Keep Calm and Kill Your Wife (6 page)

T
HE REST OF THE DAY proved to be relaxing, at least for Summer. Hart managed to remain pretty cool on the outside, but his insides were an assemblage of calculations. Technically he was on vacation, but mentally he had never worked harder. He was constantly on the scout. Walks in the woods were reconnaissance missions. Monuments to beauty became hiding spots, traps, weapons.

Solid, uninterrupted thinking was impossible for Hart. He was either talking, to seem engaged, or listening to what Summer had to say.

“Hart? Hart? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Huh,” he replied, lost for a moment in thought. “I’m sorry, Honey. Say it one more time, please.”

He couldn’t let that happen too often. She’d wonder what was going on. Or, worse, it might result in an argument. That could kill his whole plan. He needed her unwitting cooperation. Maybe she’d go flying soon and he’d have the whole place to himself.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Just relax. No need to sneak around. I’ll have plenty of time when she goes off flying.

One thing nagging at him, for some reason, was his near-empty gas tank. Maybe it was from years of driving for a living. What if he needed to beat it out of there for some reason? Not having much gas somehow made him feel vulnerable. He knew, of course, he’d take care of it, but for now it was just one more thing to think about.

Hart and Summer held hands as they walked. Sometimes he’d put his arm around her and she’d snuggle in close to him, their legs almost moving in unison to a pleasant and gentle beat. They were on forest time and the tranquility of it all seemed to envelope them both. Their talking was soft and harmonious, almost hypnotically weaving into the natural background of the forest—the birds and other wildlife, the ever-present white noise that’s so smooth and soothing and always there if you just let it be.

And suddenly it appeared. The gorge. It was raw and beautiful, and would be Summer’s final resting place. Hart moved toward it, holding Summer’s hand. It was different than he had pictured it, not in a negative way, but just because that’s how life always is. The contrast between conception and reality was evident and Hart was eager to get a better look.

At a certain distance from the edge of the gorge, Summer began to feel a little a stiff. The closer they got, the stiffer she became. Finally she stopped.

“What’s the matter, Honey?” he asked.

“Nothing. This is just as close as I want to get, that’s all.”

“Really? We’re not that close,” he said.
Shit, is this going to be a problem now?
Hart looked around. It was so quiet, so isolated. A feeling came over him like he and Summer were the last two people on earth. He let his imagination take over for a moment. What if they
were
the last two people on earth? No one’s around. What if I killed her right now? Just dragged her to the edge of the gorge and gave her big shove? Then he laughed to himself. If no else existed, how would I collect my insurance money?

“You okay, Hart?” she asked.

“What? Oh yeah.”

“Sorry, Hart. I could probably force myself to walk across the bridge, but the edge still makes me nervous.”

“Where’s the bridge?”

The old hanging bridge was weathered but still looked solid. Simple in construction, its length was a good hundred feet across. The top two ropes, which flanked the bridge on each side, ran horizontally, serving as “handrails” and they were about
³
/
₄
inch in diameter. The bottom two ropes, one on each side, served as the primary support of the bridge’s deck, and also lay horizontally. Those were a little thicker than the handrails and they too, ran the length of bridge. Between the handrail and the bottom rope, on either side, ran vertical ropes spaced about six to eight inches apart.

The bottom of the bridge, the deck, was made of individual wooden pieces constructed of one by sixes and rectangular in shape. Each end of the bridge, the anchor, was attached to what appeared to be partially sunken railroad ties connected by metal stakes that were driven deep into the earth.

As they looked at the bridge, thoughts of her Uncle Frank crowded Summer’s head. Not because he had died there. She hadn’t known that. She thought of him because he had always been her tangible reminder that we are all mortal. That things do happen.

The bridge looked pretty much like she had remembered. She hated like hell that she was the only one in the family that was scared of it. There was nothing to be afraid of. Not really. At least that’s what she told herself. It was part of growing up. Facing your fears. Conquering them. Besides, she had already chickened out about getting too close to the edge of the gorge. She couldn’t let her nerves do her thinking for her.

Hart was already on the bridge as Summer took a deep breath.

“You’ll be fine, Honey,” he said, putting his hand out for her.

She thought about what a lucky woman she was. Hart was so sweet. So encouraging.

Exhaling, she stepped on the bridge and held the handrail. Then she nervously screamed and started laughing as she stepped back off.

Hart smiled at her. It was even genuine.
She really is kind of cute
. But on the inside, every organ in his body clenched.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said smiling as she shook her hands. “You can do this.”

