She pushed away. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Susan—”
Turning, she waddled as quickly as she could back to the house. Gary followed her, heard her retching in the bathroom, and after a moment’s hesitation, knocked gently on the door.
“You okay?”
“No,” she choked. “I don’t think I can go. You’ll go without me?”
“But Susan, I…”
She retched again. Gary closed his eyes.
“Please, Gary? I can’t go. Not like this. One of us has to.”
“You’re right, of course.”
Susan heard the reluctance in his voice.
“Please?”
Gary sighed. “Will you be okay?”
The toilet flushed. “Yes. I just need to rest. Remember to take the flowers.”
“I will. Susan?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
He heard her running water in the sink.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
***
The graveyard was empty, except for an elderly couple on their way out as Gary arrived. Despite the heat, he’d decided to walk to the cemetery rather than dealing with the mess beneath the hood of his car. By the time he reached Jack’s grave he was drenched in sweat, his clothing soaked.
Panting, he knelt in front of the grave. Droplets of perspiration ran into his eyes, stinging them. His vision blurred, and then the tears began. They were false tears, crocodile tears, tears of sweat and exertion, rather than grief. Oh, the grief was there. Gary was overwhelmed with grief. Grief was a big lump that sat in his throat. But still, the real tears would not come.
But the memories did.
When he glanced up at the water tower, the memories came full force.
Grief turned to guilt.
“I mean it, Gary. I’m telling Susan.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Leila’s smile was tight-lipped, almost a grimace. “I’ve got her email address.”
Gary paused. Felt fear. “You’re lying.”
“Try me.” Now her smile was genuine again, if cruel. “I looked it up on the internet. From her company’s website.”
Gary sighed. “Why? Why do this to me?”
“Because I’m sick of your bullshit. You said you loved me. You said you’d leave her—”
“I’ve told you, it’s not that simple. I’ve got to think about Jack.”
“She can’t take Jack from you. You’re his father. You’ve got rights.”
“I can’t take that chance. Damn it, Leila, we’ve been through this a million times. I love you, but I—”
“You’re a fucking liar, Gary! Just stop it. If you loved me, you’d tell her.”
“I do love you.”
“Then do it. Tell her. If you don’t have the balls to, I will.”
“Are you threatening me? You gonna blackmail me into continuing this? Is that it?”
“If I have to.”
Gary wasn’t sure what happened next. They’d been naked, sitting side by side on the blanket, their fluids drying on each other’s body, the water tower’s shadow protecting them from the warm afternoon sun, hiding their illicit tryst. He wasn’t aware that he was straddling Leila until his hands curled around her throat.
Choking, she lashed out at him. Her long, red fingernails raked across his naked chest. Flailing blindly, his hand closed around the rock. He raised it over his head and Leila’s eyes grew large.
“Gary…”
The rock smashed into her mouth, cutting off the rest.
He lost all control then, hammering her face and head repeatedly. He blocked out everything; her screams, the frightened birds taking flight, his own nonsensical curses. Everything—until he heard the singing.
“La la la la, lemon. La la la la lullaby…”
Jack. Singing his favorite song.
The boy stepped into the clearing. Believing his father was working that Saturday (because that was the lie Gary had told Susan and Jack so that he could meet up with Leila for an afternoon quickie in the first place—he’d even stayed logged into his computer at work so that if anybody checked, it would look like he was there working), Jack froze in mid-melody, a mixture of puzzlement and terror on his face.
“Daddy?”
“Jack!”
His son turned and ran. Jack sprang to his feet, naked and bloody, and chased after him.
“Jack, stop! Daddy can explain.”
“Mommy…”
Unaware that he was still holding the rock, until he struck his son in the back of the head.
“I said stop!”
Jack toppled face first into the grass. He did not move. Did not breathe.
When Gary checked his pulse, he had none.
Something inside Gary shut itself off at that moment.
The rest of the memories became a blur. He dressed. Wrapped the blanket around Leila and loaded her into the trunk of the car, which he’d parked behind the abandoned strip mall, just beyond the cemetery and the water tower. Her blood hadn’t yet seeped out onto the grass, and he made sure none of her teeth or any shreds of tissue were in sight. He’d thrown her clothes and purse inside the car as well.
Then he picked up the bloody rock, the rock that he’d just bludgeoned his son to death with, and threw it down a nearby rabbit hole.
He drove to the edge of LeHorn’s Hollow, where a sinkhole had opened up the summer before, and dumped Leila’s body. Gary knew that the local farmers sometimes dumped their dead livestock in the same hole, as did hunters after field dressing wild game. The chances were good that she’d never be found.
He cleaned his hands off in a nearby stream, then got back in the car and drove to the closest convenience store. He bought some cleaning supplies, paid cash, and then found a secluded spot where he could clean out the trunk. Then he returned to the office, unlocked the door, logged himself off the computer, and went home.
Then he went home.
The police knocked on the door a few hours later. Three teenaged boys found Jack’s body. One of them, Seth Ferguson (who was no stranger to juvenile detention) immediately fell under suspicion. When the police cleared him later that day, they questioned the local registered sex offenders, even though Jack’s body had shown no signs of sexual abuse. In the weeks and months that followed, there were no new leads. The case was never solved.
The murder weapon was never found.
***
Gary sat up and wiped his eyes. Steadying himself on his son’s tombstone, he clambered to his feet. His joints popped. He hadn’t aged well in the last two years, and his body was developing the ailments of a man twice his age, arthritis being one of them.
“Oh Jack,” Gary whispered. “Why couldn’t you have stayed home that day?”
His son’s voice grew louder, calling to him, pleading. Sad. Lonely.
Slowly, like a marionette on strings, Gary shuffled towards the water tower.
