Page 36 of Dear Debbie

“He’s also extremely replaceable.” He cinches his tie a little tighter around his neck, and I imagine grabbing it and cinching it as tight as it can go. “He does his job and nothing more. He brings nothing special to the table. He’s the most ordinary employee I’ve ever had, and when he goes, there will be five more candidates just like him who will work for less money.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

He shrugs. “With all due respect, your husband quit, and I think I’m better off without him.”

I reach into my purse, sifting through what feels like an endless supply of bunched-up napkins. I pull out a pair of leather gloves, and Ken frowns as I slide them onto my hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks me. “Are you cold?”

I don’t answer his question. The gun I pull from my purse answers it for me.

“Wh-what…” he stammers, his face turning pale. “What are you doing?”

I gesture at the sofa with the barrel of the gun. “Please have a seat, Mr. Bryant.”

He clutches his chest, and for a moment, I wonder if nature will do the job for me. But then he collapses onto the sofa, and he’s still conscious. I need him to stay with me long enough to bind his wrists, then march him upstairs and into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” he asks me again. “This isn’t about Cooper’s job, is it? Because I—”

“Stop talking,” I say in a sharp voice that silences him instantly.

I stare down at the older man, who is trembling on the living room sofa. Then I look down at the gun gripped in my right hand. Am I really going to do this? It’s one thing to cut some wires in a fuse box or poison sandwiches, but it’s an entirely different thing to…

I am about to cross a line. And once I do, I won’t be able to go back. Then again, this has been a long time coming.

I’m glad I wore black to hide the bloodstains.

28

COOPER

The phone is ringing.

It feels like it’s been ringing for a while. I’m lying in bed, my head throbbing slightly, willing it to stop. And it finally does stop when the phone goes to voicemail, but whoever it is just calls back again. It’s an endless cycle.

“All right, damn it!”

Through my haze, I recall that there could be a name on the screen that I don’t want Debbie to see. Frantically, I feel around on my nightstand, but when I grab my phone, the screen is black. My phone isn’t the one that was ringing. It’s Debbie’s phone that’s ringing. Over and over and over. My relief is replaced by curiosity.

That’s when I become aware of another sound. It’s the sound of the shower running in the master bathroom. I had told myself I was going to stay awake until Debbie got home, but I clearly failed at that task. I passed out almost immediately after lying down, and right now, I feel like I got hit by a truck. My mouth feels like the Sahara Desert.

Why do I feel hungover?

Debbie’s phone stops ringing, and I say a silent thank you. But then thirty seconds later, it starts again. I throw Debbie’s pillow on top of my face, trying to stifle the sound of the ringing phone. But it’s no use. Whoever is calling my wife wants to talk to her really badly.

“Debbie?” I call out. “You coming out soon?”

There’s no answer, but she’s definitely in there. I can hear her singing, which is weird because Debbie doesn’t usually sing in the shower.

Finally, I give in. I grab the phone off the nightstand next to Debbie’s side of the bed. The name on the screen is Garrett Meers. Debbie’s boss.

What the hell is he calling about over and over again? They can’t possibly have a news emergency that involves Debbie. First of all, my wife writes an advice column. What’s an advice column emergency? Somebody has a party in fifteen minutes and doesn’t know how to get grass stains out of her dress?

But clearly, Garrett is freaking out. Which is also weird, because I met the guy once, and he seemed pretty laid-back to me.

I swipe to take the call, and before I can even say hello, Garrett’s voice booms in my ear, “Debbie! Debbie, what the hell did you do?”

“Uh, hello?” I say.