Marriage Made Me Do It Read online

  Looking at the beautiful, pale-pink rose bushes Natalie pointed at behind the counter, I forced a smile. “How thoughtful of you. I appreciate you thinking about me and Rachel. I’d like three, please. I’ll need one each for the graves of Rachel and Dad, and one for my backyard.”

  “You bet!” Natalie chirped. In a flash, she had three gorgeous, healthy plants ready for me to take home. “It’s a beautiful day to be outside with your fingers in the dirt. There isn’t anything more relaxing than …”

  Nodding in agreement at what I hoped were appropriate times, Natalie’s words took a backseat in my mind. I had a raging headache, my vajajay still ached, and my entire body felt like, well, I’d been in a fight. Looking down at my clothes, thankful I had a sweater covering the bloodstains on my dress shirt, I shuddered.

  I didn’t remember putting it on or it even being in my car.

  You’re losing it, Roxanne.

  The overwhelming urge to go sit by Daddy’s grave and release my angst overrode common sense. I’d just bought three plants and didn’t have a shovel or gardening gloves with me.

  “Roxy? Did you hear me?”

  Blinking twice, I stared at … shit, what’s her name? My brain is so jacked at the moment I’m lucky I remember my own. “I’m sorry, no. I was just admonishing myself for neglecting to bring the proper tools I’ll need to plant these. I’ll have to drive all the way back home. What did you say?”

  “That’ll be $65.50. And don’t you worry, girl. Grief does that sometimes. When I lost my mom, I forgot to take my birth control pills for weeks, which is how Aiden arrived. My husband was so surprised. He said, ‘Natalie, what were you thinking?’ I told him I wasn’t because I was in mourning. Anyway, enough about me. If you need some gardening stuff, how about I throw in a shovel and a set of gloves? On the house as my way of saying thank you for being such a loyal customer.”

  “Again, very kind of you. Thanks.” I handed her seventy bucks in cash then scooped up three plants and headed to the car. “Keep the change.”

  Minutes later, trunk crammed with the purchases, a wave of dizziness hit me.

  “Roxy? Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out! Maybe you should have waited another day after surgery before venturing out?”

  Sucking in a lungful of fragrant air, I put on my best smile. “I’m sure that’s not it. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning and I guess my body’s rebelling. I’ll be fine. Thank you again for being so kind. Life’s been rough the last few weeks. It’s nice to know some good, kindhearted souls are still around.”

  A warm hand touched my elbow and helped guide me to the driver’s door. “I’m really sorry about Rachel, Roxy. Truly. Like I said before the best way I’ve found in dealing with life’s difficult moments is to dig a hole, plant a new life, and bury the pain inside my soul right next to the roots. Works like a charm. Oh, and some stout skunk to help ease a stressed mind and calm a rumbling gut. I’d be willing to—”

  “No, thank you. I don’t smoke pot. Only cigarettes.” Considering the way things have gone during the last few weeks, perhaps I should reconsider? Light up and float away on a cloud of THC? Puff away on the magic dragon since I wouldn’t have Raging Rufus to contend with any longer? Trade my wine glasses in for a pipe or bong? Nah. I’m a wino not a midnight toker. Besides, who wants to smell like a freaking skunk rather than fruity grapes?

  “You sure? Medicinal marijuana is legal now. All you have to do is call your doctor and get a prescription. Weed is much better for you than Xanax or Ambien.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, but again, I only enjoy nicotine. Thanks for the good advice about planting. I’ll see you in a few weeks when it’s time to replace my petunias,” I responded, afraid any second I’d pull a Linda Blair and spew chunks all over Natalie’s face.

  Once back on the road, I wound my way through the side streets until at the back entrance of Eternal Slumber Acres. The space was tucked away behind a huge grove of evergreen trees on the outskirts of the county.

  Back in its heyday, nearly a century ago, the fifty-acre spread had been spectacular. Remnants of the opulence could be seen in the ornate headstones, the thick, wrought iron fence nearly twelve feet high surrounding the property, and the marble serenity benches dotting the walking trails.

