Pretty Pink Flowers

My husband is going to kill me.

My husband is going to come home in three days time and he is going to kill me.

Eli Sanders is going to kill me if I do not think of a plan.

I know this is a fact because he told me himself when he told me before the cops arrived and took him. He swore that when he got home, he was going to bury me in a shallow grave and I had no reason to not believe him. Eli was never a man to go back on anything but his wedding vows. 

Wren is wailing inside her crib. I don’t know if she can sense how disturbed I am, or if she’s just being a typical infant. Normally I would cuddle her and try to decipher what has made her so fussy, but I can’t bring myself to get up from the floor. I want to continue burying my head into my knees and force my brain to make sense again. I want to be able to feel like I can breathe. Right now it feels like the entire world is weighing down on my lungs.

Eli has a friend bailing him out in three days. July 6th is a Thursday this year. One of his best friends was getting the money together and going to post the ten-thousand-dollar bail for him. 

He will come for me. He will try to kill me.

But how do I stop him? 

Eli isn’t small. His hands could snap me in half if I just lay there and let him. He weighs nearly twice my weight and there’s no way in hell I could beat him in a fight. 

Do I call the cops and beg for refuge? Run and pray he can’t find me, but where do I go? My dad won’t answer my calls anymore after our last nasty fight. My mum hasn’t spoken to me since I was thirteen. Should I try and find a sitter for Wren at the least? Would he hurt Wren?

What if he did? 

What if he hurt my baby?

Wren screams louder, her shrill voice making my head throb. Nothing can bring you out of a nervous breakdown like a baby’s screams. Especially if it’s your baby.

I pull myself off the floor and take Wren out of the crib. It takes rocking, humming, and gently patting her back until she finally settles again. Her cheeks are red from her tears and her hands grip the loose strands of my hair. Wren doesn’t pull my hair, not often at least, but she always tries to hold onto some part of me. Usually, she holds my finger, as if knowing I am there comforts her. My beautiful little bird. My gentle Wren. She’s the only person I have in this awful place. She is my only family left. I am her only family. 

How could I ever let myself be stolen from her? How could I rob her of comfort and love? 

Where would be the justice in that?

Soon I am just staring at her. It’s just the two of us, standing in the middle of her nursery. This is not the most uncommon occurrence. Wren is only a few months old so I’ve done this plenty of times. This is the first time I’ve ever felt scared for her. I am so terrified that this could be the last time I get to hold Wren. I am even more terrified that this is one of the last times she will be held with love and care. Eli wouldn’t do this. Wren cried most times he held her.

My arms ache the longer I hold her. Some of the bruises haven’t faded from Eli. Why does standing still make me feel more anxious? I don’t even know what to do but stare at Wren. I want to just lose myself in her. I want it to just be my baby and me. I want us to be safe.

I close my eyes, tucking my nose down towards her soft hair. She’s starting to fall back to sleep. “I love you. Mummy loves you so much, little bird.”

She doesn’t answer, but I know she loves me too, in her tiny little heart. I wait until she falls asleep before gently laying her back into her crib. 

Just as I pass over the creaky fifth step, I hear the doorbell ring. My heart seizes up inside of my chest and I can feel all the air in my tight lungs vanish. My fist curls around the railing so tight I think if I really tried I can snap it off.

Was he home? Has someone posted his bail early? Why was he here? Why? What did he have? What was he thinking?

My mouth opens as I try to take in any amount of oxygen I can. I nearly slip down the stairs as I move down. Why won’t my legs stop? What would I even do if I stopped on the steps?

The front door is shut, and there’s no way to look out of it nearby. For such a big house, Eli’s family did not seem to like natural light windows. I can’t see him looming on the other side door, with his fists curled up into a ball and that vein popping in his neck. I can’t see the way his face turns red with all that anger inside of him. There is nothing I can do now. 

Do I run? No. 

Do I try to reach my phone?

What to do? What are my options? 

“Veronica!” A high-pitched, feminine voice. 

I gasped, and I felt my heart finally start to beat again. 

Not yet. 

I open the door after a moment’s composure, and Lisa Thatcher is standing on the other side. Her yellow blouse is so painfully bright to my eyes. Her brown hair is pulled up behind her in a wavy ponytail. She is the spitting image of a classic Southern belle. 

