I feel sick, and my appetite just died, but I can’t let Melanie know. She’s pregnant with another man’s baby and yet has two kids with me. Troy is no longer around, so what does that mean? Will she break down and leave forever? She’s told me before that she can live independently, but with a baby and her work schedule, I seriously doubt it.
Melanie comes into the kitchen with fresh lipstick and gloss, a fresh coat of mascara, and her long auburn hair brushed. She’s now wearing a pair of dark blue jeans that shows off her toned legs and a plunging ruffled floral blouse. She’s a gorgeous woman. Have I told her that lately?
“You clean up nice,” I say, grabbing my keys.
“Thank you.” Her eyebrows knitted into a confusing smile.
Part of me wants to strangle her for getting pregnant with Troy’s baby when she told me she was done at two. I wanted at least one more. I guess she didn’t want any more kids with me.
“Drive through or dine in?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway.
“Let’s go to Rod’s Diner. I have a hankering for a big cheeseburger and beer-battered fries,” she says, the excitement showing on her face.
“Sounds good.” I guess she’s not too worried about Troy right now.
We arrive at the café, and it’s not too busy. On the weekends, it’s usually packed. I find a parking spot and pull in. Big Block Red Letters light up and spell out Rd's Diner; the O no longer lights up, but no one seems to care. The Diner looks like it came straight out of the 50s.
We get out and head into the café; a hostess that I swear looks like Flo, the gum-smacking, red-haired waitress from Mel’s Diner on the early 80s TV show, Alice escorts us to a small booth in the corner. I remember my parents watching that show every week, and I can't help but smile.
Rod’s has been in this area for over 20 years and reminds me of Daniel’s Diner in Grantsville. In fact, it’s almost a carbon copy, right down to the red and white jukebox and the same-colored checkered flooring.
The hostess gives us menus, and I open it up but know what I’m getting. We haven’t been here as a couple for years. We took the kids until about a year ago. It’s nice that it’s just the two of us now.
“Did you have a good trip?” I say, wanting to make casual conversation.
“It was OK, but I’m exhausted.” I want to blurt out that she’s pregnant, that’s why, but I hold my tongue. “My client is teetering on canceling their account. I had to go and basically wine and dine them to get them to stay. It gets tiring sometimes.” She yawns and then picks up that damn phone.
“I’m sure. I would hate to have to travel all over.”
“I love traveling.” The stern voice is back. I never know what to say.
“I didn’t say you didn’t, but it has to be exhausting traveling all over the country for work, is all.”
Her face softens. “Oh, yeah, it does.” I then notice a faraway look in her eyes, and I can tell she’s thinking about him. “What did you do all weekend,” she says.
I had your lover killed. I suddenly panic, thinking about my alibi. “On Saturday, I went into the city with my buddy from Grantsville, Grant; remember him?”
A seething look comes over her. “Yes. He’s that jackass that didn’t want you to marry me.” I’m surprised she remembers that since it was ten years ago, and she’s only seen him a few times since then.
“Yeah, well, he was in town, so we spent the day off-roading. Oh, and Sunday, I went to East End Trees and picked up a bunch of plants. I spent the day in the yard planting. Monday, I went to work, of course, and then drove the kids up to summer camp, so not a very eventful weekend. You probably had a more fun time than I did.”
She shrugs and then takes a sip of her strawberry lemonade. Melanie doesn’t drink, and for good reason. (other than being pregnant) Her older brother was killed by a drunk driver when he was 16. She was 14 and swore off alcohol afterward. She has one younger sister, Alisha, and her parents still live in Texas after moving there from New York twenty years ago.
Melanie moved back to New York City to attend college and stayed there until I met her; bumping into her is more like it, at the park. I was running and rounded the corner in Central Park and ran smack dab into her while she was bending over and tying her shoes. She fell forward and hit the pavement face down. I felt horrible and remembered helping her up, looking into her emerald green eyes, and was smitten. She had some scratches and a small bump on her forehead, but otherwise said she was OK. She had the most striking red hair I'd ever seen, which made her eyes glisten in the sun.
