26

I lower myself into the chair again, but he can’t make me stay here. Nobody can make me do anything. I feel the fire surging inside me. I will not be forced to sit for long.

“You’ve got quite a history with women, haven’t you, Paul? We know about Lois, your first wife. I spent an afternoon with her. Lovely woman. Still terrified of you. Funny how you never mentioned to Mia that you’d been married before,” Buck says.

“Not relevant, not at all.” How dare he stomp around in my business? I know, I never told you I was married to Lois. It was a short, messy affair. Best to just move on and that’s why I never discuss it. I had made a very rare miscalculation. I thought I should marry young; it was part of the package of an up-and-coming successful advertising executive. I had the vision of how my life would look in my head. I just needed to fill in the actual people to play the roles.

The moment I met Lois in class I knew she was perfect prey. She would fit the role of wife exactly as I imagined. I worked my charms, waiting for her after class with an armful of her favorite white daisies, for example, and later, leaving little love notes in her backpack each morning for her to find during class. It was all romantic, and no surprise that she fell for me, hook, line and sinker. But I had that regrettable lapse of control and allowed my mask to slip. That would not happen again. No, best not to tell anyone about Lois. That story is over. The end. Lois’s divorce papers were simplistic, but I’d gladly signed. Good riddance. And I’d never discuss it now, with this man.

“Lois, Caroline Fisher, Rebecca More—all of these women and others, both you and I know about, are terrified of you. None of them knew about your pattern of behavior, that it has been going on your entire life. They all do now. If you think you can get away with hurting any of them or threatening them again, you are very wrong,” Buck says.

“I don’t know what kind of picture you’re trying to paint of me, but I resent the implications. I’ve never laid a hand on my wife, on Mia. She will confirm that, right, honey?” I ask. I look over at Mia, now curled up in a ball, her feet tucked beneath her, in the corner of the couch. I want to go hug her and strangle her, all at once. It’s a pleasant sensation that I allow to brew inside me. I do not believe that Buck can match my fire. I can take him if I choose to.

You’ve probably figured it out by now, haven’t you? My little plan for our best day ever. My sickly little wife, my secret stash of powder. The two are related, of course. But what would hurt my wife the most at this point, given these new facts laid out by her lover? What would hurt her most—her death by my hand or never seeing her children again? It’s an interesting question. I’d planned the former, but now I may need to regroup.

There are always options when you are smarter than everyone. Gretchen and I will sell the Columbus house, use whatever proceeds I make to start over. I read that Nashville is booming, one of the fastest growing cities in the country; maybe we’ll move there. I’ve read it’s more than country music now, much more. Lois likes it there and it will be fun to run into her again. I like my new plan.

“So, the little meeting tonight is to get me to sign these papers, to give up the cottage, which is fine with me, given the neighbors—no offense, Buck—and I get the Columbus home. Is that correct?” I ask.

“Yes,” the gray ball in the corner of the couch says. “As long as you agree to leave me, the boys and my family alone.”

My laugh breaks the silence of the room. “Mia, you’re hysterical.”

The boys will be with me. They need a father figure. They’ve outgrown all of that mommy care. It’s time for them to become men, which I have talked to her about incessantly. Does she forget everything I’ve taught her? It’s natural for the boys to begin pulling away from their mother and turn to me, their father. It’s expected. And so of course, they’ll be with me. Mia is staring at me and so is Buck. I want to reassure her that this is the way it is all meant to be. And it is.

“You’ll be able to visit, don’t worry. You’ve done a good job with them. Now it’s my turn,” I say. It’s as if I’m talking to a child. We review the same points, ad nauseam. It’s frustrating. I feel my right hand clench. I push a smile onto my lips, running my tongue across my teeth. “I’ll be with them tonight, as soon as I get out of here. Nothing to worry about.”

Mia uncurls, puts her feet on the floor, leans forward and says, “The boys will be with me. Period.”

I fight the urge to reach for her. To slap her, hard, so hard she flies across the room. A gray ball flying into oblivion, her head cracking against the floor.

“It’s all here, in the agreement you will sign,” Buck says. I know he is redirecting my attention to him. Foolish man to get in the middle of my life, to get with my wife. He had better watch his back.

“I will divide the property, but I will not consent to giving up my children. Who would ask that? That’s wrong. Boys need their fathers. Look at the terrorists. Look at the prison system. The prisons are filled with boys without male role models,” I say. It’s true, we all know it.

“Sometimes no role model is better than a terrible one. It may have taken me too long to see you for what you are, but they’re still young enough to be saved. You haven’t revealed yourself to them, you haven’t used them or hurt them, and for that I’m very grateful. You should know, if you had touched them, hurt them, I would have left you. But you know that already, don’t you? That’s why you haven’t laid a hand on them, I suppose. They’ve been sheltered from your life outside of our home, from the truth of who their father really is.

“I’ve researched this, Paul. They don’t have to end up like you, with your temper and other issues. They won’t, not if I can help it. My dad will be a much better role model for them, among others.”

Did Mia just look at Buck? I’m going to kill him.

For some reason Mia is still talking. She adds, “And they’re going to be fine. They will both become good men, despite you.” My wife crosses her arms in front of her chest and smiles.

How did I not see a browsing history of these types of things? I wonder. She must have deleted her history. She must have hidden her reference books. She must have become like me. I think back, trying to remember if she was acting differently around me recently. She wasn’t jumpy or anything at the dinner table, she didn’t look at me with suspicious eyes. But she had been happier lately, despite her illness, her weight loss. I just thought it was acceptance. Turns out, it was awakening. I missed the signs. I squeeze my hands into fists. She’s droning on again.

Mia says, “They’ll get counseling, financial security from my parents, until I get on my feet again. It’s all worked out.”

Ah, yes. Her parents. There better be a big payout in those papers for me. Two children. Boys. White. Smart. Blue eyes. They are worth a lot these days. We’re almost a minority.

“So, what are you proposing to pay me, you and your dear father, Donald, to steal my children, to buy my sons, from me?” I ask. This is a game. I enjoy playing games. I enjoy the look my wife gives me as we discuss our children like property. She looks ill, suddenly. All the color has drained from her face.

“You are a sick bastard,” Buck says. If I punched him quickly, in the temple, I could stun him long enough to reach for Mia. It’s an intriguing and exciting thought.

I see the candle drip wax onto the coffee table. I’d like to push the candle over, start a fire and torch this cottage. It would go fast, with the old wood, all the wood floors, shingled roof. Poof. All gone. It’s tragic that Buck and Mia perish in the fire. But sometimes, cheaters get what they deserve.

“I understand who you are, Paul. The sad thing is, people like you don’t change, even with intense counseling. Somehow, you walk around in the world among us, hidden, manipulating others, hurting others. Even the people you claim to love. I know you don’t feel love, you couldn’t and do what you do.” Mia stops, bites her lip. She shakes her head slowly. She looks at me with pity, her face drawn. I won’t stand for this.

Mia holds her hand up, pointing her finger at me. “I know you’re trying to poison me, that you have been poisoning me. I opened the glove box to freak you out during the drive up today.” She pauses, then tilts her head. “It worked, didn’t it?”