She grins at me, lifting a foil-covered pan. “Hi!”

“Hi Lisa.” Why now?

“I brought you some brownies. I figured you could use a little pick-me up.”

Lisa thrusts the tray towards me. Reluctantly, I force myself to take the pan from her. I’ll throw them out when she’s gone. 

“Thank you.” 

Her grin finally dies down a little, and she folds her arms. She’s noticeably more covered up than I have ever seen Lisa. Then again, there are no men here.

“How have you been? How’s that cute little baby?”

Lisa was one of those people who thought she was entitled to touch and hold every baby. Whether the person wanted to let her or not. When I was pregnant I would try to wear thicker clothes when she was around to avoid feeling her hands. 

“She’s sleeping.”

“Oh…Well, how have you been, Veronica? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve just been trying to rest.”

I want her to leave. I don’t have time to talk and dance around the elephant on the porch. There’s no reason. Why won’t she just take a hint?

Lisa nods sympathetically. “We’re all here for you. The ladies down at church were worried they didn’t see you on Sunday.” 

“Wren was fussy. I’ll try to talk to them soon.” 

Wren had actually been remarkably well on Sunday, I just didn’t want to go to church with all those bruises. My body was still aching. I did not want to go sit in a pew surrounded by people who would only stare at me, and then try to dance around asking the real questions. Not like any of them were even on my side of things. I’m forever the outsider here. The girl with the “posh” accent. 

I shift my weight to my right foot. Lisa can not read body language well. That or she doesn’t care.

“You know everyone is here for you both. Anything you, Wren, or Eli need, we’re here. I know how difficult it must be,” Lisa says. “The church held a prayer for your family.”

“I’ll send them my thanks next Sunday,” I say. 

If I make it to Sunday. The next time I enter a church might be as a corpse, if I even get that privilege.  

“We know already, Veronica. We’ll keep praying until Eli and you make it out of this rough patch.”

She keeps rambling. Lisa ends up on a spiel about how hard marriage can be. Lisa has never been married, but I don’t try to engage. I end up staring off past her, away towards the woods. 

Eli’s family home was settled on a large piece of land, and after a while some of it became woods. The woods stretched off the deed to the land for miles. It was a quiet place. It was almost serene when I was alone. Sometimes I dreamed about just walking into those woods and never turning back. Now all I could see out there was a possible gravesite. Even the things I used to love about this place, I now hated.

Flowers are blooming far away. There are yellow and pink flowers blooming from what I can see on the porch. I only like the color pink on flowers. Pretty pink flowers. So gentle. There are a lot of different kinds of pink flowers that grow here. I know all their names. Wren was almost named after a flower, but I liked Wren just a little more than I did the name, Daisy.

There are peonies, primroses, and oleander. 

Oleander. 

“Veronica?”

I look quickly at Lisa. Her left brow is raised. I must have spaced out.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“I’m sorry. I should go,” I say. “I need to get the rest of my laundry done.”

Lisa lights up like a firework. “Oh! I can help!”

“No, no, there’s no need. I’ve got it.” I step back closer to the door. “Thank you again for the brownies. I’ll get you your pan back soon.”

Lisa seemed a little disappointed, but she didn’t push. “You get it back to me on your own time, I’ve got plenty. Will I see you around soon?”

“I’m sure. Goodbye, Lisa.”

“Good day.” 

I got right inside, locking the door behind me.

The tray feels heavier in my hands. My heart is beating inside my ears as I stare forward at nothing in particular. Could I do this? With so little time, could I do it? 

Wren’s baby photos are hanging on the wall. She was only a few weeks old in that photo, bundled up in a pastel blanket with a little matching hat. She was the cutest little thing I had ever seen in the world. I can feel tears in my eyes.

I know what I have to do for us.

 

The blender whirs loudly in the kitchen as I keep my hands pressed over the lid. The rubber gloves aren’t exactly the easiest to work with, but I’ve managed this far. I don’t think I’ve taken off my gloves for more than two hours, and it’s only been to scrub them raw and then nurse Wren. Once all the contents inside are blended, I pour them into the glass. The smell of the alcohol repulses me, but it is necessary. The Everclear bottle is empty now, but I don’t throw it into a bin. I set it carefully on the table. 