I got her number and took her out to dinner. And, well, as they say … the rest is history.
We both order the same thing: a double cheeseburger, beer-battered fries, and a chocolate milkshake with whipped topping (the real stuff) and a cherry on top. If this was 70 years earlier, we could be my grandparents.
I try talking to her while we’re eating, but she keeps looking at her phone, no doubt waiting for Troy to text or call or the police to call. My heart pricks for her, knowing the father of her baby is dead, and it’s my fault.
We finish and head home, both in silence. As we walk in the door, Melanie’s ringtone goes off. She grabs it from her purse and pushes the phone icon.
“This is Melanie.”
I wish I knew who was on the call.
“What?” I hear her almost yell into the phone. “He’s not there? What do you mean his Range Rover is, but he’s not?” Oh shit, we didn’t dispose of his Rover! Okay, calm down, Jeff. They could think he drowned. “You looked everywhere, and he’s not there?”
I listen for more. “Could he have accidentally drowned or maybe been kidnapped?” Even to me, it seems ludicrous. He was the only one there, well, until me and Grant arrived. But Melanie and the police don’t know about that. And he’s a grown adult, so unless he committed suicide by drowning, that scenario isn’t plausible either, especially since he would be a father again.
“No, I only knew he was coming back to Long Island on Monday morning and would text me as soon as he reached the city. It’s Tuesday night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She listens, as do I. “No, of course not! He has no reason to just vanish like this.” I try to do something while I still listen to Melanie. I grab the sponge and start wiping off counters to keep myself busy. “Okay, call me when you know anything.”
She puts her phone down on the counter, the one I just wiped. “They can’t find Troy.” Yes, I know. “His truck is there, but he’s gone, like … vanished. It’s not like him to take off, and no one has seen or heard from him in this long.” Tears fill her eyes, and I feel my heart drop. Even though he’s her lover, I feel guilty for what I did, well, what Grand did, and I allowed. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she folds into me, her body pressed against mine, her fragrant perfume filling my nostrils.
“I’m sorry, Mel.” I haven’t called her that in years. But I am truly sorry. I hated the man for what he did to my family, but he didn’t deserve to die. Why did I let Grant kill him? This will eat at me for the rest of my life, probably like Melanie when she killed the cable technician. We now have something in common.
We both are responsible for killing a man.
__________________________________________________________________
It’s 5:30 a.m., and I bolt awake when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Grant. Troy’s body has been dumped, and he and his friends want their fee. They flew to New York and rented a car to drive him back. I have to figure out how to wire each $30,000 without giving them my card number. I figure it will have to be done by cashier’s check. I text them to give me 24 hours to wire the money.
It’s over. I look over at Melanie, her back to me, breathing softly. I carefully get out of bed and rake my fingers through my hair. I look through the window. It’s still dark, but I notice a sliver of dawn creeping into the night sky. Now, it’s a matter of when Deanna will find Troy’s body and whether she has an alibi for last weekend.
Damn, I feel like a son-of-a-bitch.
For the next several days, Melanie went back and forth with the police. She’d been at the station several times already and went up to the cabin to look for Troy. When a week went by and no word from him, Melanie told me he either drowned or maybe hurt himself in the woods and tried to get back to the cabin but got lost. I hate seeing her this way.
A month later, Melanie resigned herself to believe she would never see Troy again and became even more distant than before. However, she told me about the baby when she started showing. We argued, and I told her I was hurt. A month after that, I was watching TV when my phone buzzed.
SHE FOUND HIM
I knew immediately what it meant. An hour later, I get a call from Melanie. She’s sobbing. “Jeff, Troy’s wife, found him buried in her front yard a week ago. This morning, it was confirmed to be him.”
“In Utah?” I say, stunned. I’m such a good actor.
“Yeah. His wife was digging in her flower garden and saw his h-hand. The police came, and the medical examiner thought he’d been dead for almost two months – the same time he went missing at the cabin.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. But Utah? How, why? It doesn’t make any sense.” And I’m right, it doesn’t.
“I don’t know, but I knew he was dead. And I can’t fly out for the funeral.” She hangs up, and I feel like shit all over again.
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