Dishonor Thy Wife (26 page)

ZOMBIES ARE REAL. Sometimes it is possible for a corpse to
rise from the grave.

* * *

RONNI

Nine days may be too soon for a widow to clean out her
husband’s things and empty her house of memories, but then mine was never a conventional
marriage.

Suits intended for charity are piled on Brad’s bed. A grey
and black plaid suit wobbles on top.

Traci storms into the room, climbs on the bed, grabs the
plaid suit, and drags it behind her, stomping to the closet.

She stands on her toes, trying to hang the suit back on the
rod.

Riley cracks her gum. “Where did you come from half-pint? I
was looking for you to give you a stick of chewing gum. Have you been hiding
under the bed?”

“Don’t throw my daddy’s suit out,” Traci yells, “he’s coming
back for it.”

Traci is about to cry again and I give her a hug, smoothing the
hair from her face. “It’s okay, Honey.”

She pounds my back with her fists. “Don’t throw his suit
away. Don’t!”

“Alright.” I hang up the suit, figuring to throw this one
out after Traci’s next visit to the psychologist.

“Promise me, mommy.” Traci wipes her eyes with the backs of
her hands and her voice rattles, breaking my heart.

“I promise, Traci, not to throw this suit out if you promise
to go play outside. It’s such a lovely day and your daddy would want you to
have fun, right?”

Traci nods her head. “Okay, Mommy.”

The lone suit hangs in Brad’s closet.

Riley is obsessed with the makings of a funeral. I intend to
give the guest book to Brad’s mother so she can write out
thank you
notes, but Riley insists on sticking her nose in the book and flipping through
the pages first to see who attended the viewing. Why, I cannot imagine except
maybe she is looking for bachelor doctors.

“What did you say the name was on Brad’s travel bag that had
the Air Canada
luggage tag,
the bag with the bloody knife you overnighted to the Canadian police,” she
says.

I cringe at the memory. “Jayden Tremblay. Why?”

“Well, dear, a Jayden Tremblay from Canada attended Brad’s
viewing.”

“What!” I drop a pair of men’s dress shoes on my foot and
hop to the bed where Riley is sitting.

“Look here. His name is in the viewing book along with his
address in Canada.”

The name and address causes me to sputter.

“Cat got your tongue?” Riley says.

 “But…but…Brad’s double life. The name he was using in
Canada. Brad was Jayden Tremblay.” I sit down on the bed, feeling faint.

“Someone is playing a sick joke on you.”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

Riley follows me downstairs to the study.

I flip through the pages of the telephone book and pick up
the phone. “I’m calling Air Canada.”

“Make a reservation for me,” Riley purrs.

I shake my head no and Riley glares at me.

I make a reservation on the next day’s flight to Victoria,
British Columbia, for one.

RONNI

Riley still insists on going with me to Canada.

“I need you to stay with Traci. I don’t care to leave her
with Brad’s folks and obviously can’t take her with me.”

“You’re going to Canada all by yourself to confront this Jayden
Tremblay, if he exists?”

“Yes. I’ll take a can of mace to spray his face with.”

“Be very careful, Ronni. You know nothing about this man
except that he knew Brad and may have helped him murder a woman. Maybe someone
is after money, you know, a widow, probably a big life insurance policy. This
may be a friend of Brad’s in Canada, or an enemy.”

“Well,” I try to sound flippant, “I better pack my bags.”

“Write down what hotel you’re staying at and call as soon as
you get there. Check in with me often so I can send the police in case anything
happens. It’s a bad world out there and not wise to go knocking on a stranger’s
door.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a big girl. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“I just wish someone was going with you,” Riley mutters.

“On Thursday the Good Will is coming to get Brad’s clothes.
You heard Traci’s crazy idea about her daddy coming back for the plaid suit. I
will just have to keep that suit until Traci quits grieving. I guess she needs
something to remind her of her father.”

“I know,” Riley says and smiles gently.

I blink back my tears. “I found a stash of drugs in Brad’s
bathroom. He was using drugs with Traci in the house. I should have left him,
Riley, years ago.”

“You need to forget Brad. When you return, sell this monster
of a house, and make a new start. There. There. Quit crying.”

