“Have you ever been married?” I ask, curious about the woman sitting beside me.
She shifts in her seat, darting her eyes back to the television, but I know she’s not watching it. A faraway look crosses her face and if I’m seeing it correctly, a look of discomfort pinches down her brows. Whatever memory my question conjured up is a painful one, and I regret asking it.
“I was married once, a long time ago,” she says quietly, still not looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I feel compelled to say. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”
Her smile is sad. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Besides, the pain is much more bearable than it used to be. I guess what they say is true. Grief gets easier over time.”
I take a moment and clear my throat. “Did he pass away?” I keep my tone gentle.
“He died, yes. Murdered actually.”
I reach over and grab her hand. “I’m truly sorry.”
She snorts out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m not sad the bastard’s dead. I’m just sad he didn’t die sooner.” My hand stiffens on hers. Her eyes are hard when they meet mine again. “Manny was a very passionate man, but not the passionate you’d normally think of. He was very ardent with his fists. I was with him for fifteen years. Six of those years I got to know his knuckles and steel toed boots very well.”
My hand flies to my mouth in horrified shock.
“I don’t want, nor need, your pity,” she remarks sternly.
I slowly lower my hand and shake my head. “It’s not pity I feel. Empathy maybe, but not pity.”
She looks at me curiously for a moment, and I pray she doesn’t question me on my statement. I’m certainly not ready to talk about my past. Thankfully, she looks away from me.
“He got what he deserved. It may make me no better than him, but knowing that has helped me. It’s made me happier for it.”
I set my half-eaten bowl on the coffee table and lean forward. My curious nature has always been one of my faults, so even though I shouldn’t, I still say, “You said he was murdered.” Her gaze comes back to me, unwavering. “Did you… kill him?”
From what she’s said so far, I’ve got no doubt he deserved it, even more so if it was in self-defense.
“No, I didn’t kill him. This was a few months after I finally left him. Someone broke into his house and slit his throat. The police say it was a robbery gone wrong. I wouldn’t know, I had moved away just a couple of weeks before.”
“Wow.” I sit back and look off toward the muted television. “It’s amazing how karma works. Did they ever find the robber?”
“No,” she answers shortly. “And I hope they never do. Whoever it was did the world a favor by taking Manny out.”
When I glance back at her, satisfaction flashes in her eyes. I should feel bad about someone dying, no matter the circumstances, but after my own experiences, I just can’t muster any grief. A man who repeatedly beats his wife has no right living among us.
I wince when a pinch of pain starts in my lower stomach. Susan notices, and sits forward.
“What’s wrong?”
My lips twist into what I hope is a smile. “Braxton Hicks, I’m assuming.”
“How long have you been having them and how often?”
“They started yesterday and aren’t regular at all. Maybe four or five a day and they last for only thirty seconds or so. I had them before a few weeks ago. My doctor told me not to worry, as it was just my body preparing me for the real thing.”
She nods. “He’s right. Braxton Hicks are very common, especially this late in pregnancies. Ju
st keep an eye on them and if they become more frequent or last longer than sixty seconds, let me know.”
“Okay.”
Already the pain is receding, and I’m able to relax again. I reach forward to grab my stew, but Susan beats me too it. I smile at her gratefully.
“Now, how about we watch more Fixer Uppers and continue to be jealous of Joanna?”