“Of course you can,” said Hart, holding out his hand.

“It’s okay, thanks, I’ll do it,” she said, reaching instead for the handrail of the bridge. A look of determination came over her face. Left, right, left right. Her hands and feet were working together. She was doing it. She was doing it. A smile appeared on her face.

“Good job, Honey,” Hart said, walking a few feet ahead of her, occasionally looking back.

She let out a little giggle. “Thanks, Sweetheart. It’s beautiful up here.”

“It’s gorgeous,” he said looking down, and suddenly he stopped.

“What’s a matter?” she asked.

He turned to face her. “Nothing. I just wanted to absorb it all.”

They put their arms around each other and took in the majesty of a great big world. It was beautiful and in some ways Summer never felt safer.

A
S HE PUT HIS HAND on the back of her neck, Hart couldn’t help himself. It was uncontrollable. The thoughts just filled his head of their own volition. And he could see her falling in his mind’s eye.
Do it now
, he thought,
and it’s all over
. No more thinking about it. No more planning. To hell with dramatic flair.

He looked at the handrail. It was about waist high. He couldn’t just push her. He’d have to lift her with both hands. And what would her hands be doing? Grabbing, clutching, scratching, clawing. He could do it. Of course he could, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

As they walked back, Hart and Summer continued holding hands, both satisfied in their own way. Hart because he had come to realize that he liked his original plan. Why violently roll all over a campfire when you can simply stand ten feet away and throw a bucket of water on it? Both ways put out the fire.

He was also pleased that he had now seen everything for himself. The gorge, the bridge, the brush where he’d be hiding his cable cutters. He no longer had to visualize the layout.

And Summer, too, had a little extra spring in her step. She had made it across the bridge. She had done it. Another fear conquered. Well, maybe not conquered, but confronted. If she was to be honest with herself, she had to admit that the bridge still scared the hell out of her, but that’s what made what she did today all that much more impressive. She felt proud of herself. She also felt exhausted.

Hart, on the other hand, was bursting with excitement. He couldn’t wait to get back to the cabin and take his tools out of the car and hide them. He also wanted to go get gas. These were little things, of course, but he was itchy to do something, anything, to advance the cause, and with night fast approaching, being itchy about things was about all the action he could take for now.

Oh, and there was one more thing he wanted to do. Suggest to Summer that she make an appointment to get her flying time in. The faster he could get her out of the house, the quicker he could start sabotaging matters and hiding the tools. He was looking forward to standing out there on the bridge, by himself, where he could be immersed in deep thought and run through the plan again and again. He would be able to think about contingencies and cover all the angles without interruption.

Thirty minutes later, they were back at the cabin. Thirty-one minutes later they were both collapsed on the couch sleeping like babies.

T
HE SUN LIT THE CURTAINS like a gentle spark turning into an uncontrolled blaze, as beams of light tiptoed, then marched, broadside, into the easterly facing room. The couple was clearly under assault, its culprit a solar army that was taking no prisoners.

The evening, which had included a quick midnight retreat to the bedroom, had obviously surrendered.

Summer yawned and arched her body sideways, a crescent moon adorned with gentle female curves and an unrestrainable smile. She could hardly remember the last time she had slept so well and at this moment all felt right with the universe. A vacation from the strains and pressures of the outside world; a wonderful cabin filled with memories, enhanced by fully conscious yet self-delusionary thoughts of a nostalgic utopia; a wonderful husband; and that irrepressible, effervescent feeling that only the first day of a new, yet to be explored trip can bring.

Sure they had arrived yesterday, but everyone knows that the day you land in a new spot on a vacation, is generally a waste. It’s like it doesn’t count. Not fully at least, marred by travel, acclimation and settling in. It’s that first full unblemished day that really starts your vacation. The day when the sky’s the limit, the body’s completely rested and the saddle sores have been left on the road like discarded trash from fast meals born from a desire to reach one’s destination.

And her smile was contagious, to say the least. But only for people awake, which left Hart out of this picture. His eyelids were shut tight as they held on for the dear life of the obviously defeated darkness of the evening that had just passed. The sun was going to win, but not without a good hard fight from Hartence Smith.

Summer looked over at her husband and her smile broadened at his cute little frown. She wanted him to wake up and for a few moments stared at him, willing him to get up. When that didn’t work, she considered “accidentally” nudging him with her foot. Maybe she should just let him sleep. Nah.

