Suddenly, the car is rocked by an explosion and the sky briefly fills with a flash of light. I allow myself a smile at the perfect timing.
“What the hell?” Pock-face is alarmed. He hops out of the car and disappears into the night. The two squad cars that were staked out in front of my house flip on their sirens and drive off. When Miles returns he’s out of breath, so excited. Nothing bad ever happens in Grandville so this is big news.
“A house just down the street exploded, man, I called the fire squad and they already were dispatched. You should see it, Clark. The house is like totally gone. Gas leak or something. Stuff we read about, man, hope everybody got out.”
Despite the childish description, I’m pleased. As he climbs back in the car, two fire engines and two emergency squads blare down the street, full lights, loud sirens. They won’t need the paramedics, but only I know that.
“We have to take this guy in,” Clark says in a commanding voice.
“Yes, all the neighbors will be awake now. Let’s get moving, shall we? I’d like to deal with this little misunderstanding and get back to my life,” I say. And it’s true. Up and down my street the neighborhood is coming to life, lights flipping on, housewives in bathrobes and men in boxers spilling out of their happy little homes. Tragedy is such a magnet, isn’t it? These are my neighbors, drawn like moths to a flame, or in this case, drawn to a gaping foundation where a tidy home used to be. Soon, these same neighbors will be gossiping about me, about our marriage falling apart. I don’t like failure and this, my empty, loveless house, feels like defeat.
“Buddy, with the size of that explosion, your visit to the station won’t even make the news,” Pock-face says. As if I want to make the news.
“What a shame,” I remark. But he is wrong. I am important. Our family’s deconstruction will be the talk of the town. After Greg and Doris Boone’s unfortunate slip into poverty, that is. “Can we go now?”
Officer Clark laughs as he flips on the bright lights of his squad car and we roll out of my driveway and into the still-dark night. Through the window of the police car I see two bright stars, the cat eyes of Scorpio’s tail, rising in the sky.
Mia’s a Scorpio, did I mention that?
One Year Later
Epilogue
One of the best things about standing along the shore of Lake Erie on a brisk May evening is the color of the sparkling water as it reflects the setting sun. Tonight, the water is swirled with purple and orange as it laps the rocks lining the shore.
“Mom!” Sam yells. He and Mikey are playing on the swings in the park just behind me. I turn and look at my little boy and smile. “Look how high I’m going!”
“That’s great, baby,” I say, twisting my guardian angel bracelet around my wrist. I had tucked the lucky bracelet into the glove box of Paul’s car that day, hoping to protect myself, and as a reminder you’re never alone. It was a token of faith, and a symbol I’d started believing in myself again. I haven’t taken it off since. My heart is full at Sam’s happiness. He is seven now; his blond hair grows just a bit darker every year. But ever since my separation from Paul—our exorcism from Paul, as I think of it—at times, everything else about Sam is lighter. It’s the same with all of us. I guess I didn’t realize how strong denial is, how much I had put up with from my husband.
It wasn’t just the multiple infidelities that ground me down, it was the little ways he made me feel insignificant and small each day. Checking on me to make sure I was at home with the kids each day, making sure I didn’t find time to keep up with my friends, coming between me and my parents. I let it all happen and I feel such shame, still, for putting my children through it, for the close call that I barely survived. Because even though he never physically hurt my boys, he damaged me at the cellular level and my boys felt that. I’m not just referring to the poison. I’m so much stronger now.
“I’m higher,” Mikey says. He’s about to turn nine, and he has to be the winner of everything the two boys do. It’s usually not a problem. Mikey looks the most like Paul, especially in the eyes. But he is not his father’s son. Despite his competitive spirit, he has a kind and giving heart. He is open and honest. He remembers the most about his father’s behavior, his authoritarian dominance. Despite my fog of denial, he was watching. He felt my suffering, my isolation, my tiptoeing. My lack of self-confidence was clear, and painful, to my oldest son even as a small child. But there is hope. Our counselor says Mikey will be fine, that both of the boys will be. She worries most about me, my ability to move on past the shame and guilt: because I should have saved all of us sooner. She tells me to focus on the positive. I got away. Some never do.
“You’re really swinging high, Mikey,” I say. “Can you touch the stars with your tennis shoes?”
“Of course not, Mom,” he answers. But the grin on his face makes me think he is imagining just that.
I hug myself with my arms, smiling as I feel the roll of fat that’s returned to my center. Now that I’m not being poisoned, I’ve been slowly gaining weight. I embrace it as a sign of health, and happiness. I’m almost finished with the dialysis treatments, bowel cleansing and IV chelation. I’ll be under the care of a doctor to make sure all of the arsenic is cleansed from my system. But I’m encouraged. I’m going to get better. I have color in my face again. I look healthy. The opposite of what I looked like as an attempted murder victim. I still try to eat healthy foods, but I’m not so vigilant anymore. French fries are totally back on the menu. And the kids and I even shared a cheese pizza at Sloopy’s for lunch. Turns out, cheese wasn’t the culprit, my husband was.
A chill spreads up my spine as I think of Paul. He posted bail the night of his arrest and no one has heard from him since. Buck’s guys followed him back to our house, where he picked up a suitcase and headed out of town. They stopped following him in Cincinnati, turning it over to another team who tracked him all the way to Palm Beach, Florida. That explained the pink polo shirt they photographed him wearing as he drove away. But not a lot else.