Committing Suicide

 

by Gay Kinman

"You ate all the fat on those lamb chops!" Selena stared incredulously at her husband. "I can't believe you did that."

 

Matt smiled like a cat lapping cream. "Mmmm and it was good."

 

"I should have cut it all off. I had no idea that you would even eat it. It's a wonder you just don't keel over right now with clogged arteries just like your father." She grabbed his tray and took it into the kitchen. Dishes rattled all the way. Even more so when she slammed the tray on the counter causing the spoon to jump off and clatter to the floor.

 

"Here I try to give you well balanced, healthy FAT-FREE meals, and you do this."

 

"I cleaned my plate, just like my mommy taught me," he called from his lounge chair in the living room.

 

"I'm so angry, I could cry."

 

"Oh, stop nagging me. You put it on my plate for Christ's sake, stop carrying on like it was the end of the world."

 

"It could be the end for you. I don't want you to end up like--like most of the men in your family."

 

Except his brother.

 

"You mean like my brother who shot himself in the head. Don't worry. I don't believe in committing suicide. No matter what the reason."

 

The last sentence was said sotto voce so Selena wasn't sure she heard him correctly. What did that mean? She went to the kitchen doorway. "I thought he shot himself because he was depressed over his business."

 

"Who knows why he did it? Don't bug me. I told you before I don't want to talk about my brother again. He's dead. I never want to hear his name mentioned again."

 

"Not talking to your sister-in-law is no way to handle it."

 

"My sister-in-law is none of your business. Stop nagging me about her."

 

"You only say that I'm nagging you when you know I'm right. Why don't you see your sister-in-law? Lord knows she calls here often enough asking for you.

 

"Leave me alone. Don't you have something to do in the kitchen?" He pushed the remote control and the TV sprang to life, a second later, the volume was deafening. Monday night football. Pre-game. Interviews.

 

Selena wondered for the umpteenth time when Matt wouldn't go over to his sister-in-law's. Selena would have but they had nothing in common and she  really didn't like the woman. Matt had been over there a lot when his brother was still alive.

 

His brother's suicide had hit Matt hard she knew. He was a different person, not in a good mood like he used to be when he came back from his brother's house.

 

The day before his brother committed suicide, she had run into him downtown. She was surprised to see him and she said so. "I thought you and Matt were fixing your roof. He's over at your place right now. Did you just come into town to pick up something at the hardware store?"

 

He had looked at her with an odd expression but said, yes, he had to get something at the hardware store. Then he'd taken off like he was riding a rocket.

 

Matt didn't come home for hours, not that she expected him before dinner time. And then when he came home, he grabbed the bottle of scotch and went out to the garage where he had his workshop. He mumbled something about not wanting anything to eat. He didn't even take a glass.

 

Then the next thing they heard was that his brother had taken his hunting rifle and shot himself.

 

After that, Matt would have nothing to do with his sister-in-law.

 

Selena went back over that day. Matt not wanting to talk to his sister-in-law made Selena curious. Thinking about the look on his brother's face, Matt's actions, and her sister-in-law's telephone calls.

 

And she wondered.

 

She hadn't really thought too much about it, but she realized that Matt didn't make love to her as much as he used to. She started to calculate when he slacked off. Was it the same time he started to spend a lot of time at his brother's? His brother's place where his sister-in-law lived. She knew he liked her. Saw it in his eyes when they went over there for dinner.

 

Although Matt didn't eat there when he visited his brother, but usually came home for his fat-free fare. She knew her sister-in-law wasn't into any kind of healthy food.

 

Selena stared out of her kitchen window at the lemon tree now heavy with fruit. She hadn't thought much about it until now. Something in Matt's voice just now when he talked about his sister-in-law.

 

What if--

 

But did she want to know?

 

She didn't want to know, but suddenly she did. She knew.

 

That meant--

 

--that day she'd run into Matt's brother. He had been working at his own store downtown. She shut her eyes and tried to picture the bag that he had in his hand. She had thought it was from the hardware store. The design on the bag--the sandwich shop. He popped out to get a sandwich. The bag wasn't big enough for more than one. He wasn't getting sandwiches for Matt and himself. He wasn't working on his roof at home.

 

And neither was Matt. Matt was working on something else. Somebody else. Making their own kind of sandwich.

 

Suddenly she felt ill. Bile crept up her esophagus.

 

She threw up in the sink. She ran the water, leaning over and sucking water from the stream to rinse her mouth.

 

It couldn't be.

 

She thought again of Matt's brother's face. He looked shocked, about to say "What the hell are you talking about?" But she'd given him an out. The hardware store.

 

And then he'd gone home.

 

And then he'd caught them.

 

And then he'd decided to kill himself.

 

And that's why Matt wouldn't talk to his sister-in-law.

 

Guilt.

 

So, Matt had been fooling around.

 

And then she thought further. The natural sequence of events.

 

The natural result of sandwich making.