Fortified with a hearty breakfast, Hart’s typical morning grumpiness had faded and the couple was ready to tackle new frontiers. A nice drive, Cardsdale’s Historical Museum, a bit of fishing, a pleasant hike to the falls and a picnic. And then, of course, one not so traditional stop— buying some underwear for Hart. He was tired of going commando. It was all on the agenda, if they could fit it in. If not, there was always tomorrow. Or the next day. Clocks and calendars would have no place on this trip.

Hart pushed himself away from the table. “Summer, that was delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“Oh, my Aunt Jemima taught me. And, of course, Mrs. Buttersworth,” Summer said with a smile.

“Well, those chicks knew what they were doing. The eggs and sausage were great, too.”

“Thanks, Hart. Glad you liked everything.” She reached for his plate.

“No, that’s okay. Why don’t you go get ready? I’ll clean everything up.”

Summer smiled. “Thanks, Honey. Actually could you just put everything in the sink? I’ll wash everything before we leave.” Then she kissed him and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

The moment he heard the bathroom door close, Hart leaped to his feet. Having already gotten dressed while Summer had cooked breakfast, he beelined for the front door, blowing past it and shutting it without a sound. When he got to his car, he reached into his pocket.

“Dammit!” he said out loud as he turned on his heels back toward the house. A distinct feeling came over him that he shouldn’t run, yet he didn’t want to move too slowly, either. Grabbing the knob on the front door, he exhaled.
Relax
.

It jiggled, but the knob wouldn’t turn. “Shit!”
Duh! If I don’t have the keys to my car, I’m not going to have them for the house.

Hart looked in the air and put his hands face up and growled. Then he knocked on the door. He had no choice. Then he knocked louder.

Summer’s makeup was half on when she opened the door. She looked at him a little surprised.

Hart’s head was down as he nudged past her. “I forgot my keys,” he grumbled.

“Oh, that’s okay. What were you doing out there?” Her tone was strictly inquisitive.

“Nothing,” he said, walking toward the bedroom. She followed a few steps behind him, heading straight for the bathroom. “I just wanted to sit on the porch.”

Then he called from the bedroom. “Summer, where the hell are my keys?”

“Did you try your pants pockets?” she called from the bathroom.

My pants pockets? What’s the matter with her?
“Honey, if they were in my pants pocket, I wouldn’t have knocked on the door.”
You dipshit
.

“I mean the ones from last night.”

“Oh.”

With his keys in hand, Hart went whipping past the bathroom door.

“What’s the hurry, Hart?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, try to relax. We’re on vacation.”

“Okay,” he said, slowing down a bit.

“I’m almost done, by the way.”

Hart closed the front door behind him gently. Sprinting to his car, he unlocked the car’s trunk with his remote as he ran. He grabbed the cable cutters and the rope he had brought with him. His eyes darted around looking for a place to put everything. He couldn’t take a chance that Summer would come across this stuff in the trunk.

Then he bolted around the outside of the house, his eyes scanning the scene. He saw the light on in the bathroom. She’d be done soon. He noticed some boulders, but they didn’t feel right. Those bushes? Maybe. The shed? Perfect. He turned around and headed straight for it, wondering if she’d be able to see him from the bathroom window. He doubted she’d ever go in there, and even if she did, some bolt cutters and rope would never arouse any suspicion. Not in a shed.

Hart once again got that same feeling at the shed door that he had gotten at the cabin door just a few minutes earlier. Locked. He flung his neck back and growled in frustration. “Dammit!” he whispered to himself.

Then his eyes widened as he remembered something. He reached into his pocket and took out his keys. On the same ring with the key to the front door was a small key for a padlock. Bingo.

After dumping the stuff in the shed, Hart speed-walked back to the front door of the cabin. Reaching for the knob, he wondered if it would be locked. No matter. He had the key now. He opened the door and stepped inside, practically knocking his wife over in the process.

They both pulled back for a moment, exchanging “whoops” and “ohs” and involuntary nervous laughter with each other.

“What’s going on?” she said. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“No, no. Just jogging around.”

She looked a little perplexed. “Anyway. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They both noticed the uncleared breakfast table.

“Sorry. I promise I’ll get to it when we get back,” he said.

“No, it’s okay. It’ll drive me crazy knowing all that stuff’s out. You go brush your teeth and I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s all right. I’ll clean it up. It’s my fault.”

He made a move for the table.

“Honey,” she said, her lips landing on the side of his face. “Trust me, go brush your teeth. There’s a reason I’m kissing you on the
cheek
.” Then she laughed.

He managed a little laugh himself. Then his lips curled up in a sheepish yet amused smile.
I’m going to miss her
.