Jett Bowie stared out the front window at the fields covered with snow as they fell away from his 7,200 square foot manor at the top of an isolated hill in northern Pennsylvania.
Brenda, his lovely
wife of 32 years hadn’t said anything to him but a badly slurred, “Merry
Krithmuth,” as she downed her sixth or seventh non-virgin egg nog of the
day. It wasn’t even noon yet.
It was a surprise she said anything at all. They barely crossed paths in the large house,
Jett spending most of his time in the office or reading room, and Brenda, most
of the time on the couch. They slept in
separate rooms and hadn’t had sex in like, well, years.
Since the kids moved out, it was just the two of them in
this big place, 40 miles from the nearest movie theater and though that might
have made some couples more co-dependent, their interests became incompatible
and their presence began to wear on each other.
It wasn’t any one thing, but lots of little nags and no sweet
nothings. He thought about a divorce,
but starting over at 64 seemed onerous. He
could do better. Maybe they both could.
The drinking exacerbated the problems. Brenda was an alcoholic for sure – and to the
point she’d go weeks without paying bills, saying she forgot, or, “It was just
one,” but it wasn’t. Jett would have
started doing them himself, but he thought it might actually be good for her to
engage in some normal activity.
For their part, the kids had moved on, to other parts of the
country, with their own families. They
were never a close-knit group, with Jett working all the time and Brenda more
interested in her social calendar than paying attention to the little
brats. They probably didn’t realize
their parents were in such disharmony, or maybe didn’t care.
Jett had bought his own Christmas gifts again this year, including
a custom crystal chess set by Swarovski with a built in computer he could play
against. He also bought a long range
scope for his rifle and, oh yeah, a Maserati MC20.
“I’m going to the library to read.” Jett said it toward Brenda, not expecting an
acknowledgement and not getting one. He
had just started reading the Invisible Man by H.G. Wells, which seemed apropos
to his own situation at home.
He left the doors to the study open – the noise from the
rest of the house was minimal – and he was sure Brenda would be passed out by
two. However, as he was just finishing
the book around two thirty, he heard Brenda leave out the front door. He looked out the window to see if she was
getting into the car – she shouldn’t be driving anywhere – even if she hadn’t
taken another drink in the past three hours, which was most certainly not the
case. But he saw her walk down the path,
past her cream-colored Land Rover, and down the driveway, no drink in
hand. He thought, good – she could walk
off the intoxication and get some fresh air, albeit too cold for him. He decided to take a rest upstairs.
_______
Brenda stepped onto the porch of “Bowie Prison” on Christmas
afternoon. After a little day drinking, she needed to “walk it off” and planned
to get out of that stuffy mansion. She’d
check the mail or something, even though the post office probably didn’t
deliver on Christmas, did they? Her
husband had become such a bore the last ten years. Or was it twenty? Seemed like every day she was just living out
a lifetime sentence – may be the opportunity cost for all the privilege she had
received, but not earned. She had
thought about a fresh start, maybe even move to the Caribbean, live like a
queen and not have to deal with another frosty winter, but she had even lost
the motivation to change her situation, despite having the means. It was too easy to just keep repeating the
routine, have a few drinks, do some online shopping, maybe watch something on
Lifetime or Food Network, and go to bed in her spacious, but separate,
suite. Sometimes cry herself to sleep.
She headed down the paved path… coming up that incline will be fun, she thought, and in about 10
minutes she had reached the gate to the property. Looking back at the house on the hill, it
looked so isolated, much different from when they moved here 30 years ago, when
the kids had run around exploring and she thought all her dreams had come
true. She opened the gate with the
little silver pushbutton and the gates swung inward – she almost lost her
balance getting out of the way into the small ditch on the side of the road,
but she grabbed the pole the pushbutton was on.
Wow, that last drink must be
kicking in, she thought.
She made it out to the marble mailbox with the gold “BOWIE”
lettering and there was nothing in it, not even bills. She had a quick thought,
when was the last time I paid bills? Jett’s
gonna have my ass again, but it quickly disappeared.