  Upon closer inspection, years of neglect surfaced. The headstones were cracked, faded and dull, along with the serenity benches, most of which were in such deplorable condition sitting on them would be a risky choice. The gate still stood, yet instead of shiny ebony, a gray sheen covered large sections that weren’t already rusted out. The concrete on the walking trails was dirty, stained from countless feet stepping on them and years upon years of rain beating down. What remained really wasn’t concrete. It was more like crushed rocks held together by hardened, green slime.

  I killed the engine in the empty parking lot, looking around the tranquil place, wishing someone had come to cut the weeds down. Vines and kudzu wound around sections of the fence and numerous trees, and some of the weeds by the edges of the fence seemed to have grown a foot since Rachel’s funeral.

  Stepping out of the car, I popped the trunk and retrieved the rose bushes, shovel, and gloves, which fit perfectly. Nails covered, heart and soul ready, I picked up the first bush, mindful of the thorns, and headed toward the back of the corner lot, where my departed loved ones rested on the other side of a small berm.

  Other than the faint rustle of leaves from a light breeze, it was quiet. The graves were so old, most of the loved ones of the departed were probably dead as well, so no one came to visit the plots. Not one headstone, as far as I could see, sported any flowers.

  Mom and Dad purchased plots for the entire family—how fucking morbid is that?—not long after Rachel was born. Daddy told me, once, they got them for a real bargain, since the five plots were the last spaces available, which meant “the Rayburn clan” would be the final interred residents of Eternal Slumber Acres.

  Two of them were already sleeping, and I feared Mom would be the third by the end of the year.

  How in the world would I handle the loss?

  No, I wouldn’t think about losing Mom. I couldn’t. Too much was already on my mind.

  It was time to visit—Dad first so I could dump out my mental baggage, and then Rachel. Say what’s on my mind then plant the roses.

  Dammit. I forgot the shovel and to lock my car. Though there wasn’t a soul around, at least not anyone alive, it was better to be safe than sorry. Eternal Slumber Acres was in the sticks, miles from the city, and after the morning I’d had, it was best not to push my luck. Wouldn’t it just be dandy if some weirdo was lurking in the woods and stole my car? The thought of walking all the way home made my twat throb.

  Setting down the rose bush, I turned and went back to the car.

  Then, shovel in hand, car secured and keys in my pocket, I headed back to the trail. Maybe I’d feel better and could finally calm down once the bushes were planted and—

  I froze mid-stride.

  The buzzing was back inside my head.

  Maybe it was the bright morning sun playing tricks on me? It had to be because, good Lord, how much more drama could a person handle in one fucking day?

  No, maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the cemetery finally hired a caretaker and he’s starting the cleaning process at the newest grave. It can’t be him!

  Bypassing the rose bush sitting on the path, I stepped into the soft grass and kept walking. Once about ten feet away, confirmation of the unwanted visitor was made.

  What the hell? The boy had a lot of nerve showing up here!

  He heard my steps and stood, facing me. “Hello, Roxy.”

  The look on his face and ominous tone made me shiver. He had to be on some type of drug because his words were slurred, and I swear he was still wearing the same outfit he’d had on at the funeral. Dirty and disheveled, his rank body odor drifted across the space between us. Stopping, I gave him a sour look. “What are you doing here, B
enny?”

  “What do you think, bitch? I came to finish saying my goodbyes since you made me leave the service before I had a chance to say my piece. Took me a few days to make it here because I’ve been looking for work. My, uh, financial situation recently took a downturn.”

  Did he just call me bitch and allude to the fact he was using Rachel for money or am I hallucinating? God, please let me be hallucinating.

  Taking a step forward, a demented smirk crossed his thin lips. “What’s wrong, big sis? Not as bold when you’re all alone and don’t have an audience to show off in front of, huh?”

  I started shaking, but it wasn’t from fear.

  It was from fury.

  The boy had no idea he was poking a hornet’s nest. “Leave, right now,” I hissed.

