Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games (7 page)

Several blocks down and one neighborhood over, the speed walker entered her car, removed the glasses, the blonde wig and the headphones, and tossed them on the passenger seat. She then lit a cigarette before driving off.

Chapter 11

Amy looked over her son’s shoulder. He sat quietly, staring at the few remaining Cheerios floating in his bowl. She kissed the top of his head and asked, “All done?”

Caleb nodded and Amy took the bowl to the sink. Ordinarily, this would have been Caleb’s cue to leave the table and get ready for pre-school. Instead he remained seated, staring at the table.

Amy noticed and left the bowl in the sink without rinsing. She approached her son and stroked his short brown hair. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Caleb’s elbows were now on the table, his hands holding up his chin. He nodded into them and tilted his head lower until his palms covered his mouth. Amy reached over and took away one of his hands.

“You don’t look okay,” she said. “What’s wrong with my baby boy?”

She let go of his hand and he immediately brought it back to his face.

“Caleb?”

He shrugged.

“Are you upset about last night?”

Another shrug.

“You know that Mommy and Daddy aren’t mad at you after what happened, don’t you? We told you that.”

Caleb opened both hands a split, and kept his eyes on the table as he spoke. His voice was shaky, trying not cry. “Carrie’s mad at me. She says I give her nightmares.”

Amy took a seat and began rubbing her son’s back. Caleb’s eyes became blurred with tears, yet still he would not succumb to a full-on cry. Amy marveled at her son’s strength. She was glad his head was down so that he would not spot, and likely misinterpret, the little smile that pride had placed on the corner of her mouth.

“No, honey, that’s not what she said.”

“I hear her scream at night. It wakes me up.”

Amy now rubbed his shoulders. “Yes, Carrie has nightmares, but they’re
not
nightmares about what you did to Mommy.”

“But she
said
they were.”

“No, honey, you misunderstood. Carrie’s very confused right now. She doesn’t understand why you played that joke on Mommy.”

“It was a
stupid
joke …”

Amy pulled Caleb into her, and he finally started to cry. “It’s okay, honey,” she said while he cried into her chest. “Mommy knows you didn’t mean to hurt her. Daddy knows that too. Carrie is just confused … but Daddy and I are going to talk to her tonight and help her understand.”

His brown eyes, glistening wet, looked up at her with a trust and innocence that swelled Amy’s heart. “You will?” he sniffed.

She wiped his tears away with her thumbs. “Absolutely. Everything’s going to be fine, sweetie—I promise.”

He cracked a small smile, and Amy’s heart swelled even more. “Who do you love?” she asked.

Caleb turned away.

“Who do you love?”

Caleb turned further away, but she could
feel
his smile growing. She inched closer and started walking her fingers up his back like a spider. “
Who do you love?
” she sang. He started giggling and she immediately snatched him back into her and started tickling him. “
Who?
” she asked again, her son’s laughter like a drug.

Caleb eventually squeaked out a “you,” and Amy stopped tickling, grabbed his face, flicked her nose back and forth across his in true Eskimo-kiss fashion, and then finished with a real one on his forehead. “I love you too, honey.” She palmed the top of his head and rumpled his hair. “Now go get ready for pre-school.”

*

Amy had just finished tidying up the kitchen when she heard the sound she had expected to hear sooner than later. She walked to the front door and opened it.

“Well look who finally decided to show,” she said.

Oscar, who would usually respond with wags of his stump and a brief allowance of petting before hurrying off to all things more important (i.e., food), instead strolled casually inside, walked through the kitchen
past
his food bowl and made his way to his small oval bed in the family room where he immediately curled up and went to sleep.

“Are you kidding me?” Amy said. She turned and looked at his food bowl: a fresh helping of hard and wet food mixed together, prepared only minutes ago—Oscar’s absolute favorite. Amy clapped her hands. “Oscar! Come over here and eat.” The dog looked up at her for a brief moment before settling back down and closing his eyes.

Amy’s chin retracted. “Well that’s a first.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’ll be there when you wake up.”

