How to Kill Your Husband (15 page)

Claire rubbed her eyes and took a long breath. She smiled at her friend and removed the pictures from the plastic again. “When'd you get your therapy license?” she kidded.

“Everything I just said to you, Trevor said to me,” Becky said.

“The lawyer?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What is he, a counselor, too?”

Becky shrugged. “No. He's just really understanding.”

Claire examined the close-up of the sunflower girl again. “This
is
George's baby, isn't it?”

Becky shook her head. “Either way, it's not your fault.”

“This is his baby,” Claire said definitely. “I don't know much, but I know my husband's child when I see it.”

* * *

When they got back to the office, Claire devoted her whole brain to her job. That helped get her mind off things for a little while, but Melanie called thirty minutes before it was time to clock out.

“
Girl
, I thought you were going to be in
jail
today! If I find out Robert has some kids by some
other
bitch
I'm messing him up.”

“She might not be his.” Claire knew she was in denial but didn't know what else to say.

“Both of them is his!” Melanie informed. “Don't get it twisted.”

Claire's heart fell into her stomach. “
Both
?”

“Didn't you get my message?”

“What message?”

“On your cellphone?”

“My battery's dead,” Claire said. “I meant to charg— what do you, what do you mean ‘
both of them
?' ”

“I told you I was going to follow his ass after they left the school.”

“You said that last time. I didn't think you did it.”

“I wasn't at first,” Melanie agreed. “I was running out of gas, but when I saw them leaving, they were headed back towards the freeway. I figured since they going the same way I'm going, I might as well roll with them, you know? Claire, they went right around the corner
;
that's where she lives! I got that ho's address and everything!”

“What do you mean ‘
them',
Melanie?”

“Oh, yeah, when they left the school, it was George, his
bitch
, that Girl Scout chick, and another little boy. The two kids look like
twins
. Can you believe that nigga got
two
kids?”

“Melanie, tell me you're playing.”

“You know I wouldn't play about that.”

“You followed them to her house?”

“
Yeah
. I can take you over there. It's a one story, but it's nice. She stays right around from the school, so you know it's in that
good
neighborhood.”

“There were
two
kids?”

“A boy
and
a girl, same height, and looked like the same age. Both of them is high-yellow—just like George.”

“I'm gonna be sick,” Claire said, and she really was. Her stomach flipped, and her mouth filled with saliva. She pulled the waste basket from under the desk but managed to keep it down, for now.

“I feel like I coulda been a private eye,” Melanie went on. “Your husband's been getting away with this shit for
too long
. He wasn't even looking over his shoulder or nothing. Girl, do you know how paid you're gonna be when the judge finds out he got a whole ‘nother family?”

Money was the last thing on Claire's mind. “How, how could he do that?”

“He's been lying about
everything
,” Melanie explained. “His ass probably don't even got a job for all you know.”

That was ludicrous, but Claire found herself considering it. George called her from his company cellphone whenever he was at work, and Claire returned his calls to the same number.
Surely George has a job
was just as bankable as
Surely George isn't cheating
, and
Surely George doesn't have another freaking family
.

“What time is the stakeout today?” Melanie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We ain't doing a stakeout?”

“George doesn't play poker tonight,” Claire said. Her head spun. She leaned on the desk for support. “I think he's coming home right after work.”

“I'm talking about staking out
his bitch's house
,” Melanie said.

“This is, this is just a lot. I need to think about things…”

“
What
? Claire, don't go getting soft on me again. The only thing you need to think about is
what's that bitch's full name?
You need to be thinking about getting some mail out of her box.”

Oh, my God
. Claire realized she had created a monster. “We don't have to do that today
.
”

“What's wrong with today?”

“I just found out my husband has
two illicit children,
” Claire whispered.

Melanie sighed loudly. “Claire, I'm not going to let you back away from all of this like you did last time.”

“I'm not—”

“I got that ho's address, and I already told Robert I was going out. I got a full tank of gas, and I'm going to Irving
tonight
. I'm hyped up, girl. I can't stop now.”

“You'll go all the way over there without me?”

“It's for the
greater good
,” Melanie said. “I ain't never did this much for nobody, but it kinda feels nice, like when white people find money and turn it in—not even thinking about a reward or nothing. What's that called?”

“Benevolence,” Claire mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I gotta go.”

“So are you going with me tonight or what?”

“I don't know,” Claire said. She stared at the papers on her desk until they became a white blur. “I'll call you later.”

Claire hung up and took out her pictures again. She studied them all in more detail, giving the most scrutiny to the two shots of George's bastard child this time.

