The Doctor's Wife by Elizabeth Brundage Read Free Book Online Page A

of raspberry bushes. “A little spit and polish” is what the real estate agent, a woman in a fake leopard coat and gum boots, had said when they saw the house that afternoon. “Spit and polish and a pile of dough,” Michael had whispered to Annie, but they’d made an offer right away, and the owner, who was in a nursing home upstate, had accepted it immediately, which, of course, had made them curious— happy, but curious. When all the pipes started leaking, and all the lights started blinking, they were not the least bit surprised.
     
     
    Michael didn’t seem to mind. A true optimist, he always saw the bright side, the cup half full, and she was always the one to pour it out. Where she tended to be doubtful and suspicious, Michael had faith, he could wait things out. When they fought, he would avoid her for hours afterward, sometimes days, and the time would soften the harsh corners of their argument and suddenly there would be no more fighting and neither of them could even remember what had gotten them started in the first place. Thinking about it now, Annie starts to cry, and she wipes the tears hard and fast, not wanting the children to see. “Honey, you okay?” Hannah asks.
     
     
    Annie nods, but she is anything but okay. “Do you want to come in?”
     
     
    “Only if you want me to.”
     
     
    Annie shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, you’ve done enough already. Thanks for bringing me home.” She leans through the window and hugs Hannah good-bye.
     
     
    For a moment Annie stands in the driveway, watching Hannah pull away. She can hear the birds in the trees and a dog barking somewhere far away. It’s hard to even imagine walking through the door. It makes her body ache. But there is nowhere else to go, and she takes a deep breath and steps inside.
     
     
    It’s warm in the kitchen and smells of cookies the children have baked. Annie grabs hold of the counter, feeling like the victim of a hurricane, her life strewn to pieces. Everything seems to be floating. “Are you okay, Mrs. Knowles?” Christina asks. Before Annie can even think about what to say, the children have run into the room and are standing right before her, noticing at once her distorted expression, her skin bleached white. Without words, they seem to understand, they seem to know, that something has happened, something too awful to utter. Words only make it worse, she thinks, pulling them close, her arms going round them, thinking, ashes, ashes, all fall down.
     

 
    6
     
     
    IT ISN’T EASY leaving the doctor behind, when she has to go back to her life. She thought it would be easier, but now she’s trembling, praying he will survive. His face didn’t look right when she left, his skin like dull pewter and his blackened eye oozing pus. Without her, Knowles will die a desperate, tedious death, and she will have that on her hands. The responsibility of his care weighs heavy on her. It frightens her to death.
     
     
    She calculates that it has been just over eight hours since she’d left the scene of the accident. It had been sunrise when the sky rolled up its tawdry yellow shade. She hadn’t planned on killing Walter Ooms, but he’d left her no choice, and when it was over a new plan had come to her, one that would only help her situation.
     
     
    It is important to keep busy, she tells herself, to continue as if nothing has happened, nothing out of the ordinary. She doesn’t know what to do about her husband. He will ask questions; he will know something. Like a blind man, he knows things about her. He can smell her fear when they are together. The muscles in her belly grow tight. The reality of her marriage makes her weak.
     
     
    At three P.M. Reverend Tim pages her. Lydia stops at a truck stop and uses the pay phone, her fingers shaking as she punches the numbers. When she hears his voice, she bursts into tears. Reverend Tim is patient and kind and understanding. He suggests she meet him in the hospital