Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Paula didn't like Tuesdays. Tuesdays was meatloaf. Tuesdays was the day the little Mexican man with the gold earring, ponytail, and dirty green t-shirt came to mow the lawn.

Tuesdays was sex.

Every Tuesday and Thursday Phillip and Paula had sex and Paula didn't like it. It was now Tuesday morning and Paula had all day to dread the nighttime custom. At the moment she was scrambling eggs, brewing coffee and browning toast for Phillip.

After arranging the table with his breakfast, Paula went outside to retrieve the morning paper from the end of the driveway. She withdrew the sports section and placed it next to Phillip's breakfast plate before discarding the rest into the trash. She then went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

"Dear? Dear, your breakfast is ready," she called out.

Phillip appeared and smiled at Paula. "Good morning," he said, walking over to her, preparing to perform the daily morning routine.

"Open wide," he said, holding out his hand, which contained one tiny white pill and one larger blue pill. "Vitamin time."

An obedient Paula opened her mouth and Phillip dropped the vitamins on her tongue. With a swish of her juice, she washed them down into her system. She smiled at Phillip and went to rinse out her glass. Phillip waited for her to seat him and give him the first sip of coffee.

As Phillip read the paper and ate breakfast, Paula packed his lunch. A turkey sandwich on wheat with mustard on one side, mayo on the other; a speared pickle, a thermos of tomato soup and two chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Paula heard Phillip clear his throat and she rushed out to clear the dishes. Phillip continued to sit at the table as Paula gathered up her husband's lunch into a large brown bag and presented it to him with flourish.

"All your favorites," she smiled.

He nodded his approval. "Don't forget my jacket."

She gave him a knowing look. "Of course not, dear." Paula went to the hall closet and pulled out the blazer she had pressed earlier that morning. She helped him into it and turned him around to survey his appearance.

"Perfect," she said, smoothing down the lapel. "Have a wonderful day, dear," she said and smiled.

Phillip gave her a dry peck on her cheek. "Thank you, dear."

With a pivot, Phillip walked out of the door and started up his green Chevy. Paula couldn't remember the last time she'd been inside Phillip's car. Might have been last year sometime. She herself never drove. Paula had never been a good driver to begin with, and then after the accident, she vowed to never again get behind the wheel. Paula shuddered at the memory as she locked the door behind Phillip and set about doing her chores for the day, trying not to think about tonight. Vacuuming, scrubbing, laundry, and dusting made the day pass quickly, and before Paula knew it, it was time to prepare the meatloaf she didn't like. It was her mother-in-law's recipe and she always found it too salty. Once, she decreased the amount of salt and was thrilled with the results. Phillip, however, had a fit and put her in the hall closet for two days, so it was back to the heaping tablespoons of salt the following Tuesday.

Dinner passed without incident and Paula tried to steel herself for the task ahead. She took extra time washing the dishes, swirling the damp dishtowel across the gleaming white plates until they squeaked. She placed the last dish in the rack, her heart about to jump out of her chest over the stress about what was coming.

"Paula?" Phillip called out from the living room.

She gulped. "Yes, dear?"

"Hadn't you better be getting ready?"