“Maybe this Jayden Tremblay is Brad’s drug dealer, his Canada
connection.”

“Now you are really worrying me.” Riley pulls up the web page
of the Victoria police and writes down the phone number. “Just in case,” she
says and hands the piece of paper to me.

JAYDEN

A
For Sale
sign was plastered to the window of my condominium.
I already made an offer on a house and planned moving in a week.

New carpet was laid in the entire house, and every spot of Vanessa’s
blood cleaned. I had moved my clothes and stuff into one of the spare rooms and
kept the door to the master bedroom closed. I could barely stand to drive my
car into the empty garage without seeing Vanessa’s Porsche looking like a pink
valentine.

I sat slumped on the den sofa, my suit rumpled and tie
loosened. My eyes were bloodshot. Cold containers of open Chinese food were scattered
about the coffee table.

Besides my own patients, I had been filling in for other
doctors, working myself to the point of exhaustion in order to sleep. I, also,
worked at a children’s hospital on Sundays for free to earn some sort of
forgiveness for my sins. I was not turning into a saint. Work kept me away from
the house. Booze helped a little, too, but I only drank after work. I drowned my
sorry life with help from Jimmy Beam and a six-pack of beer chaser, hoping to
pass out and get some sleep.

Tonight, I returned home earlier than usual, 7:30 pm. The
nurses and other doctors literally chased me from the hospital, insisting I go
home and get some rest; quit getting on everyone’s nerves. They all knew the
police had arrested me for a murder I did not commit, and that my girlfriend
married my identical twin brother who lived in America and was now dead. God, I
hate pity!

Vanessa’s father tried to throw the book at me, but the
police decided my time behind bars was punishment enough and so I did not lose my
medical license, nor did the police report me to the airlines for flying under Brad’s
name.

My parents were kind enough to drop the subject of me
exchanging places with my brother and messing with other people’s lives.
Masquerading. Manipulating. Fooling my parents. Deceiving my patients. And
especially, making a fool of Ronni...always Ronni, in the back of my mind,
behind my heart, beneath my stomach. I had to move on and stop thinking about
Ronni and my niece, quit fantasizing about visiting Traci. It was better this
way, and Ronni need never know about the cruel joke we played on her. She had
enough grief on her plate without another murderer in her life.

No one knew about me killing Brad, of course. The punishment
for my sins should not be suicide. No slashing of wrists. No overdose of drugs.
No sucking on the car exhaust with the garage door sealed and the motor
running. No hanging from the ceiling. No lethal injection of morphine stolen
from the hospital. There were at least 100 painless ways to kill myself but
nope; I planned to live a long life to remember my sins.

Booze was a handicap to get over this hump, no make that
mountain, and move into the new house and attempt a fresh start. The reason I was
not living at a hotel or with my parents was to punish myself. Here, in this
house, I could imagine Brad and Vanessa together. Then I would see Brad
killing her, hear her screaming, and see the shock on her face in those last
moments before dying when Brad brandished the knife, but Vanessa believed it
was I. Thinking about her death made me feel better about murdering my brother.

I reached for the whiskey again.

It took a few rings of the doorbell before realizing I was
not hearing angel’s bells because Vanessa had just gone to heaven but that
someone was actually at my door.

The ringer was persistent and each ring of the bell caused my
head to pound. “Coming,” I finally yelled.

Who the hell is it?
I tucked my shirt into my pants
and staggered to the door. I did not invite anyone over, ever. “Leave me in
peace. Just go away.” I rubbed my forehead against the door, begging the
intruder to, “Please go. Quit ringing the bell. You’re driving me crazy!”

Shit! It was probably my buddies come over to cheer me up again
by bringing women over. Last Friday night was a fiasco. I woke up in bed the
next morning between two floozies with no recollection of what happened. The
women both smiled at me and even given all I had been through, and put others
through, and the exhaustion, and the booze, I had still been able to perform
admirably. The bottom half of my body was definitely alive.

Whoever was ringing the doorbell was part bulldog.

Probably a damn salesman or Jehovah Witnesses,
I
thought and flung the front door wide open.