The prescription bottle is there too. The bright orange stands out against the dark wood of the table. Eli only had a few doses of it left, with extra from the days he had missed in jail. It looks exactly like the medication he has been taking for the past three months. He was supposed to stop after two weeks, but God knows he didn’t. 

For a holy town like this one, it is remarkably easy to self-medicate.

“What’s the saying?” I mumble to myself. “Sin now and repent later? Probably.”

The town lived by the saying. Everyone had some dirty little secret that people whispered about, but no one ever really spoke about it except in their quiet groups. I remember when I was still dating Eli and he introduced me to his friends and their wives. I had never really heard so much gossip, not even in high school. All the people here seemed to talk about each other. Which, in complete honesty with myself, I had done my fair share of too at points. When you talk about others, it makes you look better if you seem to agree with them. Eli had always agreed with people. He was a fantastic actor, as much as I hated to admit that. His acting was the reason no one would believe what I said. 

It was the same reason I was stupid enough to love him. He noticed me and thought my accent was funny, but he noticed me. He showed me the charming southern gentleman and I fell right into his trap. I was so stupid back then. I can’t afford to be stupid anymore.

The clock on the old microwave reads six thirty-eight.

I take off my gloves before quickly going to the door. The shotgun is lying near the corner and I pick it up and pull it close. Firing it would not be the ideal situation, but it was a good thing to keep on hand. I press my back to the space beside the front door and take a deep breath.

“Bloody hell this better work,” I whisper to myself. 

Wren is sleeping. I got her to sleep only half an hour ago before I set up the drink. I have some white noise playing for her, so hopefully she won’t wake up when this happens. If she does, I’ll have to rearrange some things. 

I rest the chamber of the gun against my forehead and wait. The shotgun was not a weapon I used often. My father taught me how to use a handgun when I was thirteen, just a few months after he got full custody of me. “For safety,” he had told me, though I haven’t carried one yet. The guns in this house are not mine. I have only used this particular gun once before. The shot shook my entire body when I fired it and Eli had laughed boisterously about it. This was before I was pregnant with Wren when I was even smaller. 

Still, all I can think about as I hold this gun is the what-ifs. What if something goes wrong? What if he somehow does outsmart me and he kills me? What if he shoots me? What if I succeed? 

Maybe I can wait it out a bit, and finish up my part here. Maybe I can take Wren back to Aberdeen in the UK and we can make a life there. She can grow up in a nicer place than this and I can raise her how I feel is best. I think Wren would love home. 

All of this is hypothetical until tonight ends. Until fate decides if Eli Sanders or I die. 

I’m brought back to the present when I hear a car pulling up to the house. The car’s engine rumbles from the short mufflers on the car. My heart stops beating as I straighten my posture and grip the gun tighter. Bloody hell, I might have a heart attack before Eli even gets home tonight.

“Now or never,” I say. God be with me tonight. Will He, even if I break one of His ten commandments?

Heavy footfalls come up the porch, surely shaking the old wood. The screen door wheezes as it’s yanked open and the metal frame rattles when it hits the wall. Eli seems to fumble for a moment as he yanks the doorknob and swings the door open. 

He steps inside onto the floor, missing me completely as he slams the door behind him. The layout of the kitchen is ideal. Standing behind the door, he had no chance to see me when he came inside. I jerk the gun, lift the muzzle and point it toward his back. His head swivels and his dark brown eyes settle onto me. They’re wild and full of hatred. His upper lip raises like a dog snarling.

“Veronica-”

“One wrong move,” I say. “One wrong move and I’ll blow your spine out.”

I lift the gun just a little closer, my finger just above the trigger. Until now, I’ve never seen Eli look scared before. Every time before, I have been the one to cower and look fearful. Eli has seen me cower in damn near every corner of this old house. A part of me wants to relish this moment in the kitchen. I want to take a photo of his face and remember that he is the one who is afraid now. This time he’s the one who has to be scared.

“Veronica…Hey,” he says. “There’s no reason for that Baby.”

The pet name repulses me. I keep my eyes focused on him. “Shut up. Go sit at the table. If you move anywhere else, I will shoot you.”

I can see his throat bob as he swallows. He turns to look ahead and stiffly moves towards the wooden table. I keep the gun aimed at him, but I don’t come more than a foot away from the corner. I stand between the front door and to my left is the stairs. 

