Chapter Text
March 15, 1940
“No, no, don’t cut them towards you.”
Thinking back on the memory, your mother’s face was blurry, lit up by the morning light coming from behind her in the kitchen window.
She was showing you how to peel potatoes; something you needed to know. You watched her demonstration atop your stepping stool, then, looking up at her:
“Cut them like this,” She cut away from her, her thumb gripping tight on the potato’s opposite side, the peel coming off cleanly. “See?”
You nodded, and you followed suit with ease. It wasn’t until you felt a sharp pain that you cried out, dropping the potato and knife onto the counter. You sliced too far, cutting your thumb deep.
Your mother gasped a little.
“Oh, honey,” She turned on the faucet then. “It’s okay. Just put it under some running water. Let me get a bandage.”
She left, then, leaving you alone with the water running over your thumb.
It stung, but the way the blood trickled down your thumb like a vine of flowers intrigued you in a way like none other. You retracted your hand from the water, and the cut began to rapidly bleed again, the sting back at its full force. You looked at the water, then back at your thumb: clear water, red blood.
You licked the cut, tasting blood for the first time. It wasn’t that bad.
///
1951
It was your last day in Philadelphia.
And you spent it going through the channels on a television set that looked far too fancy for the cracked walls and torn furniture around the place; you remember some friend in the suburbs gifted it to your mother. It felt like a punch in the gut, one expensive item out of a whole lot of misery and poverty.
The news was the same, the people were the same, the weather was the same, and you needed a change, and you found it through Murphy.
You were seventeen, and he was eighteen when you first met. He was at the bus stop just outside the doctor’s office you went to; he looked out of place, a wide look in his eyes as if in awe and fear of the sheer scale of the city. He visited Philadelphia for only a few weeks, here on his way to visit distant family. When you first talked to him, the first thing you noticed was that outlandish southern drawl he had. He said he was from Blackwell, a little town in Oklahoma that was the polar opposite of the city-living here. He was doing police training at a nearby academy, hoping to work at the precinct in Blackwell. He offered to take a photo of you; that was only a little over a year ago, and now there were two bands and a piece of paper that declared you both as one.
The small wedding yesterday was every girl’s dream. It was right in your childhood church, just a few blocks down from your apartment. Your mother’s dress hugged your sides and shoulders like none other, a silky smooth that caressed the skin and made the anticipated kiss even more sweet. Murphy dipped you into a fairytale, where the morning light and torn flower petals showered the entire church in a show of gold and pink. Both of your families cheered and cried in a joyous union, and everything, from the food, the music, the weather, it was all perfect.
It was quite possibly the most beautiful day for you in Philadelphia, but today, everything became so dreary again back in your mother’s living room. You could see pollution again as your clouds, the coughs and wails of sickness around street corners, the occasional rich man and his wife who overstayed their welcome in Philly just to laugh and taunt, and the groups of men and boys under streetlights who screamed mafia and whatever gang was trendy at the time.
You were just waiting for Murphy to whisk you away to his hometown in Blackwell. The way he described the town throughout your time together was almost like one of those pastorals you learned about in school: idyllic, peaceful, where nature ruled and people were just the guests. It sounded like a dream come true, and when he nervously brought up the idea of moving into his deceased grandparents’ home there, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.
Truth be told, you hated it here in Philly, and though you wished your mother would come with you to Blackwell, she was too stubborn. She would never leave the home she grew up in, she would say, urging you to think the same. You just couldn’t.
You leaned further back into the torn couch, heavy rain pattering and beating on the window, the only source of light. You pulled the remote’s cord towards you, and you began to glaze through the few channels you had.
News, news, more news, some kid’s show, news—
You paused, and then went back to the previous channel. There was a dark-haired woman amidst a back screen of the show’s name.
“Welcome to the Mother Gooseberry Hour! I’m Mother Gooseberry, and this is…”
An array of colorful sock puppets danced across the screen. You couldn’t keep your eyes off the woman leading the show; she was so familiar.
“Futterland! ” The puppets all sang in unison. “Let’s see what new things are going on around the place, shall we?”
