Gladys

Gladys stood by the living room window waiting for him to come home. 

Her eyes scanned the front yard and she sighed. The lawn was overgrown again. She never did like it when the grass grew too high. She would have to ask the neighbor’s boy to come over and take care of it. She hoped five dollars would do. 

When would he come home? She listened for the sweet and familiar melody of his whistling, but there was nothing. Just a dull and monotonous silence. 

Gladys looked out into the yard again. Her mind started pulsing, exploring the thick towers of green. She started to dizzy herself and looked away.

No, it was better when the lawn was neat and tidy.  She’d call the boy right now. Maybe she’d give him a few extra dollars if he’d take some boxes to the curb. She picked up the phone and briskly dialed next door.

A young girl picked up the phone, “Hello?” The child’s voice was like song, round and musical and innocent.

“Rachel, honey. It’s Mrs. Patterson. Is your Mom home?”

“Oh, Mrs. Patterson.” There was an awkward silence. Gladys hated silence.

“Well? Is she home?” 

“No, no, she’s not home.” There was no music in the child’s voice any longer.

“Of course. What about your brother?”

“No.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back, Rachel? It’s very simple really. I just need a favor.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Patterson.”

Gladys put her hand to her head; the pulsing beat had started again, more intense than before. “It’s very important I speak to your mother.” 

There was a silence on the other end. “Rachel? Are you still there? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“... I’m not supposed to talk to you... Mom said we’re not supposed to talk to you.”

Gladys held the receiver close to her ear.

“Why, Rachel?” There was no reply. “Rachel, have you seen Mr. Patterson? He’s late. I’m worried about him,” She bowed her head, tears stinging her eyes. “Rachel… Has he been to your house again?”

“I have to go, Mrs. Patterson. I’m sorry.” Rachel hung up the phone.

Gladys stood motionless for a moment, collecting herself. She looked at her watch. It was late and she was tired of waiting. She picked up a cardboard box of Mr. Patterson’s belongings, opened the front door, and walked to the curb. She dropped the box, letting articles of clothing spill from the sides and land haphazardly onto the driveway. She ripped her necklace from her throat, the one he’d given her for their third anniversary, breaking the strand; and as pearls flew out into the street, she saw from the corner of her eye Mr. Patterson driving towards the house.

Gladys turned on her heels and marched back inside. The pulsing in her head was like a drum now. She walked straight into the kitchen, as if under a spell, and very calmly took out her knives, the very set she’d received as a wedding gift ten years ago. 

She sat at the table and laid the largest knife over the stack of divorce papers she’d refused to sign.

There was no familiar whistle this time, only the sound of the keys at the front door. 

“Dear, I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

His footsteps grew louder as he walked through the living room.

Gladys picked up the knife and smiled.