The bandage over Nancy’s left eye was smaller now. She was steadier on her feet, getting around the house and even out in the yard, where she sat in a wooden lawn chair, leafing through magazines while Frank was away at the office.
It had been a few days now since Frank had gone back to work full-time. Nancy was learning what it’s like to be lonely again, except she was lonelier now for having had Frank at home since the shooting, taking care of her around the clock. He’d spoiled her, Nancy thought, with all of this care and attentiveness. Of course, some of it had to come down to the guilt he felt over falling for some other woman. But whoever that woman might be, it’s Nancy that Frank had finally chosen. He’d assured her, many times over, swearing to God that he’d put an end to the affair.
Still, Nancy thought, if she could spend just five minutes inside of Frank’s head. What had drawn her to him in the first place was how open he was. She used to read him like an open book—every hope and dream that he’d ever had was written right there on his face. And over the years, most of those hopes and those dreams had come true. But somewhere along the way, the book of Frank had snapped shut.
Nancy did not understand it at all.
Sighing, she got up from the lawn chair, shuffled back into the house, and lay down on the living room sofa. The garage and downstairs hallway smelled like fresh paint—it’d taken two coats to cover the bloodstains. Nancy was too attached to this house, where she raised her children, to ask Frank to move. But she didn’t go downstairs anymore. Frank did their laundry now, dropped her off at the front door after outings before pulling into the garage. But attentive as he had been, Frank couldn’t do everything. He was helpless in the kitchen, for instance. So tonight, on his way home, he’d stop by Cane Rosso, the brick-oven pizza place, to pick up some Bolognese and a couple of marinara pies. Ashley, their daughter, was coming to dinner, and pizza had always been her favorite food.
Smiling at the thought of it, Nancy drifted off.
* * *
When she woke up, Nancy didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t remember falling asleep on the sofa. She didn’t remember her dreams. But it must have been evening because Frank was home, and Ashley too. Nancy heard their voices, coming from the kitchen, and smelled the good Italian food.
“Honey?” she calleds out.
No answer. She hears Frank’s laugh, and Ashley’s. They always did have their own, private language. So much has changed for them these past few weeks, Nancy thinks. But the most important things stayed the same.
“Honey?” she called again, louder this time.
“I’ll be right there,” Frank answered, but Nancy didn’t hear him. Someone was knocking at their front door.
“Frank? Frank? I hear someone knocking.”
“I’ll get it,” Frank hollered back.
Outside, Detective Michael Wall and two Carrollton police officers were waiting with an arrest warrant.
* * *
“Frank, what is this?”
Nancy was standing in the vestibule, looking into her husband’s eyes as one of the officers put him in handcuffs.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the other officer said.
“Honey,” Frank said, “I’ll just have to go down to the station. Answer some questions. I’ll be back tonight.”
“But, Frank, they’ve got you in handcuffs!”
“I know, hon,” Frank said. But he was as white as a ghost, and when he said, “I’ll sort this out,” his voice broke.
Nancy looked over at Ashley, who was covering her mouth with her hand. Then she looked down at her own hands, which were trembling.
The shock of the shooting…the shock of finding out about Frank’s affair…and now this? Feeling terribly weak, Nancy put a hand on the sofa to steady herself.
She didn’t know how much more she could take.
“Officer?” she said, turning to the man who looked like the officer in charge. “This can’t be happening. There must be some sort of mistake.”
“Ma’am,” the man said. “I’m sorry to have to do this in front of you and your daughter. But I’d advise you to call your lawyer. And I’d think about calling your minister too.”
Nancy didn’t know what to do. She looked at her daughter again and saw her crying.
“Come here, babe,” Nancy said. But Ashley just stood there, shaking.
“We got through the past few weeks,” Frank told his daughter. “The Howards can get through anything.”
“Daddy?” she said.
The look he gave her broke Nancy’s heart. But a moment later Frank was gone, the police were gone, and the house on Bluebonnet Way was quiet again.