Chapter 18

909 words

Trudy Hunt was having a bitch of a day. Well, that was only mildly describing it. First, she accidentally bumped into Buzz's wife, then while she was trying to deal with that, her goofy husband, son, and her son's little friend came in the shop for ice cream. They were all excited and smiling and she had to put up with them. So, there she was trying to make nice while her insides were jumping all over and what should she come to know but that the son's friend was actually Buzz's little boy. Her kid and Buzz's kid were best friends. What are the chances?

She remembered John, her husband, making the announcement with a grin on his face from here to Kansas.

"Hey Trudy! You'll never guess who his father is...BUZZ MILLER! The famous cop!" She and John's eyes met in mid air and his peepers laughed at her, howled really. She knew she talked about how courageous, handsome, etc., etc., Buzz was every time his face appeared on the news. But her husband's clown face made her wonder if he knew more than she thought. Could John know about the affair she and Buzz were having?

And then, there was the embarrassment of being face to face with her boyfriend's son...right after being face to face with said paramour's dying wife. No, wait! She wasn't dying, dammit! It had to be a ploy to try and stop her and Buzz's affair. As if all that wasn't bad enough when she tried to call Buzz, he didn't answer. Ignored her calls, ignored her texts. Honestly unless he was dead, there was no reason...

Then she went to the Traveler's Rest Motel at 5:00 for their rendezvous, and she was spittin' mad by then, and troubled, and afraid...and he didn't show up. He didn't show up! The man had never missed a date in all the months they'd been together.

She waited two hours. Absolute rage during the long wait evolved from what was initially a myriad of emotions. From betrayal to hurt to doubt to worry. She wondered if he had found out his entire family had been one way or another face to face with her today. Then rage took center stage, then confusion, then denial. then finally after waiting two hours, she packed it in and started for home.

By the time she got through the door, Trudy was a raging bull. The boy and the husband were watching TV. Slamming down her keys and purse, she marched in to confront them. She wasn't sure on what grounds, but she needed to yell, to scream...very loudly at someone, anyone.

"Elliot! Why the hell aren't you doing your homework!" She blasted the words out like a cannon. The boy looked at her in astonishment.

"But Ma!"

Before he could finish, she took aim at her husband, John. "What the hell are you doing sittin' around like an imbecile! Don't you have anything better to do, you lazy bum!"

"Trudy, chill! Come see this! Your hero's on TV!"

She gazed at the screen and there was Buzz in front of cameras and reporters, a news conference. So that was what he was up to...work...or more likely fame and fortune hunting. That man did love the cameras...

Trudy was thoroughly enraged. He put his job first over meeting her. She thought she was more important to him than that. Obviously, he considered her of secondary importance...a mere trivial pursuit when there was nothing more important to do. She snapped.

"Elliot! GET THE HELL TO YOUR ROOM AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK!"

"But it's my friend's father on TV..."

"I DON'T CARE! Get going. You are the most useless piece of shit I've ever seen. Maybe if you spent more time on homework and less on TV, you'd get some decent grades. Now there's an idea! HA!"

Elliot ran from the room as Trudy directed her gaze to her husband.

"Well," she said.

John looked at her, then murmured, "I'll go fix you something to eat." He got up and ran to the kitchen.

"You're damn right you will." Trudy slumped into a chair and switched off the TV. "Take that, Buzz. I hate you!" She threw the remote across the room.

In his room, Elliot was trembling, shaking all over. He was sick of her, sick of the way she yelled at him all the time. He couldn't seem to get good grades in school, but he was always trying. Why couldn't she cut him a break?

He didn't know how to get along in this stupid house anymore. One false move and she was all over him. He never knew when she could blow. He never knew if he was doing the right thing to please her. Like who would think looking at his friend's father on TV would be a crime.

He rummaged in the desk drawer for the razor blade. He'd stolen from his Dad's supply in the bathroom. It had a nice sharp blade, better than the knife. With a shaking hand, he pushed the corner into his arm and glided it across pink skin. The pain shot up and wrapped around him like red velvet, blocking out the noise of his mother's criticism, eating up the words and twirling them into a flowing drape of red. The blood, warm and crimson, streamed out to join in the dance. Everything was all right now.