She wasn’t too excited to immediately return to the house,
but it was cold out here. Maybe she’d
visit the greenhouse on the west side of the property. She could get out of the cold and it’d be
something to do. Forgetting to shut the
gate, she headed up the embankment to the right of the main drive, toward the
back of the house. She followed the
fenceline for a while until it was obscured by trees, and could still see the
house on her left as she looked up from time to time. The ground was uneven and she stumbled often,
but she kept following the trees and sooner or later she would be on the
backside of the property. The wind was
coming from the north and she had to shield her face. Although it was a cloudless, sunny day, the
temperature was still biting, and she wasn’t dressed for such a long walk. She kept her head down and kept moving. The
greenhouse is just up ahead, she told herself.
____
Jett woke up from his nap and went downstairs at 4pm. There was no sign of Brenda and the Range
Rover was still parked out front. Maybe
she had gone to her room. He fixed
himself a Scotch and looked out the kitchen window at the backside of the
property. All the trees were barren and
the greenhouse looked out of place, like one of those blow-up bouncy houses
that parents rent for their kids’ birthday parties, but this one had been
forgotten to be picked up.
Maybe I’ll make some
lasagna for dinner. They really
should get a live-in housekeeper, maybe a young, hot one, but probably an old
one. They could afford it, and it might be something they could both agree to,
to break up the monotony. I’ll talk to Brenda tonight. See if she’s up for it. He pulled out the family-size Stouffer’s
lasagna from the Sub-Zero fridge, which had been Jett’s gift to Brenda last
year, and threw it in the oven, which he cranked up to 375°F.
He headed upstairs to take a shower while the lasagna cooked
and passed by Brenda’s room – the door was open and he could see her bed,
unoccupied and unmade. Typical. Maybe she was in the bathroom.
Yelling, “Lasagna for dinner,” he continued to his own
bathroom, scotch in hand.
___
Brenda looked to the right and darned if she hadn’t moved an
inch. The house was still on the left
and no sign of the greenhouse. She was
sure she had been walking for at least ten minutes and should have started to
see it by now – maybe just another few steps.
In the distance, it almost looked like she was seeing the main side of
the property, but there’s no way she
could have gone all the way around in such a short time. And it was starting to get hot from all that
walking. She took off her knit hat and
stuffed it in the pocket of her jacket, but even that was hot so she took it
off and tied it around her waist. It fell
off after a few steps and she told herself it was too much of pain to carry it
– she’d come back for it later. The treeline to her right started to thin, and far
ahead she could see the long drive she had originally descended. Unbeknownst to
her, she had almost completely traversed the whole perimeter of the grounds.
At this point, she determined she was now opposite the
greenhouse side of the building. If she
walked back the way she came, it might be faster. She vaguely remembered dropping something
back there, turned around and headed back the way she came. The wind was really starting to whip and she
headed for the trees to get out of it.
Once in the trees, she felt relief from the wind, and was now hotter
than ever before and pulled off her sweater.
She thought it was odd that she felt so hot, knowing it was so cold
earlier, but it had to be all that exertion, probably the longest walk she’d
gone on in five years. So hot.
She might have heatstroke. Can’t go back into the wind, just stay in
the treeline for a bit… never noticed these pants were so tight… the
waistband felt so tight and hot… it was her favorite – she had three identical
Louis Vuitton tracksuits, she wore them every day… but today so tight... She loosened the waistband but it was still
so hot, so tight through her hips, the lining, too warm. It had to come off. She sat on her jacket under the tree and took
off her shoes and sweatpants. And
bra. She needed to just stay here, this
was the spot. She cleared away the
clothes and branches from under the tree and started to dig a clear path of
dirt underneath. Before long, she had
dug a small cradle in the ground. The
ground was cool. She lay in the hollow,
pulling a few loose limbs on top, didn’t want to get too hot. She fell asleep.
___
Jett got out of the shower and was about to don his robe for
the evening when he saw movement out his master bedroom bay window. Hoping for a new buck wandering onto the
property, he unboxed his Christmas rifle scope and looked through it, surprised
to see Brenda shucking her pants and then her bra. She’s completely lost it, he thought. Then she started burrowing in the ground like
an animal. After 10 minutes, he noticed
the strong smell of burning cheese from downstairs. Watching Brenda’s bizarre behavior, he had
completely forgotten about the lasagna.
He grabbed his robe and hurried downstairs to rescue it before it burned
to a crisp. He was definitely going to
have to look into that housekeeper come Monday.
A young one.