The screen panned to a set of even more puppets and handmade props resembling a carnival, the sets all centered around teeth and toothbrushes; light, twinkling music played, bright reds and pinks and whites creating a swirl like a circus.
“It seems we have some new friends here! Little Goosy's already making his introductions to them!”
That voice, too… You remembered the woman: Phyllis Futterman. Those little sock puppets on her hands—
She was the daughter of your childhood dentist at the Futterman Dental Practice. She would help her father by giving him the tools he required and calming each patient down with her ventriloquist hobby, stitching and creating the characters herself and breathing life into them with only a singular audience.
She was in her twenties when you were a patient there, and you were always so entranced by her nurturing voice and soft features; so maternal, so comforting. Phyllis was older now, wrinkles creasing in her forehead and around her mouth each time she laughed and talked.
You smiled. You realized you would miss seeing her.
And then, you saw a car pull up to the curb of your apartment building. You weren’t familiar with cars or their manufacturers, but that distinct closed hood and light blue told you everything you needed to know. You shut the television off and went to get ready.
Your mother was in the kitchen, cleaning the floors, and the mop in her hands fell to the floor at the sight of you with oversized suitcases and a black umbrella. She begged you to stay one more night, to spend more time with her, but you kissed her on the cheek and waved her goodbye from the door.
Murphy gave you a smile as he saw you rush out your apartment with an umbrella haphazardly over your shoulder, lugging around your suitcases with a breathless pant. He was about to jump out of the car and help you unload, but you had already thrown your stuff and yourself into the seat next to him before he could leave the car.
He was sweet; brown, tousled hair that framed his glasses so nicely, deep hazel eyes, and a button nose that made him entirely endearing. He was about a head taller than you, around 5’10. He always wore the most monochromatic colors: brown, black, white, gray, beige. It fit him well, though, this look of intelligence that certainly matched his mind. He was so fragile, a vase, a shard of glass; sensitive, yet that made your heart swell even more.
“You ready to go?” He asked. He looked so happy.
You smiled back, giving him a quick peck on his lips, a subsequent reddening of his face.
“Yeah. I am.”
“It’s gonna be a long ride.”
“I know.”
He started the car up, and you could see your mother up in the apartment window. You waved her goodbye, though you couldn’t exactly see what she was doing through the blurry glass.
Murphy winded down the road, a relative quiet and lack of traffic through the streets. You leaned on your elbow, watching the buildings pass by.
It wasn’t long before the city turned into the suburbs. You turned to see the signs introducing Philadelphia, fading into the distance as the car drove on and on into unknown territory, your feet having never touched upon it.
“You gonna miss Philly? It is a lovely place.”
“It is,” Your eyes lingered on the green sign, big white letters that ushered home, but you turned back around to face Murphy. “But I want this. With you. It wouldn’t matter where in the world; I just want to be by your side.”
He still had that worried look on his face.
“What about your mother? Lord knows how worried to death she was to hear you were moving to Oklahoma.”
“I’ll call her every now and then. Maybe we could visit her some time?”
Murphy looked at you, then, a toothy smile that was dimmed from the setting sun.
“Yeah, that would be good. Wouldn’t want to miss out on her world famous breakfast.”
“Uh huh.”
///
Throughout the trip, it was odd to see the countless transitions between the city and the country, tall buildings and transit systems being diminished to lone farmhouses with dirt roads.
At first, Murphy talked of how great Blackwell was gonna be for you, how beautiful it was, how the two of you were gonna have a good life there.
But, even he was subject to exhaustion as the days of driving and nights of restlessly sleeping in motels got to him. He was quiet for the last few days of the trip. You were mostly quiet throughout the whole drive, lost in thoughts that were fleeting and were unrelated to what was ahead.
After about four days of driving and resting, the sun bared down on you in the state of Oklahoma, and not too long after, your head perked up to see a large green sign amidst the plethora of other, smaller signs beside it.
Blackwell City
City Limit
POP. 9,224
“I thought Blackwell was a town?” You said, voice soft.