*

Amy was two miles from the house after dropping Caleb off at pre-school when her cell phone rang.

“Hi, baby,” she answered.

“You won’t believe this,” Patrick said.

“What?”

“I’m at a gas station downtown. I was five minutes from the office when the coolant indicator came up on the dashboard.”

Amy could hear the racket of the gas station in the background. A man was hollering at someone. A loud drill whirred in bursts. She pressed her shoulder over her free ear. “Well that’s not a big deal, is it? Maybe you’re just low.”

“I checked already. I’m not just low, I’m
empty
. The guy at the station says I have a crack in my hose.”

“It looked okay to me last night.”

“When did you—?” He stopped, sighed.

Amy grinned. Her husband was by far the more juvenile of the two when it came to all things double entendre, but she was in a good mood and couldn’t help herself. Biting her tongue and still smiling, she said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s okay, I’d have done the same,” he admitted. “But I have to get this fixed now.”

“Okay, so … ?”

“I’m gonna be late.”

“Honey, I’m sure they’ll understand. Just call the office and
ohhh …
” Amy trailed off as she pulled up to the top of their driveway. There it was: a puddle of antifreeze the size of a basketball right where the Highlander had been parked the night before.

“What?”

“I see the puddle. The antifreeze. It’s at the top of the driveway.”

She heard him sigh again. Then more of the whirring drill. Then a horn.

“The hose must have cracked on the way back from Dr. Bogan’s. Leaked dry while we slept,” he said.

“You didn’t notice it when you left this morning?” she asked.

“Did you?”

“Touché.”

Amy pulled into the garage and switched off the engine. “It’s okay, baby. Just call work, tell them what happened, and that you’ll be a little late. No big deal.”

“Already did.”

“How long is it going to take?”

“Not long—it’s only the upper hose.”

“Okay—call me when you get to work. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Amy hung up and went inside. The first thing she noticed was that Oscar’s bowl was still full. She headed into the family room. He was still asleep in his oval bed. She squatted down and started petting him. His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t open his eyes. His stump didn’t wag.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” She scratched behind his head. “Didn’t get enough sleep last night?” His eyes finally opened to a meager squint. Amy scratched his head some more. He stood, swayed slightly, then immediately lay back down and closed his eyes. “Too much partying, mister,” she said. “Need to watch your drinkin’.”

She gave him a final scratch and headed towards her study, the painful irony of her quip coming back in a cruel instant the moment the veterinarian told Amy and Patrick how Oscar died.

Chapter 12

The veterinarian left the small white room, leaving Patrick and Amy by themselves.

“I can’t believe this,” Patrick said. “How could I have been so goddamned stupid?”

“Honey, it’s just as much my fault—hell, it’s even
more
my fault than it is yours.”

“How do you figure that?”

“His behavior. I should have known something was wrong. He didn’t even want to eat this morning. And this is a dog that ate a severed finger for God’s sake.”

Patrick flashed back to Crescent Lake. His family on the dock ready to fish. Caleb pulling what was supposed to be a worm from the bait container. Patrick spotting a fingernail, flinging it to the ground. Oscar approaching the finger and gobbling it up as though it were a cocktail weenie.

He closed his eyes and willed the images away, almost angry at Amy for handing him the reel so he could watch them again. “You couldn’t have known,” he said.

“But I’ve heard about it. I know how lethal antifreeze can be to pets,” she said.

“You might have known that, but putting the two together … ?”

“What?”

“Well have we ever had a dog before? Have we ever had antifreeze leak on the driveway before? Whether you knew about what antifreeze does to pets or not, it isn’t a surprise you didn’t immediately make the connection. I knew about antifreeze and pets as well, and I never said anything. I could have told you not to let Oscar outside once you spotted the leak.”

“But he never
went
back outside after you called. It must have happened right after he followed Carrie out to the bus. He took forever to come back inside. Now we know why. This is more my fault than anyone’s.” She dropped her head.

He hugged her. “It’s nobody’s fault, baby. How could you have possibly made the assumption that a puddle of antifreeze was the reason Oscar took so long to head back inside? If we have to blame someone we can blame the stupid car.”

