M Sellars - The End Of Desire

As she looked back at me now, her ivory complexion appeared ghostly white beneath the stark contrast of the straight-banged, retro hairstyle. I knew I didn’t have a say in the matter. It was her hair, not mine. But, I’d never seen her with short hair before, much less any color other than her natural red, so I was more than just a little taken aback.

“But what?” she asked, prompting me for the rest of my aborted sentence.

“You just look… Well… Different.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted.”

“Really different,” I repeated with added emphasis.

“You don’t like it?” she asked.

“It’s not that… It’s just… I mean… I just think it’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Gonna be kinda hard ta’ call ya’ Firehair now,” Ben announced from his seat at the table.

“Aye, the color is temporary,” Felicity replied, twisting a lock of her new coif around her finger and pulling it up where she could glance at it from the corner of her eye. “It will wash out over the next couple of weeks. Of course, if I decide I like it I can get a more permanent dye job.”

“Could we maybe just take things one step at a time?” I appealed.

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I was only kidding. I like my natural color.”

I tried not to be obvious about my relieved sigh but failed miserably. Fortunately, she took it in stride and merely grinned.

“Well, I’ll say this much,” I offered. “You definitely seem to be in a better mood than you were when we left earlier.”

“Aye, it’s amazing what getting your hair done will do for your attitude,” she replied with a smile. “Now, what are we going to have for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Well, after you two finish gettin’ packed, we can pick up somethin’ on the way to my place,” Ben offered. “I’ll buy.”

“Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you,” Felicity replied. “I changed my mind. We’re staying here.”

“You’re what?” he asked, a healthy note of surprise in his tone.

“Don’t worry,” my wife replied, her demeanor remaining entirely nonchalant. “I’ll still let you buy.”

“Are you going to need to run home for some fresh clothes or anything?” I asked.

“No,” Ben replied with a shake of his head. “Got an overnight bag in the van for emergencies.”

“Emergencies?”

“Yeah, emergencies,” he repeated, shooting me an obvious you know what I mean kind of look.

“Oh, like when you stay over at Con…”

“Yeah,” he said, cutting me off before I could get any more than the first syllable of Constance’s name out of my mouth. “Emergencies.”

In the context of his profession as a cop, the subject of sex was never a stumbling block in conversations. It was just another part of the job, and he would discuss it with unabashed candor as long as it applied to a crime at hand. When it came to his personal life, and especially that of his friends, however, simply hinting at it could send him into an almost painful fit of modesty.

You just never knew with Ben. On rare occasions, he would make a comment filled with sexual innuendo or even publicly flirt like there was no tomorrow. But, more often than not, even a casual mention of anything remotely related to sex was taboo where he was concerned-even a comment as innocuous as him spending the night at his girlfriend’s apartment.

Obviously, tonight was one of those times when the subject was off-limits. It was a good thing Felicity was downstairs in her office finishing up a project for one of her clients, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any peace at all. She always seemed to take great pleasure in making him squirm whenever he displayed his timidity on the matter.

At the moment, my friend and I were standing on the front porch, each with a cigar smoldering beneath a crooked finger. Since Felicity was in the house alone, we left the front door standing open with only the glass of the storm door to keep the cold from seeping in. It wasn’t exactly energy efficient, but Ben insisted on having a clear view of the interior. Ostensibly, it was so he could keep an eye out in case Annalise was to elect to come here, somehow slip around us, and break in through the back door. However, I knew such reasoning was nothing more than a convoluted excuse. He really wanted to be sure Felicity stayed put. Ever since her earlier excursion, he had been preoccupied with her uncharacteristic behavior. He hadn’t said as much just yet, but I could tell it was coming.

Our attempts to reason with my wife over her decision to remain here had gotten us nowhere fast. She had decided that we were staying here in our own home, and there didn’t seem to be anything either of us could say to dissuade her from it. With each appeal, she had countered with any one of several reasons such as work, or the animals. All of which were easily dismissed. However, logic, or at least our version thereof, wasn’t something she seemed interested in embracing. She had stood her ground, and in the end it all came down to her stating in a matter of fact tone, “Because I’ve made up my mind, and that’s how it’s going to be.”

Short of actually placing us both in protective custody, which for all intents and purposes meant under arrest, there was little Ben could do other than give in. He did, however, make his own proclamation, that being very simply-if we weren’t coming to stay with him, then he was staying with us. Fortunately, my wife didn’t seem to have a problem with that compromise.

“Listen, Kemosabe, don’t take this the wrong way,” Ben started carefully after a lengthy silence. “But, I think your wife has gone right over the fuckin’ edge.”

Finally, he was dropping the bomb I had been expecting all evening.

“I’m hoping it’s just an after effect of the shock,” I replied.

“So, it ain’t just me? You think she’s actin’ flaky too?”

“I don’t know if flaky is the word I’d use, but she’s definitely not acting like herself. And, yeah, I’m a little concerned. Not as much as you though, apparently.”

“Jeezus, Row, she went and got all ‘er damn hair cut off and dyed black. Then she decided on ‘er own that you two are stayin’ here, and wouldn’t even listen… Sheesh… If that ain’t flaky I don’t know what is.”

I waited a moment, struggling with the memory of my earlier conversation with her out on the deck. I’d kept it to myself, but now it was hard not to mention it.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” I began, hesitation in my voice. “But, earlier today… Before you and I left for the crime scene… She was having a bit of an emotional crisis.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replied. “That’s kinda obvious.”

I continued. “She told me she couldn’t feel sorry for Lewis. In fact, she said he deserved it.”

My friend turned to look at me with a deep frown creasing his face. “And you’re just now mentionin’ this?”

“It may be a symptom of post-traumatic stress,” I offered. “She’s been through way too much the past couple of months. Put that together with the shock…” I shrugged. “It concerns me, but I’m not sure if it’s something to get worked up over or not.”

“Your wife told you that Lewis deserved to die?” he posed the question like a statement. “Row, that’s just not like ‘er.”

“I know,” I replied. “Believe me, I know. But, Helen told me after everything that’s happened, she would probably have some emotional issues for a while. A feeling of disconnection. Possible identity issues. She even said there was a good chance she might have some manic-depressive type of mood swings.” After a short pause I added, “She’s definitely seen some moments of depression since she’s been home. So I have to assume that’s what’s happening now.”