Murphy raised up in his seat, then, suppressing a yawn.
“They call it a city in the census papers and signs and whatever, but it's really a town. Pretty small, especially for you, I’d bet.”
You nodded, and he continued:
“Yeah, it doesn’t have those… huge bridges and streets and tall buildings you have in Philly, but there’s a lot of people here — well, for us, there’s a lot of people— and Blackwell’s got a lot to offer.”
You reached over and patted his thigh, eyes then locked into one another.
“I’m sure it does.”
Vast flat lands surrounded you and Murphy; the Great Plains limitless from all directions, giving the sense that you were stranded. It began to hit you that this now would be your life, your daily sight besides the small houses and buildings that resided in Blackwell.
You swallowed hard.
It wasn’t long before Murphy drove into Blackwell, passing by numerous little shops, stations, and workplaces all next to one another. The road was a little cracked, bumps here and there as he drove on. An occasional car would drive pass, nothing like how it was in Philly or the other cities you two passed through.
You could see the police station pass by you, and there was a huge water plant in the background, lined along Blackwell’s horizon: the only two buildings that seemed to matter to you.
Not too long, after a few turns and passing by some residential properties, Murphy went into the driveway of one particular house. You looked up at it in wonder.
It was blue, white shutters lining vertical windows that made it tower over you with its two stories. There were bushes of flowers lining the walkway towards the front door. White fencing surrounded the property, the fresh-cut grass even and soft. You and Murphy got out of the car, and he began to take the luggage out of the car while you stared at the house.
“What do ya think? It’s pretty nice, huh?” Murphy closed the trunk of the car, breaking you out of your curious trance.
You blinked a few times, a wide, open-mouthed smile on your face.
“It looks beautiful! Let me see the inside.”
With your luggage in Murphy’s hands, you went ahead and waited at the front door, a flower wreath hung around the singular window in it.
Murphy unlocked the door, and you entered first.
There was a dainty kitchen to your immediate left, white walls and blue countertops; a very red refrigerator and stove occupied the spaces between the counters, and you could tell there was a real Americana atmosphere that Murphy’s grandparents must have prided themselves on.
The dining room was right behind the kitchen, and a small laundry room was situated in the corner of the room. A set of double doors led to a backyard, fit with a grill, a small in-ground pool, and a great swathe of lawn before being enclosed by tall, white picket fences.
Back inside, the parlor was situated on the right side of the room, closed off by white walls. Upstairs, there was a beautiful bathroom, fit with a porcelain bathtub and shower that made you excited to get washed up tonight. Right next to the bedroom was an empty room, and Murphy only smiled at you when you looked inside before he led you to your room.
You entered the final room, and you gasped a little to yourself. A large bed, striped red and white, was against the middle of the wall, natural light pouring in from the perfectly situated windows on the side, looking out to the road and another house just across from you. Besides the wardrobe and mirror next to you, your eyes glued onto a set of photos pinned to the right wall.
Murphy coughed a little:
“I already put my stuff in here when I signed the property deed; I tried to make it look nice.”
You stared at the photos, getting closer to them and tracing their frames with delicate fingers. You could see a photo he took of you when you two first met.
After a bit of silence, you could hear Murphy speak up again:
“Why don’t you hang out with Mrs. Swinton and some of the other ladies around here? They would love to meet you.”
You stopped when your fingers met a photo of your home street, empty and desolate at night, save for the street light that illuminated its center. The apartments looked as if they closed in on the viewer, their only guide to that dense fog in the distance.
You retracted your hand and smiled at Murphy.
“Oh, I’m okay. I should put our clothes up and get everything ready for dinner tonight.”
“Alright, but still, go visit them sometime.”
“I will.”
///
But, you never once went to meet them.
You made an excuse each time Murphy asked, always saying you had to clean, to cook, to do whatever you could to avoid contact with others. The only time you went out was to get groceries, and even then, you went late at night so as to avoid the women and children who would try to get to know you.
Everyone Murphy knew kept pestering him, he’d say, asking him all about the little bird hiding in his nest, not once coming out to spread her wings.
