Shock, A Short Story by KC Brock

KC Brock (1,479 words)

SHOCK

                I’m driving to the home of my lover to tell him it’s over.  Ed…Jenny’s Ed…my lover?  What an overstatement.  It was a one night stand and wrong on so many levels.       

            “It was the martinis,” I say aloud, half believing myself. I take my Venti Starbucks from the cup holder.  A front tire dips in a pothole. Coffee splashes out of the drink-hole onto my wool suit.

            “Shit!”  I put the coffee back and dab the spill with a napkin, yelling at myself.  “I don’t have time for this crap!  I’ll have to go home and change before my 11:00 appointment. I won’t have time to beat around the bush with Ed because if I’m late…I can’t be late…I need this deal.  The commission will take care of those lawyers, get me caught up on the mortgage, pay off this car.”  I look around the interior of my Lexus.  Extravagant, I admit, for someone so new in such a competitive business, but I had to get something decent enough to drive clients around in. 

            I hate how gray the day is.  It’s been raining for all of November. Not exactly ideal weather when you’re a realtor.  People prefer to buy houses when the sun is shining. It’s been hard this past year since Gerry and I split…getting by on my own.  A real challenge. But I’m doing okay.   Mom raised us to be tough.

            I check my watch.  9:30. Jenny should be at the gallery by now for her meeting.    

            I continue talking aloud to myself.  “Poor Jenny.  Her work is so beautiful.  She shouldn’t have to schmooze all those rich old farts.  And for what?  They come to buy Ed’s work, not hers.  Edward Hammersmith.  When someone mentions Hammersmith Gallery, it’s Ed they think of not Jenny.  Why is it so easy for him? What is it about Ed that makes him such a ….. a magnet?  He looks like a slob… raggy, paint-splattered jeans and old t-shirts.  He’s rarely clean-shaven…his hair’s a mess.  But, when he starts talking, somehow, you’re drawn to him.  It’s not confidence.  More like…passion.  He is a wonderful artist.  Charming and funny…when he’s in the mood. And he smells so good all the time.  It’s as though his aura has a smell.  For years I’ve wanted to stuff my face in his neck and just suck it in.” 

I inhale through my nose, long and deep.

“He’s a big guy too.  Tall and meaty.”  I’m thinking of the weight of him in bed.  Smothering me…making me want to scream but I can’t get air because he’s taking it all…with his sheer size.

            I come to my senses just as I’m about to miss the turnoff.  I stop, sliding a little on the wet asphalt and wait for a break in the traffic.  Marine Drive is busy for a Sunday. 

I wait for joggers to cross the road.  I moan and rub my forehead.  My hand is cold.

“What am I thinking?” I ask myself out loud.  “Ed’s a jerk. And he’s lazy, selfish, egocentric…a complainer.  I hate what he says about Jenny.  He calls her a nag…a killjoy.  He’s the diabetic, not her. How many times has she saved his life in thirteen years of marriage?  She’s tried to get him to stick to a good diet, to exercise, to keep his doctor’s appointments.  She’s had to called the ambulance for him when he was too sick to get to the car.  This last time…when was that?  Six weeks ago?  She found him in bed foaming at the mouth and he wouldn’t wake up.  I was at the hospital when the specialist spoke to Jenny.  He said that Ed had to give up alcohol, quit smoking and follow a strict diabetic diet.  He gave her the ultimatum.  I remember it word for word.  That doctor said, ‘Either Ed cleans up his act or he’s going to die.’  Jenny was a wreck that week…told me she couldn’t take it any more and I don’t blame her.  It’s not fair.” 

I turn onto 29^th Street and head up the hill; a neighborhood I’ve always loved for the size of the houses, the huge lots, mature gardens, ocean views….wow.  These are the kind of places I want to list.

“How can I talk about being fair?  Who was replenishing Ed’s drinks last night?  Who was lighting his cigarettes?  Who told the cab driver to leave when Ed asked to come in for a ‘quick sec’?” 

I shake my head, disgusted with myself.