 “Ronni?” She came to me, traveled all the way from Austin
to find me because she missed me. My heart that I believed dead began to beat
and a healthy color returned to my skin until she squeaked, “Brad, you’re alive!
You have been hiding in Canada and faked your own death? How? Oh!”

She swayed on her feet and her face drained of color. She
was about to faint so I reached out my arms and caught her.

I carried her over to the den, gently spreading her on my
couch so she was comfortable with a pillow tucked under her head.

I sat down next to her with one arm leaning against the back
of the couch and my hip touching her waist. I no longer felt drunk or tired and
my entire being pumped with the excitement of her. Alive! And all because of
her.
Her. Her.

She fluttered her eyes open. Her eyes were dull, like there
was no life inside.

She peeked a look at me through her fingers and then sat up
and screamed.

“I’m sorry, Ronni,” I quickly said because fear was returning
to her pale face that she was looking at her husband’s ghost. “I didn’t mean to
scare you like that. I am not Brad. Your husband is dead.”

“You’re Jayden Tremblay,” she said, and pushed herself into
the couch.

“I’m Brad’s identical twin brother.”

She reached back her hand and slapped me hard.

“I deserved that.”

She knew, she knew. Recognition dawned in her eyes. She recognized
me and I felt exhilarated because this meant there was no need to explain because
she knew
everything
, except that I murdered her husband.

And she looked as if she wanted to cut my head off!

“You’re the man from the picture in Brad’s pocket. He lied
about a computer trick to place two Brads in the photo. You and Brad played a
trick on me. You’re Brad number two, the kind, sensitive, loving Brad, the
missing link between Brad number one, my hard uncaring husband of six years and
Brad number three, the insane murderer.”

I cringed at the words,
insane murderer
, realizing
she did deserve an explanation. I paced while telling her about how we met in
Philadelphia, as if talking about a medical experiment gone bad. “I’m different
than Brad,” I said defensively.

“You fooled me into thinking you were Brad in order to sleep
with me. No, you raped me. Ignorance is not submissiveness. Having sex under
false pretenses has got to be rape!” She jumped from the couch, clenching her
fists.

“Well, you moaned and groaned under me, lady, so there’s a
glitch in your rape theory. You wanted me badly. You writhed in my arms as if I
was the drug you craved. You opened you legs and invited me in whether you want
to admit it or not.”

She turned beet red. “Was the joke worth it?” she said in a
choked voice.

“Ronni, the masquerade started out as funny but believe me, the
charade lasted longer because of you.”

“Because I was such a stupid idiot!”

“No, because you were so good in bed.”

“Because I was a whore!”

“No, I’m not wording this right. We never thought how our
masquerade would affect other people. It was just supposed to be for two weeks.
I never meant...”

“For the joke to last longer, because after you met me you
realized how dumb I was, how gullible, and how easy I was to get into bed.”

“You misunderstand.”

“Oh, I understand alright—you made it very clear. You wormed
your way into my bed, pretending to be my husband. You and Brad had a good
laugh about me!”

“I never told Brad about us. I did not expect to want you
like this, to need you like air. I never expected to care about you.”

“Then if you care so much, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“The charade got all mixed up. I was in over my head and did
not know how to untangle the mess.”

“Oh, so I’m a mess?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“No, you’re the mess, you sick sonofabitch!” She shoved my
chest and I fell on the couch.

“I tried to tell you that last night. Remember I told you, I
am not who you think I am? I was going to tell you that night at dinner and
then...and then…”

“You stood me up.” She closed her eyes and trembled. “The
attention you paid to Traci was the cruelest trick of all. Traci refuses to
believe her father is dead. She rides that rocking horse you made her for hours.
How could you do that to a child? How could you hurt her that way?”

“I never thought...”

“No, I guess you don’t think.” She towered over me where I
was sitting. “Just so you get what you want, to hell with the rest of us.
You’re just like your brother, a selfish spoiled brat who thinks of no one but himself.”

Her purse had fallen off the edge of the couch. She reached
down and picked it up.

I had not explained things correctly, had not expected her
to just show up at my door. There was a time when I rehearsed what I planned to
say when confessing the truth but weeks and weeks passed, a lifetime ago, and my
windpipe rusted with nerves. 