They were right. You never did come out of your nest; there was a primal fear you had not anticipated before moving into Blackwell, and it was the fact that you were not totally alone no matter where you were. You shouldn’t feel this way; you were so happy to leave in Philly that you ended up irritating Murphy with your anxiety in Blackwell.
The town was so quaint and so small, that, even at night when you would walk to the store, the few people you would see would automatically lock their focus on you. There was nothing like the towering buildings, passive anonymity, and nameless people like in Philadelphia; here, all eyes were on you, and there was no tall barrier to protect you from their mile-long gaze.
You felt stupid, thinking that an extreme would be better than another extreme.
You spent your free time reading the newspaper in your parlor, the Blackwell Journal-Tribune, sometimes watching the town residents walking by their house with a kid or dog in tow through the windows.
One name kept coming up in every newspaper you looked at, and when you asked Murphy about it, he suddenly bursted into conversation:
“Leland Coyle? He’s like, the town hero. The best police officer in Blackwell. I’d be damn proud to serve with him, but he should be getting promoted to Sergeant or Captain or something; the man does so much work, it’s a wonder he hasn’t moved up the ladder already. Maybe you’ll meet him—- I did, once, when I first went to the police academy. Made me super nervous as he watched us rookies, but I can prove myself. I know I can—”
“I know you can.”
Conversations about Officer Coyle would be brought up on occasion at dinner, Murphy going on about how he was a town hero, how he had a list of accolades and achievements that would indeed span the entire length of one page in the newspaper. Murphy would say he was a pillar of Blackwell’s police force, that Blackwell would be nothing without him and his service to this county and country.
He was Murphy’s idol and Blackwell’s totem.
Of course, the tiny little allegations of prison labor exploitation and extortion against the man didn’t escape your notice, the scandals barely readable in the newspapers, always smothered out by his numerous heroic acts or something else entirely.
You brought it up once to Murphy, but Murphy just scoffed, never once responding to the subject. You knew to forever drop it after that.
Murphy grew frustrated as time went by, not even bothering to ask you to meet Mrs. Swinton, Margaret, Tulip, or whatever their names were, before heading out of the door to go to work.
One day felt different compared to the past two months.
You were scrubbing the dishes. It was noon, and you could see Murphy get out of his car, doing a half-jog towards the front door from the window. It was early for him to come home.
You wiped your hands off on your kitchen apron, and you went to the door to see him burst inside, packets and folders tucked underneath his arm.
“I got it!” He held out a letter with formal writing; you couldn’t tell what it said before he started to fly it around in his hands and practically jump with joy. “I’m gonna be sworn in by the chief! The precinct is taking in all of us from the police academy!”
You matched his expression, wide eyes and mouth, and you clapped your hands together.
“That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!”
He went to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace with his free arm; he laughed, burying his face in your tied up hair.
“The ceremony is this Thursday night. I would really like it if you went.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“Of course! Do I need to bring food? Help with the decorations?”
He released you from his hug a little, softly looking into your eyes.
“Thank you, so much.”
You and him shared a quick, tender peck on the lips, a warm air between you two. The day went on normally, you quickly preparing lunch and dinner and making sure he was as comfortable as a working man should be. He was so grateful, always saying his thanks; you told him there was no need.
///
March 15, 1951
Thursday then came, and Murphy had already left that afternoon to prepare for the ceremony.
When the clock struck at 7:30 in the evening, you left the house with your trays of cookies, cakes, Pigs in a Blanket, and deviled eggs; they were foods you were confident in making, your mother almost cementing those recipes into your brain as necessary knowledge. You have to be able to feed your husband and kids, your mother would say; You have to at least know the basics.
Murphy didn’t leave you the car; he probably didn’t even think about you on his big day. It was okay.
You walked there instead, seeing the people you had avoided the past two months both in open-hooded cars and on the sidewalks going in the same direction. They smiled at you; you returned the smiles.
You arrived at the police station, a sizable crowd outside the double doors leading to the main hall of the police station. It was lit up from the street lamps and the bright lighting from within the building. You passed by some people, smiling and keeping your head down as people surrounded you, either lost in group conversations or looking at you with surprise.