She decided divorcing him was definitely not as good as killing him. She didn't understand how she could have ever seen it any other way.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FREEZER BAGS

Claire had her emotions under control by the time she picked up the kids, but camouflaging her
mood
was a bit more difficult. George Jr. was the first to notice something was awry. He sat up front with his short legs dangling over the seat. He had his backpack on his lap and his most recent spelling test in hand.

“No one else got a
hundred
,” he chirped. “Teacher says I'm going to set the curve when I get to middle school. What's a
curve
, Mama?”

“It's what nerds do to make everyone hate them,” Stacy explained. She sat in the back wearing a white T-shirt with the word
PRECIOUS
pasted across the chest. Nikki slouched next to her wearing baggy jeans.

“They don't hate me!” George Jr. exclaimed.

“They will when you get to middle school,” Stacy predicted.

“Mama, will they hate me when I get to middle school?”

“No, honey,” Claire said without looking over.

“See. I told you!”

“Mama hasn't been in school in
twenty years
,” Stacy guessed. “She don't know what goes on.”

“
Ooh
!” George Jr. patted his mother's leg. “Mama!”

“What, dear?”

“She said, ‘
don't know
.' ”

“That's nice, honey.”

“Shut up and mind your business,” Stacy warned.

“
Mama
!” He smacked her more persistently. “She was supposed to say ‘
doesn't
know.' ”

“Hmm?”

“Stacy said she
don't know
, and she was supposed to say she
doesn't know
.”

“Okay, baby,” Claire said.

“But Mama—”

“She said it's fine, so leave her alone!”

“Mama, did you see my test?” George Jr. whined.

“Yes, sweetie.”

“You didn't even look at it.”

“Hmmm?”

Little George studied her countenance for a few seconds, and then he turned and eyeballed his sisters. “Something's wrong with Mama,” he announced.

Stacy sat up in her seat. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong with me,” Claire said, her eyes still on the road.

“Did you have a bad day at work?” Nikki asked.

That seemed like a good excuse. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Are you tired, Mama?” Stacy asked. “You look tired.”

“Do you want me to help make dinner tonight?” Nikki offered.

“Sure,” Claire said. “I'd appreciate that.”

“I can make macaroni,” Nikki said.

George Jr.'s face lit up. “Me, too!”

“Thanks,” Claire told him. She stopped at a light and turned to face him fully. “You're a very special young man.”

He grinned like a Jack-O-Lantern.

Claire looked in the rearview and made eye contact with her girls. “I appreciate you guys, too. You're all perfect,
precious
children. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Stacy was glad for the endorsement, but Nikki was a little confused.

“Dang, Mama. All I did was offer to make macaroni.”

* * *

Claire got dinner started, and she took a shower while the girls boiled noodles. When she got out of the tub, George Sr. was home. He came into the bathroom and ogled her wolfishly while she dried off.

“You should have waited on me,” he said. “I would have got in there with you.”

“Like I know when you're going to be home.”

“I'm just kidding, baby.” He sat on the toilet and ran a hand up her inner thigh. Claire stepped away from him and snatched her robe from behind the door. She turned her back and slid into it quickly. When she faced him again, George gave her a peculiar look.

“What's up, baby? You doing all right?”

She rolled her eyes and went over to the sink. “I'm just fine,
dear
.”

She checked her features in the vanity and started to brush her hair. George got up and stood behind her. He tried to grab on to her, but Claire increased her brush strokes to an almost dangerous speed. She aimed to knock him on the forehead, but George bobbed out of the way like a prizefighter.

“Damn, baby! You almost hit me.”

“You see me trying to do my hair.”

“You coulda gave me a black eye.”

“Give me three feet and you'll be fine,” Claire advised him coolly.

George grinned. He moved in for another hug, but Claire timed her downstroke just right this time. She jerked back,
hard,
and
the brush exploded from her head as if from a cannon. George backed away and brought a hand up simultaneously. The wooden brush banged hard on his pinky finger, and he yelped loudly like a frightened puppy.

“
Ouch! Dammit, Claire!
” He shook his hand briskly and rubbed on the sore digit. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I told you to give me some room,” she said without looking back.

“Yeah, but you didn't have to hit me!”

“I didn't hit you. You stuck your hand up there on your own.”

“
I stuck my hand up to protect my head!
”

“Well, your head shouldn't have been there, then.”

George scowled at her reflection. “You
crazy
. I didn't do nothing to you.”

That was almost laughable. Claire wanted to show him the pictures so badly her fingers trembled.

“You got problems,” he said and disappeared through the bedroom.

“And you're a
disgusting asshole
,” Claire muttered when he was gone. She couldn't wait to say that to his face.

* * *

Dinner was great, but the tension at the table was so thick it could have been a side dish. Claire sat across from her husband, and they frowned at each other for most of the meal. The kids didn't know what was wrong, but they knew when to keep quiet. An awkward silence ensued; only the clinking of forks scraping plates disturbed the hush. When the phone rang, George Jr. jumped as if struck. Claire went to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Claire, your phone's still dead,” Melanie said.