“But, we were having such a great time.  I’ve never seen him be so sweet and funny.  And Jenny did insist we go together while she prepare for her meeting,” I say in my own defense, except I’m the only person in the car to hear it.

“Listen to me,” I groan. “I really am a terrible person.” 

I have to fix this now.  It will never happen again and I’ll make Ed promise…no I’ll make him swear never to tell Jenny anything.  No one is getting hurt.

            I’m somewhat relieved by my resolve and reach for my coffee.  It’s lukewarm now so I gulp it like water.

            At Roseberry Lane I turn right.  At the second driveway, after the highest privet hedge, I begin to pull in but jam on the breaks just in time. In front of the house are two West Vancouver police cars and an ambulance. 

            Right away, a cop waves me to back out.  I reverse, pulling the car in so close to the hedge I can hear the spiky branches scraping the passenger side door.  I scramble into the torrential downpour, hurrying toward the house just as paramedics emerge with a stretcher.  The body is covered in white sheets from head to toe.  My hands clamp over my mouth as I watch the paramedics heave the weighty load.  Two cops step forward to help and the stretcher slides into the ambulance.

            “Excuse me…Ma’am?”  One of the cops comes toward me.

            From behind my hands I say, “This is my sister’s house.”

            Rain is thumping on his cap, splashing off the circular rim like a fountain.  He leans toward me with his gloved hand near his ear.

            The coffee I just drank is in my chest, inching its way up my throat.  I swallow twice.

“This is my sister’s house.”

He nods and puts his hand on my shoulder guiding me to the front door.

Inside, the house is hot, but I’m shivering and my suit is soaked.  Stuck to me, it feels too heavy to be made of cloth.  Jenny is sitting in the living room.  A cop sits across from her, notepad in hand.  There are two full glasses of water on the coffee table between them.  Jenny looks my way and gets up.

“Here’s my sister,” she says. “Camilla.”

We meet in the middle and hug. 

“I was just about to call you.  Ed’s dead.  Insulin shock.”

“Oh no…oh my god…oh no.”

“I know.”  She shakes her head, eyes closed.  “I slept in the guest room last night. I don’t even know what time he came home, what he ate, how much insulin he took. You remember what the doctor said?”

 “Of course I do.” I take my sisters hands in mine.  I notice they’re warm and steady. 

“I was leaving for my meeting and at the last second decided to check on him.  There he was, a big lump in the middle of the bed, eyes shut, and mouth open.  All normal except I couldn’t hear any snoring.  I knew instantly, Camilla.  I just knew.”

The room feels as though it’s spinning.  I put my hands on Jenny’s shoulders.  They’re like stone. 

“If only I’d heard something…like all the other times.  Maybe he’d still be alive.” She turns her head toward the officer.  “But I didn’t hear anything.” 

I give her shoulders a loving squeeze and she looks at me. I see her wink, but before this has time to register the officer intervenes. 

“Mrs. Hammersmith says you were with Mr. Hammersmith last night.”

“Ah…yes.” Immediately I’m picturing in my mind Ed’s big, sweaty face bobbing over mine, red from exertion. 

“I assume, because you’re his sister-in-law, you’re aware of his serious health issues.”

“I am.”

“What was Mr. Hammersmith’s condition when you last saw him?”

I clear my throat.  “We were at a party.  Alcohol was consumed.  At around midnight I called a taxi that Ed and I shared.  I was dropped off first.”

Jenny sighs heavily. “He knew he wasn’t supposed to drink.  His doctor told him.”

The officer thanks us and tells Jenny he’ll call in few hours when the coroner has finished.

I’m overwrought with guilt.  This is my fault and I know it.  When we’re alone I’ll confess everything.  It’s too much to keep from my sister.  She deserves the truth.

            Jenny closes the door and turns to me with an expression on her face I cannot describe except that it’s nowhere near what I’m expecting.  I open my mouth to speak, ready to spill my guts.

            “Shhhh, little sister,” she says.  “Trust me…all is well.”

THE END