It took no more than four seconds.

Claire watched from the file cabinet, unable to move. She felt cold and prickly. Her heart sunk low in her chest.

“Come over here,” Melanie said. “You know I don't know what I'm looking for.”

Claire stepped hesitantly. “You shouldn't have done that.”

“Well, it's over now,” her friend said. “Umm, hmm. And here's another card.”

Claire thought she was kidding, but Melanie held up another Hallmark
.
She opened it, and then smiled and snapped her fingers.

“
Got him, baby
. We got another one.”

She handed it over, and Claire read, in a daze. Like the first one, this card wasn't given on a holiday or for any other specific occasion. Someone gave it to her husband
just because
…

I had a great time at the party.

You make me feel so special.

I was just thinking about you,

and I thought I'd let you know

how much I love you.

Kim

Claire's mouth went dry. Her stomach flipped, and the contents came rushing up her esophagus. She managed to swallow it back down, but the gastric acids burned the back of her throat. She put a hand to her mouth and blinked hard, trying to see through the tears.

“Wha, where did you find this?”

“Right behind that flap,” Melanie said. She put an arm around her friend's waist. “You okay?”

Claire's whole body shook; the card trembled in her hands. “It's, it's—”

“It's that
same bitch
,” Melanie confirmed. She turned back to the briefcase and started pawing through the other pockets. Claire was frozen in both time and place.

“Come on, girl,” Melanie urged. “You still got that whole file cabinet to search. We're running out of time.”

Claire dropped the card on the desk and staggered back to her work area. She leaned on the drawer and drew in deep, hot breaths. Her shoulders hitched with each sullen heartbeat.

Two years ago?

“Mama, how long are y'all going to be in here?”

Claire didn't turn to face the door, but she knew it was Nikki standing in the hallway. Melanie rushed to the girl when her mother didn't respond.

“Nikki, ain't you supposed to be in bed?”

“No. It's only nine-thirty.”

“Well you need to go back to your room
anyway
. Me and your mom are doing some
grown-folk
stuff.”

“
I'm
grown.”

“Girl, you'd better get in that room before I go get a switch.”

Claire hadn't spanked Nikki since the fifth grade, and Aunt Melanie never laid a hand on her, but those fun facts matter so little when you're being threatened. Nikki hastily turned tail. Melanie moved quickly to her friend when she was gone.

“You gonna be okay?”

Claire shook her head. Her hair hung over her face, and a fat tear wobbled on the tip of her nose. “They, they had a relationship, fuh, for two,
two years
.” Claire's words were low, resonating with the foul grief only death or heartbreak can bring. “She
loves him
. He probably
loves her tuh-too
.”

Melanie grabbed her shoulders and turned her so they could see eye to eye.

“That's right, Claire. George has a girlfriend. And yeah, she loves him. You already knew that.”

“
No! No I didn't
,” Claire blubbered.

“Well you do now,” Melanie said. “And what it's gonna come down to is this right here: Are you gonna ball up on the floor and start crying, or are you going to get his ass back? All of that pain needs to be switched to
hate
, or you're always gonna be his foot stool.”

“I'm not his foot stool.”

“Well, what do you call it? He doesn't respect you. He's got another woman
right under your nose
. He lies to you
every day
. He's doing
both of y'all
. Back in high school, you wanted to kick Shonda's ass when she started following George around after football practice. Do you remember that?”

Claire nodded, her face a mess because of the recently acquired mascara.

“Is that bad bitch still in there?” Melanie asked, poking at her chest.

Claire wiped her tears and nodded.

“Huh?”

“
Yes
,” she breathed.

“Then what are you gonna do, let him play you like a fool?”

“No,” Claire said. She sniffled loudly and looked her friend in the eyes.

“Then what are you gonna do?”

“I'm going to make him pay.” Claire's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. Her look of despair was replaced with a deep scowl.

Melanie nodded. “That's good. You still a bad bitch.”

Claire threw her arms around her. “Thank you.”

“Ain't nothing, girl. We in this
together
.”

* * *

Claire went to wash her face while Melanie turned the briefcase inside out. There was nothing more. They didn't make any discoveries in the file cabinet, either. Counting the first card she found, George left only two incriminating items in the whole office. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to dispel any hopes Claire had of a happy ending. From that moment on it was war, and Claire was on the offensive. George wouldn't even know he was being attacked until she was ready to yell
Checkmate!

Melanie left at 9:52, and Claire climbed into bed a little while later. She was still awake when George sneaked under the sheets at 12:45, but she pretended to be in the midst of a pleasant dream. She rolled over drowsily to spoon with him, and damn if the sonofabitch wasn't as fresh as a clean load of laundry.

Claire opened her eyes and stared at the back of his head for a long time that night.

Live it up
,
sweetheart.

Live it up.

* * *

The next day things got a little hairy when George called and said he was getting off at five o'clock rather than six.

“Are you still playing poker tonight?” Claire asked him.

“Yeah, baby. But I'm leaving earlier than usual.”

“How come?”

“We're playing at Sherman's tonight. I'm going to help him set up before the other guys get there.”

“What time are you leaving?”

“Around six, why?”

“I'm going to the movies with Becky today.”

“
Again
? You've been going out a lot lately. What's up with that?”

“I don't know. I get bored sometimes,” Claire said. “I feel like I don't have any excitement in my life. Why don't you take me with you to the poker game?”