All I could think about was
she is leaving me.

She is walking out on me, w
hich was ironic since
Ronni never really walked into my life. She had never really been mine. She was
always Brad’s wife. She never once said
I want you, Jayden. I need you, Jayden.
Good night, Jayden.
I needed to hear her say the words even if I had to
force her.

I have to stop her!

Ronni opened the front door and before she could escape, I
slammed it shut, trapping her between my arms. She stamped her foot down but I
was too fast for her and jumped out of the way.

Tears came to her eyes.

I locked my eyes with hers and tried to look sincere so she
would believe me and forget what a liar I was, forget my deception, make her…I
felt weak at the knees. She was doing it to me again, making me aware of only her.
There was only Ronni. The world narrowed down to her and what she was making me
feel. I could barely breathe, could hardly think what to say because I wanted
to lose myself in her, open her up like a flower in the morning opening to the
sun.

Her eyes glittered. “Oh, no, are you going to rape me again?”

Ouch. That hurt. “Rape?” I snorted. “You enjoyed every
second of our lovemaking. You screamed out for more every time. You could not
get enough of me. Admit it, Ronni.”

“You conceited, arrogant man! I thought you were my husband,”
she said in a biting voice. “And not my…not my…Oh, my God!”

“It was me Dammit!” I pounded my chest with my fist. “It was
me you made love to like you meant it. It was I who made you scream out with
passion. I may have answered to my brother’s name but I never acted like Brad. I
was always myself whether you want to admit it or not. What did Shakespeare
say? A rose is a rose by any other name. I am who I am whether I say my name is
Jayden or Brad. A name does not change the person. You can deny me all you
want, but I’m still the drug you crave.”

“Screw you and your logic. A creep is a creep by any other
name,” she recited in a mocking voice. “That’s not Shakespeare speaking; it’s
Ronni O’Boyle, a wronged wife, a harmed sister-in-law, an injured woman.”

I pounded the door with my fists. “I’m not my brother, goddamnit!
Get that through your thick head. Brad and I were nothing alike except in
physical appearance.”

“Well you sure had me fooled,” she drawled. “That was you skulking
around Brad’s funeral, wasn’t it, hiding under an umbrella like the big bad
wolf?”

“I wanted to see how you and Traci were doing. I was worried
about you.”

“Hah!”

“I had every right to attend my brother’s funeral.”

“Hiding in the shadows? I saw your name in the book at the
viewing. I didn’t see you there.”

“So that’s how you got my name and address. I forgot about
signing the book at the funeral home and I was not skulking.” I pointed to my
face and said, “What was I supposed to do, make everyone think Brad came back
to life? I didn’t want to explain.”

“Because you’re a sneaky jerk. If I did not come here
looking for you, I never would have known. You would have let me go through
life wondering if Brad had a split personality and feeling guilty for that poor
woman’s death.”

I flinched.

“And what about Barbie? Did you step into Brad’s shoes with
his mistress?”

Ronni cared about me else, she would not appear so hurt. “Say
it, Ronni,” I said in a husky voice and massaged her shoulders, slow and sexy. “Say,
I want you, Jayden. I need you, Jayden.”

She yanked her shoulders from my grasp. “You think I need
you? You think I need any man?”

I reached my hand down to her thigh and crawled up her skirt
with my fingers. God help me, she did not stop me. She could not stop the moan rising
from her throat because her own body was a traitor.

I breathed heavily into her hair. “I can make you want me.”

I lowered my head and kissed her neck with hot, moist lips.

She pushed her head sideways to give me access and wrapped
her arms around me.

I shoved my leg between her knees and pushed her legs open
so that she sat on my thigh with her back against the door. I massaged her with
my knee in slow sensuous circles.

“I want you, Jayden,” she moaned, her words barely coherent.
“You’re right. My body needs and craves you, Jayden.” She panted and closed her
eyes.

She was burning for me. Her words excited me beyond belief.
It had been so long, forever since we made love and my body pounded with desire,
but our reckoning was too important to mess up with just sex. I echoed back her
words from several months ago: “Do you believe that a couple can begin again?”