At the table, he is presented with his drink and medicine. “You’re going to do exactly as I say and this will all be peaceful, got it?”

“What is this?”

“I didn’t say you could ask questions.”

  The only light in the kitchen is from the hanging lights above the table. The bulbs are flickering. I don’t think I’ll change them ever again.

The glass is filled with the clear liquid he knows and loves, though now there are finely blended bits of flowers floating inside. Tiny, pretty pink flowers and their short little stems. Pretty pink flowers are finely strained and blended. I’ve always wanted to grow some in our front yard, but Eli didn’t like them. He didn’t want his family’s old home to look “girly”. 

Eli glances over at me now. Sweat is beginning to gather near his receding hairline. His skin looks pale. “Veronica,” he whispers. “What is this?”

“Drink it.”

“What?”

“Drink it.”

“What is it?”

“Your favorite. Drink it. Go on.” I’ve never seen Eli turn down a drink.

Eli looks at the drink, then back to me.  His hand slowly reaches up from his lap, grasping the crystal glass and bringing it to his lips. When he takes his first sip, I can see the way his face screws up at the taste. His nose is wrinkled and his eyes squeeze shut for only a few seconds before he puts the glass back down on the table. He knows something is off, I know he knows something is different. Except Eli has never been smart enough. I doubt he even knows what oleander is.

Good. Keep drinking, I want to say. I don’t because I can’t press my luck while he’s still physically at an advantage. I can’t let myself get too excited. 

I barely use the gun to gesture toward the pill bottle. “Now take those. Full dose.”

“What? Veronica,” he looks at me again, his eyes growing wide. 

Drunk Eli wouldn’t have questioned taking the medication while he was drinking. He would take whatever he pleased and leave someone else to deal with the state that left him in. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t accidentally done it himself already. Sober Eli seems more aware of the unfortunate side effects it can have. He knows what it could do to him. What I am trying to do to him.

“Veronica. I’ll do whatever you want. What do you want? Do you want money? I’ll give that to you, however much you want. Or, or do you want a divorce? I’ll do that too. Jesus, I’ll give you a divorce and tell everyone it was my fault.”

A divorce would have been nice months ago. I would have taken a divorce up until about two days ago. I wouldn’t have cared what he said the reason was as long as he let me leave with Wren. 

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” Eli stressed. 

“I want you to take your medicine. Then I want you to get up, go to the fridge, and drink that bottle of Everclear until it’s empty,” I tell him. “Do that, and I won’t shoot you. Hell, I’ll even call you an ambulance if you have a bad reaction.”

I want him to think this is a lesson. That this is my petty act of revenge. I want to watch him make each step and know that he is not in control. I want those pretty pink flowers to take root in his stomach and make him rot from the inside to the out. 

“And if I just…stop?” He says. I can hear his anger now, sitting right at the edge of his tongue. He’s not getting his way.

I know what he’ll do next.

His fists curl up and I hold the gun closer. I don’t want to fire it. I really don’t. I’m not even sure I would be able to shoot it right, I would only be guessing. Despite how unsure I feel, I can’t lower the gun. I keep it pointed at him and fix my finger over the trigger.

“Then I’ll kill you.”

His dark eyes settle into a glare. He steps toward me and I step back.

“You’re my wife, Veronica. You’re not supposed to be doing petty shit like this.”

“I will shoot you.”

“You? Shoot me?” Now he lets out a bit of a laugh. “You’d kill yourself trying.”

“Then I guess we’d both die. Now, take the pills. Let me leave.”

“Oh you wanna leave me?”

“You beat me. I almost went to the hospital.”

I thought he broke my ribs. The day after I cried just trying to move my body in bed because I was in so much pain.

“You started it. You can’t ever learn when to shut your mouth.”

I barely push the gun out. “If the cops find out you’re here, you’ll go to jail again.”

“You’re not calling anyone, Veronica.”

There’s the opening I need.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m not. I’m letting you get hammered and then I am leaving.”

“Why do I need to be drunk for that?”

“So you don’t follow.”

“Where will you go? You won’t keep my kid away from me forever.”

“I will if it means keeping her safe.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her. She’ll grow up to be a good lady, unlike you.”