“The doctor said if we brought Oscar in immediately they might have been able to save him,” she said.

Patrick looked at the oval clock on the wall. 7:15 p.m.

Amy continued. “I should have known something was wrong, antifreeze or not. I should have known—his behavior was so out of character.”

Patrick pulled away and looked at her. She had tears in her eyes. “Honey, you can’t do this to yourself. It wasn’t like he was vomiting or freaking out or anything. You said he was just sleeping, that he looked tired, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay then. I wouldn’t have taken him to the vet either. I mean we can blame ourselves—and Lord knows we will—but at the end of the day, Oscar died as a result of an accident.”

Amy looked away. When she looked back, Patrick read her mind and his blood ran cold.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “and you need to stop it
now.
”

“What am I thinking?”

“I’m not even going to say it.” But he’d be lying if the thought didn’t flutter annoyingly around the periphery of his own psyche.

Amy clucked her tongue. “Just more bad luck?”

“Amy, stop. You know as well as I do that this
was
an accident.”

She only stared. And it angered him. Yes his fears had indulged the very thoughts she was alluding to, but they were just that: fears. He knew the truth. And they
both
knew Jim was dead.
Both
knew Arty was locked up tight in Pittsburgh somewhere awaiting trial. And yet with that knowledge, after all their therapy, all the progress they had made,
this
is the immediate thing she jumps to after a bump in the road?

Guilt. Yes—guilt was doing it. Her right mind knew that no one could be responsible. “You’re feeling guilty,” he said. “Your guilt is making you jump to irrational conclusions.”

“So you’re saying this really is all my fault?”

“No—I already told you, I’m just as much to blame. What I
am
telling you is that this is an accident, Amy. An
accident.
” He paused, wondering if he should say it. It was assuredly on both their minds; she had even hinted towards it. But to say it. Oh to
say
it.
Screw this,
he thought.
We are not letting this set us back to square one.
“And I don’t mean the kind of ‘accidents’ we had at Crescent Lake.”

Amy twitched a little. Patrick knew it was his wife’s indomitable restraint that kept her rooted and composed. It reminded him of the old “two for flinching” game he played as a kid, where someone deliberately swung a hand in your face. If you flinched, two punches were your prize. Keeping still as the hand flew past your face was damned difficult, especially if caught off-guard. Well, Amy was on-guard, but the forever-tainted words that were Crescent Lake were a metaphoric swing from Mike Tyson. “Okay?” Patrick said.

She did not break his gaze, but her shoulders dropped. “Fine. What are we going to tell the kids?”

“You mean Carrie.”

“Well—
and
Caleb.” She sighed. “But, yes … Carrie.”

Patrick took a deep breath, let it out slow. “Well for starters we don’t tell her about the antifreeze. We simply tell her that Oscar was old, and …” He took another deep breath. “And that it was just his time, I guess.”

Amy pulled a face. “Old? He had the energy of a jumping bean.”

“Honey, he was a stray. We never did find out how old he actually was.”

“He wasn’t old enough to die of natural causes.”

“Well, yeah, you and I know that. But Carrie doesn’t have to.”

Amy’s shoulders dropped some more and her eyes finally settled. “I know.”

“We’ll tell her that Oscar was old, it was his time, and that he’ll be waiting for her at Rainbow Bridge.”

“Where?”

“I’ll find it online when we get home. It’s a beautiful little piece written by an anonymous author about what happens to pets when they die. It gets me choked up every time I read it.” He then added quickly: “But not in a sad way. In a
happy
way. You’ll understand when you read it.”

Amy sighed. “Okay. Why don’t I drop you off at home, you can find the Rainbow Bridge thing, and I’ll go pick up the kids at your parents’.”

“Sounds good.” He held out his hand. She took it, squeezed it, but did not move into him.

“I still can’t believe this,” she said.

He did not pull her in, just squeezed back and shared her grief with a sympathetic smile. “I know. I can’t either.”