Dave Zeltserman - Small crimes

She seemed happy as a lark as she prepared dinner. I could hear her humming softly to the music. Every so often she'd look over at me and smile. And I made sure to smile back.

I tried to picture her killing those people, but I couldn't do it, at least not the version of Charlotte that was now in the kitchen. The other version I could see doing it, the mousy and nervous version that I'd first met at the hospital, but not this one. The mousy, nervous one, though, I had no problem with. I could picture her holding the morphine syringe. I could see her face set in rigid concentration as she emptied the narcotic into the patient's IV tubing. I could see the relief washing over her as the patient slipped into respiratory failure. But it almost didn't seem possible that that was the same woman who was now in the kitchen humming happily to herself.

I guess I could understand why Charlotte did what she did. I committed so many crimes to keep from literally drowning in gambling debts. In her own way, she murdered those four patients to keep from suffocating. While she didn't know about all the things I'd done, she knew about Phil. I guess at some level, we understood each other.

Charlotte had left the kitchen and was bringing over a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

'Dinner's cooking in the oven,' she said. 'Would you like to open the wine?'

'Sure.'

She handed me the bottle, and I uncorked it.

'Wait,' she said, and she went quickly into the kitchen and came back carrying a tray holding two wineglasses and a plate of cheese. She placed the tray on the coffee table.

I thought we could sit here together until dinner is ready.' she said.

I finished my Scotch, and then poured us both some wine. Charlotte joined me on the loveseat. At first she sat with her hands clasped and her arms held tightly into her body, but after I put my arm around her shoulder, she moved close to me, curling her legs under her and resting her head against my side.

It felt nice sitting with her. I know it sounds crazy, knowing what she had done, but it wasn't as if I was much of a choirboy myself. Body-count-wise, she might've had an edge, but not by much, and not if you included the maimed and wounded. I even found myself feeling attracted to her. It made me uneasy thinking about Manny and what I was going to force her to do. I decided it could wait until later.

She brought me out of my thoughts by asking whether I liked the wine. I told her I did. Usually I preferred beer, but I did like the taste of it. I squinted at the bottle and saw that it was a French Chardonnay.

'It feels good sitting here with you,' I said, and again, I was mostly telling her the truth.

I could feel her body tense. 'You must've sat like this with your wife many times,' she said.

I thought about it and realized I never did. It wasn't as if every moment between Elaine and me was hell, but I couldn't think of one time where I felt as comfortable and relaxed with Elaine as I did right then.

'To tell you the truth,' I said, I don't think we ever did.'

She turned to me, not quite believing what I said, but I could see in her eyes that she was hoping I wasn't bullshitting her.

'You're lying now,' she said, half serious.

'No, I'm not. Elaine and I got together when we were teenagers. Back then we were always sneaking around and trying not to get caught. Things between us always seemed hectic and rushed. We were only nineteen when we were married, and then we were just scraping by. I had joined the force, and all the stresses of the job. And…'

And then there were the payoffs, the graft, the small crimes. At some point early on a coldness had come between Elaine and me. Not long after that came the cocaine, the gambling, and all the rest.

I shook my head, trying to shake loose those old memories. 'I guess I got married too young,' I said.

Her body relaxed after that. She put her hand on my stomach and peeked at me to see how I would react to her gesture. I reached down and kissed her forehead. As I sat with her I tried to forget everything, about who I was and what she was. I tried to forget everything that had happened and everything that was going to happen. I tried to simply enjoy the moment, because I've had so few in my life where I felt any real sense of contentment.

The buzzer for the oven timer went off.

She pulled away from me and showed me a reluctant smile. "Why don't you bring the wineglasses to the table and I'll get dinner,' she said.

The table was in a small area off to the side of the living room. Charlotte had already set it, using a linen tablecloth and placing two silver candlesticks in the middle of it. I put down the wineglasses, and sat and waited. Not long after, Charlotte came in with the food. Along with the chicken, she had made roasted potatoes and string beans.

She lit the two candles and then sat across from me. I watched as she started cutting her food into tiny bite-sized pieces. Like before, after every few bites she'd dab at her mouth with her napkin. She was beaming. I could tell the food was good, but thinking about what I was going to do made it tasteless. Still, I ate it and remarked to her how delicious her cooking was, and that made her beam all the more.

'You really like it?' she asked.

'Could be the best meal I've ever had,' I said.

We both sat and ate quietly after that. Charlotte seemed deep in thought, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. She didn't exactly look troubled, but her brow was somewhat furrowed and some nervousness had crept back into her eyes. She coughed lightly to get my attention.

'Mr. Vassey's son asked me about you today,' she said. 'He wanted to know how I knew you.'

'What did you tell him?'

'He had seen me in your car, so I told him that I didn't know you but that you were kind enough to offer me a ride home when my car wouldn't run.'

'Did he believe you?'

'I think so, yes.' Her small, pale face darkened. I don't like him at all. I think he's also a criminal like his father.' She paused. 'You're not involved with him, are you?'

'No, I'm not. Anything between the two of us goes back to when I was a police officer. And you're right, Charlotte, he is a criminal and he's dangerous. You should try to keep away from him.'

She had handed me the perfect opening to bring up Manny, but I didn't have the heart to do it. The least I could do was let her enjoy her dinner. As it was, talking about Junior had darkened her mood. I tried to change the subject by asking how she had learned to cook so well.

She showed me a shy smile. 'My cooking is nothing special,' she said.

'Who are you kidding? You must've gone to culinary school.’

‘Only for a year.' Then, hesitating, lowering her voice, 'My father convinced me that nursing would be more practical.’

‘You don't like nursing, do you?'

She looked down at her plate. I didn't think she was going to say anything, but she told me, 'Not particularly, no.'

'You should go back to culinary school,' I said. 'We could both start fresh together. Only I have to first figure out what I could do.'

I don't know if I was bullshitting her, or playing for time, or what, but I think I actually started believing it was possible. I guess the last thing I wanted to do was think of Manny.

There was some wetness around her eyes when she looked back up at me. Not much, but some.

'Do you have any ideas what you would like to do, Joe?'

I did have one idea. Something I felt in my gut. 'I'd like to travel. Maybe go to Europe,' I said.

'Really?'

'I'm forty years old and I've never been out of the state, except for Albany, and a one-day trip to Boston.' And Canada for a couple of hours, but I didn't mention that.

I stopped to take a bite of food, and after swallowing, added, 'I used to be content with the idea of living out my life in Bradley, but those days are long gone.' I laughed. 'Kind of pathetic, huh? I don't know, I just want to see some of the world before I die.'