  Benny eased closer. “Yep, you’re scared, as you should be. You had the upper hand before when you, let’s see, what did you threaten to do to me again? Oh yeah, slice my balls off. My, what would little Rachel say if she heard her big sister say such ugly things to the man she loved? She’d probably tell you to mind your own business and leave us be. Damn, I sure do miss her. She gave great head. Guess I shouldn’t have told her to wait and let her body heal itself rather than going to the hospital. Stupid mistake. Live and learn, right?”

  No. You. Didn’t.

  Planting my feet, I raised the shovel like a baseball bat, ready to swing for the outfield. “One more word and I’ll bash your freaking skull in and bury you.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared!” Benny roared with laughter. “Go ahead, I dare you! Better get a good lick in though, because if you don’t take me down with the first one, I’m going to make you wish you’d never crossed me. You look pretty good for an old broad. I’m curious about how you taste.”

  Wrong choice of words, Benny-Boo.

  Benny lunged.

  Wrong choice again.

  My touch with sanity broke as red filled my vision.

  Soon, it wasn’t just an optical illusion as the whack whack whack of the shovel connecting with flesh and bone filled the late morning air.

  CHAPTER 8

  Rambling Dreams Of A Crazed Housewife

  By the time I arrived home, I was unnaturally calm, which was beyond odd. Shouldn’t I be hysterical? Panicked? Terrified any second the cops would knock on my door and haul me away for killing the sack of shit, leaving his body as rose food? Where was the shred of remorse for taking the life of another human being?

  Oh yeah, I lost it the night I let the real me come out to play with Carl.

  Yes, I should be all those things, and more, yet I wasn’t.

  Not at all.

  After hiding my deed, I drove through the streets with a smile plastered on my face, mindful of the speed limit, all my attention completely focused on the task of driving.

  I never shook once or shed a single tear.

  If, by a slim chance, someone ever discovered Mr. Environmentally Friendly’s remains buried inches above Rachel’s casket, with a fresh rose bush planted on top, tying it to me would be difficult. The only person who knew I’d gone to the cemetery was Natalie, and since most of the time she was so stoned she couldn’t remember her name, it was doubtful she’d even recall our visit. I paid with cash, so if my bank account was ever searched there would be no evidence I’d been at her store. No one had seen me at the cemetery; Benny had no close family—according to Rachel—and I wore gloves the entire time.

  He didn’t have a car, so he walked or rode the bus everywhere (or relied on others, like Rachel when she was alive, to tote him around) which meant there wasn’t a vehicle to be found at the cemetery. The streaks of blood on my clothes wouldn’t matter—I’d burned them down to nothing but a pile of ashes in the fireplace, along with the sheepskin cover from the front seat, just to be safe if any blood transferred from my clothes. The bleach and oxidizer I used to clean the interior of my car surely wiped away most of the traces of his blood, and I’d repeat the same cleaning every day for a week just to make sure, in case the cosmos shit on me.

  Again.

  No one would ever know, except me, about the dirty little secret at Eternal Slumber Acres. If someone ever reported the loser missing, no one would think to dig up Rachel’s grave and search for his body.

  Free and clear, baby.

  Could I live with the fact I killed someone without going insane?

  Hell yes! I did the world a favor by ridding it of the lazy bastard! The fool attacked me first after running off his filthy mouth about Rachel, plus ruined what might have been a memorable visit with Dad. After all, it’s not like I planned to kill Benny; it was an accident. I had no idea he’d be skulking around Rachel’s grave then attempt to harm me.

  Self-defense, baby.

  A demerit hovered over my head for not informing the authorities, yet I pretended it wasn’t there. Benny broke a rule and deserved to be punished, right? Isn’t that how a civilized society is supposed to work? Step out of bounds and pay the price? Hmm, I doubt that would fly since it was my personal rule he broke, but I didn’t care.

  The only thing that bothered me about what happened was Carol. If she ever found out what I’d done, she would freak out. Though she loved her aunt Rachel, I doubt she’d approve of me killing Benny, even if I told her exactly how things went down between us.

  I’d just make sure she never did.

  “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” I whispered, doing my best impression of Scarlett O’Hara.

