“Oh, like when you stay over at Con…”
“Yeah,” he said, cutting me off before I could get any more than the first syllable of Constance’s name out of my mouth. “Emergencies.”
In the context of his profession as a cop, the subject of sex was never a stumbling block in conversations. It was just another part of the job, and he would discuss it with unabashed candor as long as it applied to a crime at hand. When it came to his personal life, and especially that of his friends, however, simply hinting at it could send him into an almost painful fit of modesty.
You just never knew with Ben. On rare occasions, he would make a comment filled with sexual innuendo or even publicly flirt like there was no tomorrow. But, more often than not, even a casual mention of anything remotely related to sex was taboo where he was concerned-even a comment as innocuous as him spending the night at his girlfriend’s apartment.
Obviously, tonight was one of those times when the subject was off-limits. It was a good thing Felicity was downstairs in her office finishing up a project for one of her clients, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any peace at all. She always seemed to take great pleasure in making him squirm whenever he displayed his timidity on the matter.
At the moment, my friend and I were standing on the front porch, each with a cigar smoldering beneath a crooked finger. Since Felicity was in the house alone, we left the front door standing open with only the glass of the storm door to keep the cold from seeping in. It wasn’t exactly energy efficient, but Ben insisted on having a clear view of the interior. Ostensibly, it was so he could keep an eye out in case Annalise was to elect to come here, somehow slip around us, and break in through the back door. However, I knew such reasoning was nothing more than a convoluted excuse. He really wanted to be sure Felicity stayed put. Ever since her earlier excursion, he had been preoccupied with her uncharacteristic behavior. He hadn’t said as much just yet, but I could tell it was coming.
Our attempts to reason with my wife over her decision to remain here had gotten us nowhere fast. She had decided that we were staying here in our own home, and there didn’t seem to be anything either of us could say to dissuade her from it. With each appeal, she had countered with any one of several reasons such as work, or the animals. All of which were easily dismissed. However, logic, or at least our version thereof, wasn’t something she seemed interested in embracing. She had stood her ground, and in the end it all came down to her stating in a matter of fact tone, “Because I’ve made up my mind, and that’s how it’s going to be.”
Short of actually placing us both in protective custody, which for all intents and purposes meant under arrest, there was little Ben could do other than give in. He did, however, make his own proclamation, that being very simply-if we weren’t coming to stay with him, then he was staying with us. Fortunately, my wife didn’t seem to have a problem with that compromise.
“Listen, Kemosabe, don’t take this the wrong way,” Ben started carefully after a lengthy silence. “But, I think your wife has gone right over the fuckin’ edge.”
Finally, he was dropping the bomb I had been expecting all evening.
“I’m hoping it’s just an after effect of the shock,” I replied.
“So, it ain’t just me? You think she’s actin’ flaky too?”
“I don’t know if flaky is the word I’d use, but she’s definitely not acting like herself. And, yeah, I’m a little concerned. Not as much as you though, apparently.”
“Jeezus, Row, she went and got all ‘er damn hair cut off and dyed black. Then she decided on ‘er own that you two are stayin’ here, and wouldn’t even listen… Sheesh… If that ain’t flaky I don’t know what is.”
I waited a moment, struggling with the memory of my earlier conversation with her out on the deck. I’d kept it to myself, but now it was hard not to mention it.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” I began, hesitation in my voice. “But, earlier today… Before you and I left for the crime scene… She was having a bit of an emotional crisis.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he replied. “That’s kinda obvious.”
I continued. “She told me she couldn’t feel sorry for Lewis. In fact, she said he deserved it.”
My friend turned to look at me with a deep frown creasing his face. “And you’re just now mentionin’ this?”
“It may be a symptom of post-traumatic stress,” I offered. “She’s been through way too much the past couple of months. Put that together with the shock…” I shrugged. “It concerns me, but I’m not sure if it’s something to get worked up over or not.”
“Your wife told you that Lewis deserved to die?” he posed the question like a statement. “Row, that’s just not like ‘er.”
“I know,” I replied. “Believe me, I know. But, Helen told me after everything that’s happened, she would probably have some emotional issues for a while. A feeling of disconnection. Possible identity issues. She even said there was a good chance she might have some manic-depressive type of mood swings.” After a short pause I added, “She’s definitely seen some moments of depression since she’s been home. So I have to assume that’s what’s happening now.”
“Well, I guess now we’re gettin’ the flip side,” my friend huffed. “‘Cause I’d say manic is a pretty good description of the whole hair thing. Not ta’ mention the whole mood thing. Did ya’ see the way she just kept smilin’ when we were arguin’? She wasn’t about ta’ give in, but she never got mad about it.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Well? Was that weird or what?”
I nodded. “A little. But she does tend to grin when she feels like she’s won an argument, and in her mind, she had that one conquered from the outset. So, all I really saw was my wife feeling like she had the upper hand. Maybe I’m just too close to her to see.”
“She told ya’ Lewis deserved to die,” he repeated in a half questioning tone.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “But, I don’t think she really believes that. That was the problem. She knew she was supposed to be upset. She just couldn’t make herself feel the remorse.”
“I’m tellin’ ya’, Row, that’s fucked up. She’s actin’ flaky.”
“Maybe so, but I also think we need to cut her some slack. Like I said, Helen expected some type of odd behavior from her when the effects of the stress bubbled to the surface. I doubt you could come up with a better trigger for it than the package today combined with the visit from Lewis yesterday.”
“Yeah, well speakin’ of Helen, what I think is that Firehair needs ta’ have a sit down with ‘er. Right away.”
“I don’t disagree with you there, but I can’t force her to do it.”
“I bet we can. I got handcuffs.”
“She’d just use them on you if she got the chance,” I told him with a half-hearted chuckle.
“Jeez, let’s not go there, ‘kay?”
“You brought it up.”
“Yeah, you’re right. My bad.”
“Seriously, though. She’ll talk to Helen when she’s ready.”
“Yeah, well let’s hope she’s ready before she shaves ‘er head or somethin’.”
“You know, Ben, I get the feeling you’re even more disturbed by her change of appearance than anything else.”
“It ain’t right. She looks like one of those goth chicks or somethin’,” he replied then tucked his cigar into his mouth and puffed. After a second unproductive draw, he pulled it out and inspected the end. “Damn. Went out. Lemme see your lighter.”
I dug the device out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Actually, with it dyed black, it’s more of a Bettie Page look.”
“Who’s Bettie Page?”
“She’s a pinup model from the fifties.”
“Pinup model, huh?”
“Yeah. Her claim to fame was cheesecake bondage and fetish photos.”
“Awww, Jeez…” He mumbled, casting me a sideways glance as he re-ignited his cigar. “I shoulda known.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted, accepting the lighter back. “But, as shocking as the change is, I have to admit it still
