~ Evil Intent ~

by

H. L. Chandler

In early June, Falls Church, Virginia, trembled on the brink of summer. Soft, abundant green spread across lawns and billowed in treetops. As night approached, blue shadows stained the lingering sunlight, and wisps of hickory-scented smoke announced Sunday-evening cookouts.

Janet hated Sunday evenings.

They were a trial, something she must endure. A time spent walking on eggs, taking great care to keep Gary from becoming angry with her, or with the children. She stared out the kitchen window of their garden-type apartment. The trouble was, Gary grew restless during long, empty Sundays. When they still had the house...Janet shook her head and focused on the half-peeled potato in her hand.

The house was gone—no point thinking about it. They couldn’t afford it any longer. They were lucky to find a buyer rather than lose the house to the mortgage company. The loss of the house became one more subject she and Gary did not discuss.

A chubby baby hand tugged at Janet’s shirttail. “Is dinner ready?”

Deep in thought, she hadn’t heard Kate enter the kitchen. Janet smiled at her four-year-old daughter. Kate, of the fine, silver-blond hair and violet-blue eyes, as lovely as a white rose. And as elegant, too. Kate looked up with eyes of an unfathomable depth, her small features as calm and composed as the countenance of a wise old woman.

“Do I tell Tommy to wash his hands?”

“Not yet, sweetie. It will be a bit. Where is he?”

Kate pulled Martha, a dirty, worn rag doll, tighter to her chest and twisted a strand of the doll’s yellow yarn hair around her pudgy finger.

“He’s in the front room, with Daddy.”

“Oh? It’s quiet in there. What are they doing?”

“Daddy is writing on his papers. Tommy is playing with that red truck.”

Janet cut the potatoes into wedges; she’d brown them in the oven while she cooked hamburger patties on the small grill outside the kitchen door. When Janet had looked for an apartment, she’d searched for a ground-floor corner. She wanted the new home to be as much like the house as possible and had selected Ginger Run because of the patio, a narrow strip of grass, and a redwood privacy fence. At least it provided Kate and Tommy with a small yard of their own.

Janet set the plate of raw hamburger on a wobbly metal stand beside the grill and tossed a couple of handfuls of wet hickory chips onto the smoldering black lumps. She wished Gary would handle the outdoor cooking. She wasn’t good at it. For that matter, she didn’t much care for the electric range in the kitchen either, she thought while plopping patties onto the grill.

In eight years of marriage, she had never found time for fancy cooking. Still, her children were hale and healthy. A wisp of acrid gray smoke from the grill swept across her face. Her eyes burned with sudden tears. She jerked her head aside to avoid the caustic smoke, the sharp movement causing a spiral of her reddish-brown hair to escape the clip holding it at the top of her head.

Janet brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, and the remaining curls tumbled free. She raised her arms to capture the wild mass of auburn hair and noticed the dark streaks of charcoal from both her wrists to her elbows. With her hair secured, she frowned, licked her index finger, and rubbed at the sooty marks. Her arms were too heavy; she should start another diet. She pulled at her blue cotton shirt in an effort to correct her disheveled appearance. It was her large breasts—they were the problem. Whatever she wore either hung from that jutting ledge, or stretched tight and twisted. Who could tell—below all that, her waist was actually small.

Janet picked up the meat platter and opened the back door. She set the platter on the gray Formica countertop and turned the water tap on to wash her hands.

“Tommy! You clumsy brat!” Gary’s voice exploded in the two-bedroom apartment like a clap of thunder.

Janet and Kate froze, electrified. Kate’s ivory skin blanched milk-white, her lips puckered to a tight rosebud, and she gripped Martha in a stranglehold. Her firm little chin lifted as if to keep her head above the strife. Her expressive violet eyes went dark, shutting off communication. Kate withdrew, becoming more a beautiful china figurine than a flesh-and-blood child.

As Janet watched the instant coldness settle over Kate, her heart pounded, and from that hard, thudding spot under her ribs, a tide of hot blood gushed through her. Her neck and face burned as though they had burst into flame. At the same instant, her feet thawed and she bolted for the front room.

Tommy cowered on the floor beside the coffee table. Gary stood over him, a bunch of wet, dripping papers in his clenched fist. At thirty-five, Gary had faint traces of silver in his blond hair, and fine lines webbed the corners of his blue eyes. His eyes were like bits of a pale summer sky. Yet, sometimes those eyes turned cold. Lately, it seemed that the icy sheen never left them.

A puddle of foaming Coors beer spread across the coffee table and dribbled over the edge. Janet raced to Tommy and lifted him by his shoulders. The small bones beneath his tee-shirt trembled, brittle as glass under her fingers.

“What happened?” Janet asked.

“What does it look like? Your worthless son drenched the last prospectus I have on this fund. You know, Janet, you spend money like we have a closetful. But you don’t do a damn thing to help earn it. I have no space to work at home, not even a desk. Our home...what a laugh.”

Janet crossed her arms over Tommy’s chest, hugging him to her the way Kate hugged Martha. “Tommy didn’t mean to do it. Did you, Tommy?”

Tommy moved his head from side to side against her stomach. She should send him into the kitchen, but what good would that do? He could still hear. Gary lifted a file folder off the coffee table and shook it. Drops of beer flew across the couch.

“Don’t stand there. Help me clean this,” Gary said.

Janet hurried to clear the papers off the coffee table and looked over her shoulder at Tommy.

“Tommy, bring some paper towels, please.”

Tommy spun around, gone in a flash. Six-year-old Tommy, with brown hair and eyes and sleek tan skin, moved with the speed of a disappearing otter. She was glad he hadn’t tried to defend himself. That always sent Gary into a rage. By nature, Tommy was a fighter. However, he had learned that he could not win where Gary was concerned. Gary elbowed Janet aside and grabbed the folder out of her hands.

“Get out of the way—you’re making it worse.”

Janet stumbled, and the green shag carpet squished under her feet. She stooped to pick up the sixteen-ounce, clear glass mug beside the coffee table leg. From the look of the carpet, the mug had been full when Tommy knocked it over.

Tommy ran across the room and shoved a roll of Bounty towels into her hand. Then he whirled on the toe of his tennis shoe and left. A minute later, he led Kate from the kitchen into the hallway toward the safety of the bedrooms.

Gary jerked the roll of towels from Janet and tore off a long string of paper. She tried to help, but Gary shoved her away. Tears jumped to her eyes, and she choked back a sob. Another evening ruined. Peace in their family was a thing of the past.