I don’t believe him. I know he would. He’d beat her. He’d hurt my little girl and I can’t let him. I have to protect Wren, no matter what.

“Then we’ll fight it out in court, but we’re leaving tonight. I’m not staying here. I’ll fire the gun, someone will come and arrest you. Whether I shoot you or don’t.”

The gun is still aimed at him. I don’t take my eyes off my target. We stay like this for what feels like forever. I can see how angry he is, but his stupidity won’t let him move. Eli doesn’t want to go to jail, I know that. He’s not bright enough to see a way out of this.

Finally, Eli reaches again. He undoes the white cap of the orange bottle and takes out his standard two little white pills. 

“Add two more.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. It won’t kill you.”

He doesn’t seem to believe me. He takes two more of the pills into his hand. Then he has to force them down his throat dry. Eli coughs violently, gagging. His eyes water and he hits his left hand against his thigh. I think he calls me a bitch.

It’s another minute before he drags himself out of the chair and towards the fridge. Nested amongst the milk carton, eggs, yogurt, and apple juice is a bottle of Everclear 190. 

“You’ll drink all of that. Now take it and sit back down.”

Watching how slowly he moves almost makes me want to smile. He seems so sluggish, so different now. Eli was a man who walked with nothing but confidence. Everywhere he went he knew he was in control and had some kind of sway. Eli was a powerful man due to his affluent family. Now he’s a scared, stupid little man who is at the mercy of me. His poor, small little wife.

He sits back down at the table, but he brings the apple juice with him and chugs that too. He’s trying to wash the taste of the plant out of his mouth. The flower parts were so finely blended and strained, that I know no one will find it in a report. No one is even going to think to look for a plant. They’ll think the drugs and alcohol were just the wrong combination. Poor Eli, a victim of addiction. 

Months ago, I mourned our relationship. I grieved for myself and my daughter for falling in love with such a stupid man. My mourning is over now. In its place settles anger and deep hatred for the man in front of me.

I want to watch Eli Sanders die.

I want the entire town to think it was his own stupid fault.

And so I do. 

The sound that resonates through the room when his head finally hits the table almost makes me want to scream with joy. A sick, inhumane joy, but joy nonetheless. I have never felt like this, save for the day Wren was born. Even then, this feeling is different. This feeling is so addicting to me. It is a shame I can’t save it.

 

Eli Robert Sanders, aged forty-two, died from an overdose of medication. The medication was from the streets and happened to be laced with fentanyl. The alcohol he drank on top of it, was just a cherry on top. He leaves behind me, his adoring and faithful wife, and an infant daughter. 

He doesn’t even make a nice corpse. 

I hide my eyes behind a pair of thick sunglasses as I stand outside. Wren grips my finger as we sit on the bench together and watch the dirt get thrown onto the casket. Most of the others offered their deepest condolences once more before they finally left. Wren was given some as well, but she seemed more interested in the baby butterfly dummy tucked against her black dress.

The only one left is Lisa Thatcher. Lisa isn’t family, but I know she and Eli were close friends. Very close friends.

She’s still sniffling near me, dabbing at her eyes with a pocket tissue. 

“He was such a good man,” she says. “He loved you both dearly. He would have done anything for you both.”

I nod and offer her a spare tissue when her own seems too wet to be of any use. 

Everyone thinks I was asleep when he did it. That he had been fine when he came home post-release, and it was only after I went to bed he “wandered down the wrong path”, as his best friend put it. I told them I found his body when I woke up to Wren crying and went downstairs.

The cops questioned me, just as expected. The female cop did most of the talking. I told them the things they needed to hear to sell my lies. I play the sad act. I make them think I loved Eli Sanders and that I feel guilty for not noticing.

“Thank you,” Lisa says, then she blows her nose into the tissue before letting out another sob as the graveyard employees arrive to start burying Eli. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

I try not to shudder away when she leans over and hugs me. “You’re such a strong woman, Veronica. I don’t know how you’re holding up with this.”

I force out a sigh, shaking my head. “Wren is the only reason I’m standing right now.”

Lisa makes my shoulder filthy with her tears and snot, and I have to keep myself from shoving her off and into the dirt.

Instead, I just focus on how long I have to wait before I can get Wren her passport and fly home. We’re finally going home.

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