“Oh. I'm sorry. It's on the charger, but it's not on. I wasn't thinking about it.”

“How are you
not
thinking about it? I told you we were going over that bitch's house today.”

“Yeah, Melanie, I don't think I can make it.”

“Why not?”

“It's just not a good time. I'm not feeling well.”

“That's good,” Melanie said. “You can use that
hate
.”

“Melanie—”

“Do you want to know what George's kids are doing right now?”

“What?”

“I mean, I'm looking at both of them little bastards
right now
. Don't tell me you're not curious.”

“You went over there?”

“Claire, I already told you I was going.”

“I know, but, by yourself?”

“Listen, girl, I got your back—even when you don't want me to have it. We in this together, right?”

Claire put a hand to her mouth. “Yeah. Thank you, Melanie.”

“They've been in the yard for an hour. I got some pictures of them, they mama, too. I'm about to leave if you're not coming.”

“Can you give me directions?”

“That's my girl,” Melanie said. “You get your ass over here.”

* * *

As surprised as George was that his wife would strike him with a hairbrush, that was nothing compared to his shock when Claire told him she was leaving—in the middle of dinner.

She went upstairs without a word and grabbed her cellphone. She passed through the dining room on the way out of the front door. “I'll be back.”

“You'll what? Where are you going?” George left his seat and caught up with her in the living room. The kids looked on with clear foreboding.

“I said I'll be back.”

“Back from where, Claire? Where are you going? We're eating dinner. You can't just
leave
.”

She tilted her head. “Why not?”

George softened. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, baby. I don't know what's going on, but we need to talk about it. If there's something you want, if there's something you
need
, just tell me. If I did something—what is it?”

Claire stared into his brown eyes and smiled. She put a hand on the side of his face and pulled him close for a kiss. His lips were as warm and full as they always were, but they were just dead meat as far as Claire was concerned.

“You're fine, baby,” she said. “You didn't do anything at all.”

“So where are you going?”

“I'm going to Melanie's house. Trevon needs help with his algebra.”

“In the middle of dinner?”

“Are you going to miss me?”

He smiled.

“Stop acting like a baby,” she said. “I'll be back in time to put the kids in bed.”

“And then you can put
me
to bed?” He grinned perversely, and Claire saw the young Girl Scout superimposed over his features.

“Yeah, baby,” she said. “Anything you want.”

He slapped her on the butt on her way out, and Claire gritted her teeth and endured it. She never thought it possible, but even his touch sickened her.

And that was a rotten feeling; an awful, stinking feeling.

* * *

The ride on the freeway felt like it was taking longer than yesterday. Claire found herself bouncing a knee and biting her nails. She called Melanie when she got on I-35.

“
My nigga
! You made it out?”

“Yeah. You still there?”

“I was getting ready to leave. I didn't know if you were going to call back or not. It's getting dark.”

“Did they go inside yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“I took some pictures,” Melanie said again, “of them
and
they mama.”

“I really appreciate that.”

“I told you, I got your back.”

“You and Becky seem to have my back more than I do. I don't know how to thank you.”

“Just as long as you break George's ass down to the
barest essentials
I'll be happy. Mostly I'm doing it 'cause I love you, but I also
can't stand
to see a man do a woman like that, especially a good woman like you. I want to go to court and see him crying like a baby. I want your lawyer to hold up one of those pictures, and I'm going to be like, ‘
Yeah! I took that one, nigga
!' ”

Claire laughed. “So you're going home?”

“Not if you're coming. They're about to eat dinner. I can see her setting the table.”

“You can see
inside their house
?”

“She's got her blinds open,” Melanie said. “By the time you get here, it'll be dark enough for us to go in their front yard, but I've got binoculars, too.”

Claire chuckled. “Oh, my God, Melanie. You're a fool.”

“You need to hurry up.”

“I'm coming,” Claire said. “I'm doing eighty.”

“Do ninety.”

* * *

Claire called her friend back when she exited on Story Road, and Melanie directed her the rest of the way. The mistress's neighborhood was as nice as Melanie described. Most of the houses were brick with circular driveways and St. Augustine lawns. The sun had almost set, but there was still a beautiful auburn tint in the horizon.

A few neighbors were out walking their dogs. Claire had to slow for a gang of skateboarders when she turned onto Stevens Court. She pulled to a stop behind her friend's Impala and crept from her Lexus like a Navy SEAL. She climbed in on the passenger side and looked around anxiously. Melanie frowned at her.

“Girl, what you doing?”

“This is crazy,” Claire said. “I've got goose bumps.”