“I don’t know,” he said, “there might not be a damn thing left.”
“Let’s go see, huh, Weird?” he said to the cat.
Walking into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator.
“Look at this.”
It was completely empty.
“She took all the food, huh?” said Bruce. “She took all the furniture and she took all the food?”
“Well, let’s eat out then,” I said.
The cat was rubbing itself against Cliff’s leg.
“Radical!” said Bruce.
“Naw,” Cliff said, “it’s too fucking late. What time does your plane leave?”
“Midnight,” I said.
“Well, fuck. You’d think she’d at least leave something for poor ol’ Weird. She loves the ol’ Weirdster, you know.”
Bruce and I laughed.
“Sure, Cliff,” Bruce said to him.
“C’mere. I want you guys to see this.”
He walked off toward the bathroom.
“Look at this. You haven’t seen this.” He was unwinding the bandage from his hand. A long, deep-looking cut, barely scabbed-over, curved across his palm.
“Jesus, Cliff!” I said.
“Not that. I mean this.”
He snapped on the light.
It was blood. Blood on the walls. In long smears. More was on the tile over the tub. In splatters on the mirror over the sink.
Blood-soaked towels lay wadded up on the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” I said. “All that from your hand?”
“Yep.”
“That’s it.”
“She did that?”
“Unbelievable!” Bruce said. “She’s a fucking maniac!”
“Isn’t she,” said Cliff.
“Take a look at this.”
I was looking in the toilet. A gold wedding band lay motionless on the porcelain bottom of the bowl. It shone in the water.
“Was that in there this morning?”
“No,” Cliff said.
He laughed.
“C’mon,” Bruce told us, “let’s get out of here.”
“Suits me,” I said.
“No.”
Cliff was looking in the bowl.
“Nice touch, that girl.”
I looked at him. His head was turned so I couldn’t see his face.
“She must of come back while we were out picking you up at the airport.”
“Well, let’s go,” Bruce said. “We’ll make a night out of it. You can catch another flight, can’t you?”
“Out having fun, was how she put it.”
“For sure,” I answered.
The cat appeared around the door. It looked at us, then turned and left.
“Fun.”
“Well, let’s go,” Bruce said.
“No.
“No,” he said again, looking up at us. He wasn’t crying. I thought he had been, but he hadn’t.
“You guys go on.”
“Sure,” I agreed, stepping past him.
“Listen,” Bruce said, “she’ll be back.”
“No, Bruce,” he answered, “no, she won’t. That’s a fucking stupid thing to say. I don’t need that.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Right,” Bruce said. He stepped back. “It is. I apologize. You’re right. That was really stupid.”
“I hate her, you know. I hate her fucking guts! I’m the one that told her to go! To get her fucking ugly ass out of here! It was me!”
He turned away again.
This time he was crying.
We stood there watching him go through it.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m really sorry I brought you guys here. I didn’t mean to do this.”
“Hey, Cliff,” I said. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t,” he said.