 

The reason for his sister-in-law's voice, the rising hysteria in her pleading to talk to Matt.

 

Two months.

 

Her sister-in-law was now sure she was pregnant.

 

Not she, Selena, who had always wanted a baby.

 

My god they were both almost fifty.

 

That had to be the reason he didn't call her back. He didn't want any children. Always made sure her diaphragm was in. But that hadn't been a problem lately. If you're not making sandwiches, there's no reason for a diaphragm.

 

He wasn't going to have to have a squalling baby keeping him awake at night. Let his brother worry about that. Yessiree.

 

More bile came up. She realized the tap was still running. She scooped up water and aimed it in the general direction of her mouth, swished what ended up there and spit it out. Onto Matt's plate that she had put in the sink.

 

No wonder his sister-in-law only asked for Matt and didn't want to talk to Selena. Always saying, "Tell Matt to call me right away," and then hanging up.

 

Selena shook her head. No, no, I'm imagining all of this. Me, who doesn't have a creative bone in my body. At least that's what Matt always told her.

 

Well, neither does he, come to think of it.

 

Unless it's for making sandwiches. With someone else.

 

Then she wondered. How many others have there been? No, probably none. His abstinence with her had only been of recent. Since he started going over to his brother's house more. Why hadn't she made the connection? There would be no reason to now that she thought about it.

 

Almost fifty and she'd never had a child. A baby she'd always wanted.

 

Having a baby now--

 

She would have done it.

 

A baby.

 

For a moment she pictured it--it would be a girl.

 

Then she realized whose baby it was.

 

Thoughts flitted through her mind. She raising the daughter.

 

Matt wasn't in the picture.

 

And neither was her sister-in-law.

 

And then she thought--

 

No, no, don't go there.

 

But in her mind she saw the scene. Occasionally, she was psychic. Was this one of those times? Or just her imagination acting up? The imagination that Matt said she didn't have.

 

Her mind wanted to go there, was there, but her body was afraid. She didn't want to see. She squeezed her eyes shut as though it mattered for viewing on the big screen in her mind.

 

Her brother-in-law, the same puzzled looked on his face, goes home, finds them--in her mind she saw them on the sofa--gets his gun but isn't sure who to shoot first. Matt overpowers him, knocks him out. They take him out to the garage, where he--like Matt, and like their father before them--has his workshop, prop him up in the chair, position the rifle between his legs, made sure it's his right hand on the trigger, and--

 

"Bring me a bigger spoon. What the hell do you think I am--a kid?"

 

Jerking herself back from the garage at her brother-in-law's to her kitchen was painful. As though she had left some internal body parts behind. That was always the feeling she had before in one of her psychic trances.

 

She moved slowly, stiffly to the cutlery drawer. Her vision was blank, her hand shaky as she reached for the spoon. She wasn't sure she could make it into the living room. She tried to gather in the missing parts from the air around her, clutching the door frame with one hand, guiding herself to Matt's chair, each step painful as though she had just had a hysterectomy without anaesthesia. She handed him the spoon. He took it without looking at her, digging into the applesauce, apples from her brother's tree.

 

That's why the vision had been so strong. She had been standing next to the jar he himself had prepared. The last person to touch those apples and the jar had been her brother-in-law.

 

The vision was gone, nothing more to be seen in her mind's eye. She had to sit down. She went into the dining room. A room with french doors on two walls. Her room. Matt's imprint was not in it at all. He rarely set foot in the room. Too fancy for him. He was a meat and potatoes guy in the kitchen--or the living room--where he had taken to having her serve him on a tray, so he wouldn't have to move from the TV.

 

The dining room held her mother's crystal--eight of everything--china and silver. Almost like a museum. Maybe that's why she liked it, memories of her childhood were clear and bright in her when she closed the french door to the hallway. The smell of her childhood.

 

She dropped onto a chair, every nerve in her body vibrating, her heart pounding, she felt faint. But she knew it would pass. She should lie down, but she didn't want to go to the bedroom where Matt's presence was strong. She wanted to stay here in the quiet coolness of her childhood when life was simpler, happier.

 

Slowly, the fog in her mind began to clear, her heart slowed its pace and her breathing became normal.

 

What should she do?

 

If they had killed Matt's brother, were they thinking the same fate for her? But, why? Matt could just divorce her, no need to kill her. They killed him in the heat of the moment, he had threatened them.  

 

Should she tell the police her suspicions? As far as she knew they had written it off as suicide. How could they go back to check anything now? A great lethargy came over her at the thought.

 

No, she wouldn't do that.

 

What would she do?

 

She put her head down cradled by her arms on the table, smelling the furniture polish, the same kind her mother had used.

 

The next thing she knew, Matt was calling her. He stood in the hallway just outside the french door. Wouldn't even touch the knob.

 

"I'm going out," he said through the glass. "Don't know when I'll be back." The he left.

 

Going to his sister-in-law's?

