A few minutes before the oven timer went off, she lost it. She threw the Waterford vase his mother had sent for their anniversary at him. She missed his head by three feet, but it smashed into pieces against the wall behind him. She wasn’t really trying to hit him, but he was drunk, so there was no way to make him understand that, and they ended up grappling on the new hardwood floors. On the floor, she kneed him in the crotch and freed herself enough to reach the half-empty scotch bottle on the counter. She smashed it over his head.
Bitch! he screamed. That’s alcohol abuse! It was only half-empty!
Half-full! You limp-dick, cynical son of a bitch!
He shoved her through the doorway into the living room. Then he picked her up and threw her over the counter of the wet bar. Getting up, she staggered back into the glass shelves, knocking down rows of bottles and glasses.
He looked across the room at the flat screen TV. The game was on. He checked the score out of habit, but before it registered, she was back at him with a corkscrew. He caught her arms, but her momentum pushed them back into the kitchen. He managed to wrestle the corkscrew away from her, but she slipped on her socked feet, and fell back, hitting her head on the granite countertop.
She got up slow, balancing herself on the island in the middle of the kitchen. When he saw her bleeding from her head, he got scared.
Baby? He made his way over to her slowly.
When he was in close, she grabbed a paring knife from the wooden cutting board just behind her and stabbed him in the side. He fell back into the stainless steel doors of the refrigerator. Getting up, he pushed his elbow back against the door to stand up and hit the lever on the ice machine. Some crushed ice fell onto the floor.
The oven timer went off.
Holding the knife in his side, he walked out the back door into the cool, summer air.
He looked up at the moon, laughed. It was almost full.
When he pulled the knife out, he felt his eyes roll back into his head. He fell through the glass patio table they had bought last summer after one of the worst fights they had ever had. Eventually, she had forgiven him. Mercury had been in retrograde, she had said, making communication difficult.
He woke up a few minutes later. Feeling okay, he got to his feet and walked back inside to find her sobbing on the kitchen floor. It was quiet except for the crying. She had turned off the oven timer.
I thought you were dead, she sobbed.
He stood there watching her with his dark eyes, the way he did sometimes. When he did that, his eyes seemed to look through her clothes, exploring every inch of her, every crevice. She smiled. He came over, picked her up off the ground, and carried her into the bedroom. They grappled and tugged at each other until they were naked on the bed, blood soaking the 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton white sheets.
When it was finished, they lay across the bed like wet laundry waiting to be hung out.
You okay? he asked.
She shook her head yes.
You might need stitches for that.
He kissed her head.
What about your side?
It’s nothing.
When the blue lights appeared in the window, he sat up in bed. A minute later, there was a knock on the front door. He dressed quickly, she threw on a robe. They went to the door together.
They told the policeman at the door that everything was fine, that they were just making dinner. The policeman eyed them up and down.
You sure? he asked her, raising an eyebrow at the blood-soaked washcloth she held to her temple.
Yes sir, he answered for her.
The policeman looked at him, saw the blood from his side soaking through the t-shirt he had put on.
Yes, Officer, she said.
The policeman looked behind them into the house, but he couldn’t see much beyond the darkened foyer.
It smells like something’s burning.
No sir, he said.
That’s just dinner, she said.
Okay, then… You folks have a good night.
Thank you, Officer, they said in unison.
The policeman turned back as he was going down the walk, saw them standing in the doorway together. Something wasn’t right, he thought, but his shift was almost over. Walking back to his patrol car, he surveyed the neatly manicured lawn, the well-trimmed shrubs, and the seasonal flowers planted in the wood chip islands. He stopped, looked up at the moon. They seemed normal enough. Still, he could only imagine the kinky shit they were into.