  How befitting we were at a cemetery and a grave close by? Ol’ Benny-Boo would contribute to making a small section of the world a beautiful place as his rotting flesh fed the plants around it.

  Good. Fucking. Riddance. No one would miss his nasty ass anyway.

  ***

  Once I finished getting rid of the evidence, I headed upstairs, took a shower, washed, and pampered my sore vagina and then went downstairs to the dining room table. It was close to noon, which meant it was socially acceptable to start drinking. Wine at the ready, I began to write.

  After several hours of scribbling, the journal had ten more pages added to it, planning the downfall of Rebecca Denise Rayburn Wilson. Ugly, hateful words scribbled across the pages in bright, blue ink, adding a few tweaks to the demise of others. The only thing I didn’t write down was my little side venture at the cemetery.

  Honestly, I didn’t want to relive those dark moments.

  By the time I’d plotted out the deaths of several people, the full bottle of Moscato was empty and my head spinning.

  It was close to four, which meant Carol would arrive home any minute. My drunken mind wanted to continue on with the dark ramblings, but the mom in me wouldn’t allow any more, at least, not until after Carol went to bed.

  ***

  My fingers ached so I decided to give them a break. Standing, I stretched then made a loop of the downstairs rooms. Everything was familiar, all the furniture, decorations, memorabilia of the Davenport household—same as usual, yet it all seemed wrong. Foreign. Like my entire existence had been a weird dream I just woke up from.

  A cheating husband.

  Dead sister and father.

  Absent mother.

  Treacherous, hateful sibling.

  Knocked-up neighbors and whores.

  A sore twat.

  A daughter leaving home.

  A life torn to pieces.

  “This isn’t my house.” I belted out the rest of the song by the Talking Heads while wobbling to the kitchen. A space stocked with expensive, shiny appliances, top-notch accessories, and the latest style. The lovely area had been a birthday gift from Carl two years before. “He isn’t my husband,” I continued to sing, altering the words to suit my pathetic life.

  Staring at the fridge, my mind was blank in terms of what to fix. It needed to be something easy, because in my current state of inebriation, I might hurt myself with cutlery or fire.

  “Soup and sandwiches tonight, Carol. Sorry.”

  After preparing the path
etic dinner, I contemplated grabbing another bottle of wine, yet hesitated. I was already woozy, and didn’t need to be thoroughly trashed before Carol arrived home. I’d save that experience for later, while I continued to kill off my enemies inside the pages of the journal.

  One real killing was enough for the day, but there was no limit on fictional deaths.

  My cell buzzed on the counter. Carol’s assigned ringtone. Snatching it up, I read the text: “Dad asked me to dinner to talk so I’m going be home later don’t wait up luv ya!”

  “Motherfucker! Not tonight! I need you here, Carol, or I’ll break. Do things you’ll hate me for later.”

  Another text, this time from Liz: “So how was the first day? Did you two try to kill each other? Details, woman. I want details. Call when you can.”

  Mind spinning, terrified of what I might do if left alone, I called for backup. “Liz? Can you come over?”

  Hearing the stress in my voice, Liz responded: “Oh, shit. That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, I need to talk.”

  “Let me finish dinner and I’ll be right over. Ten minutes, tops.”

  “Bring wine. I’m almost out.”

  “I already bought two bottles earlier. Sort of figured today would be hard on you. Be there in a flash.”

  Hanging up, I smiled. Liz was the best friend ever in the history of best friends, which made exposing the ugly secrets, the pent-up rage, even harder. Taking a deep breath, I turned off the stove and dumped the soup down the sink. (Demerit—wasting food!) I took a bit of comfort in the fact I would unleash the truth to Liz’s ears, and not Carol’s.

  Because honestly, after today, I didn’t know how much longer it would be before something bad, something really bad, happened—to a lot of people.

  “Roxy! What happened? Did you have a wreck downtown? Are you okay?”

  Liz rushed over next to me, examining my face. She was so shocked by my appearance she almost dropped the wine bottles.

  “Yeah, had a wreck all right. Ran into a freight train named Raging Rebecca.”