 

Selena didn't think so, more likely to the village bar, Monday night football with the guys so he wouldn't hear the phone ring or any of its messages

 

The only thing she knew at the moment was that her marriage was over. She felt nothing for Matt now. All her tenderness, feelings of caring were gone, vanished like the vision of her brother-in-law's garage.

 

Perversely, she decided to call his sister-in-law. Probe a little, after all she could be imagining everything. Maybe her life hadn't changed radically after all, maybe everything was just the same--a faithful, non-murdering Matt.

 

It didn't matter, she was finished, had cut her losses, namely Matt, and was moving on. To where, she had no idea. Certainly not moving out of the house, Matt would have to do that. Let him move in with his sister-in-law, let her serve his meals on a tray while he watched TV.

 

She felt light, free, as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. maybe the reason Matt hadn't made love to her for a long time was because she hadn't wanted him to, maybe her body language had turned him off. maybe he was getting older and losing testosterone and didn't have the randy drive that he had when he was younger. Maybe he had gone through his male menopause.

 

Maybe that's why he was making sandwiches with his sister-in-law, maybe he knew he was losing his drive and wanted to get it back, maybe he could get it back with another woman, maybe that's what he thought.

 

No matter. The tension, the tightness in her shoulders was gone. Now she was unfettered by the anchor that was Matt. She could do as she pleased without worrying about whether she was pleasing Matt or not.

 

Selena thought about Matt's medical history and how his father and uncles had died. A disposition for clogged arteries, heart disease because of high cholesterol. To keep him alive that's why she had served him the right stuff.

 

Did he appreciate it? No. He snuck off to Perfectly Sweet, and the Cold Stone Creamery. She knew that. She found the pastry and ice cream cone wrappers in the car shoved under the driver's seat. Maybe he left it there to taunt her. Say "up yours."

 

He didn't seem to realize she was trying to save his life.

 

Maybe he didn't care. Maybe he was trying to commit suicide. Atonement for his brother's death.

 

Well--now, neither did she care.

 

Let him eat the huge chunk of fat off the lamb. Let him gobble up pastries and ice cream, put mayonnaise on everything and eat all kinds of high cholesterol items in existence. And she knew what they were. Knew them by heart so that she would be sure not to serve them to Matt.

 

She thought about the lovely baby again. It could never be hers. Matt would never want it. Especially now that it would remind him of why his brother committed suicide.

 

Her sister-in-law was healthy as the proverbial horse. The only way she could die would be if she ate her husband's hunting rifle. If he did. There's no way that would happen.

 

Although--maybe a little herbal tea, with maybe a little something to make her relax. Selena ran through all the herbs she know. Hmmm.

 

Her sister-in-law had no relatives. Actually, she had been an orphan. She, Selena was the most logical person to take the baby. That's if its mother died.

 

She cradled the baby in her arms for a moment and felt its warmth against her breasts. She'd never be able to nurse it. Which brought her to another question. She wanted the baby to have its mother's milk, so how long should that be? She'd have to find that out. She knew it at one time but now she couldn't remember. She felt dizzy.

 

Oh, she'd forgotten to eat. She'd better have something. Force the food down. She had things to do. She couldn't play at being Elizabeth Barrett Browning at this point.

 

The phone rang. She made no move to answer it.

 

Telemarketers, Matt would say. But Selena knew that he was afraid it would be his sister-in-law.

 

It was.

 

"Matt, please, please, call me. It's so important. I'm going absolutely crazy and you are the only one who can help me. The only one in the whole world." A sob. "Please, Matt." The latter said in a softer tone, a wheedling tone. Pleading.

 

Selena choked. A coughing fit overtook her. She ran back to the kitchen and turned the tap on full blast, the plate rattled against the bottom of the sink as though trying to escape the deluge.

 

Did he have guilt about cheating on his wife? Maybe only guilt because he'd been caught. Then guilt about how his brother had handled the knowledge.

 

Committed suicide.

 

And all along she'd been trying to keep him healthy, feed him only the right food, the right amount, the right way.

 

Then she thought more. She knew where she could get cheap lamb chops. Cheap because they were so fatty.

 

If she gave him those every day, say with mashed potatoes whipped with cream and covered with butter and gravy, and a dish of ice cream--all the things he loved and she had denied him all this time--she wondered how long it would take before he'd have a massive coronary, a stroke, or whatever else could be wrought by the food.

 

And he always kept forgetting to take his cholesterol pills.

 

After all, it really wouldn't be her fault.

 

He'd really be committing suicide by eating all of that stuff.

 

Not her fault. She wasn't force feeding him. He'd be so happy and less irritable.

 

Committing suicide.

 

 

 

Author’s Bio

Gay Toltl Kinman has eight award nominations for her writing; several short stories in American and English magazines and anthologies; six children's books; Y.A. gothic novel; two adult mysteries; several short plays produced; articles in professional journals and newspapers; and co-edited two non-fiction books. Kinman has library and law degrees.

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