You went inside the large hall, seeing the Chief and some other officers on the little stage up ahead. You found the food tables on the far left, setting your trays down among the delicious and meticulously made desserts and platters of meat and vegetables that could make your mouth water. Part of you thought that you didn’t do enough. You sat down in one of the chairs looking up to the stage then, waiting for the ceremony to start.
Needless to say, it was smooth, overcrowded, and heartachingly sweet.
The big grin on Murphy’s face as he walked up there and shook hands with the Chief and the other police officers he so idolized was something to be treasured, the happiest you had ever seen him.
Then, the celebrations were to start, and everyone began to get up from their chairs and spend the night away.
You were left alone, Murphy not in sight amongst the crowds, on your own to wander the hall and meet everyone here. The anxiety had to be pushed down, crushed into something you couldn’t feel anymore. You were in the spotlight now, there was no scurrying back home.
You saw him, then, recognizing the newspaper images of him:
Officer Leland Coyle leaned against the wall, dark aviator sunglasses obscuring his eyes and the skin around it, casting a great shadow across his face from where you stood. He was in his late twenties, you assumed. His dark hair pointed up a little, a few tufts over the top of his forehead. It also went down in short sideburns, stopping right where the bottom tip of his ears would be. He was smoking, puffing it out in slow, methodical exhales and inhales.
You walked up to him, and you noticed how he was taller than Murphy, and by extension, much taller than you: you figured you reached a little over his shoulders. He was a little more fit, too, his leather police clothes clinging to him in a slim figure.
You flashed a great smile once you were in his view, having had to wade through some people to get to him. It was only then that he noticed you.
“You’re Officer Coyle, right?”
He looked at you, taking another drawl of his cigarette. You didn’t wait for his response.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
You had the feeling that, here, kissing the hand wasn’t so common, and to be frank, you had a background that was too poor to be asking for such decency, but you did it anyway; you put your hand out, the back of it facing him.
He bellowed out a laugh, then, and your hand flinched back to your side.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Give’t here,” You were trying to process the much deeper southern accent he had compared to Murphy before he tugged your hand towards him sharply, placing a rough kiss on it. Your gasp was quiet as he let go and you took back your hand, a red mark forming on your skin. “I’m not too much into pleasantries, honey, but I’ll make an exception. It’s Leland.”
You smiled at him, a little more crooked than it should be as you clasped both your hands together in front of your dress. You told him your name.
He took another inhale of the smoke; there was a pause before he responded:
“You’re Murphy’s new little dove, aren’t ya?”
You smally laugh. “Is that how you call it? I guess I am.”
“He sure knows how to pick ‘em.”
He was forward, direct in a way that made your heart squeeze.
“Oh, thank you.” You looked down at your feet before looking back at him, and for a split second, you could see that he was following your gaze despite the glasses; observing you, would be a better description.
“I haven't seen ya much around Blackwell, just word from your husband. You should go around a bit, this town’ll treat you nice.” He said, watching some of the attendees pass behind you into the crowds.
“Thank you. I’m not too familiar with little towns like this.”
He nodded slowly, taking a huff of his cigarette.
“Right. I've been in Philly before; too much city for my liking.”
“Yeah, I understand. I'm sure I'll love living here, though. Everyone seems so nice.” You looked around, seeing the ceremony slowing down into music and soft laughter amongst many faces.
It was quiet between the two of you, stealing glances at the passerby around you, and you looked at his hand; there was not a golden band in sight. It confused you.
“You’re not married?” You asked.
A smirk came to his lips as he puffed the cigarette, the smoke getting into your nostrils. You coughed a bit.
“Gettin’ into personal business already? You gotta work me up first.”
Your face felt hot.
“No, it’s just… I’m surprised, that's all. With how much people talk about you, I thought someone may have…”
“I was married. My first wife fell down a flight of stairs, broke her fucking neck and died on me.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He took one last inhale of his cigarette before he flicked it to the floor and stomped on it; the flame quickly went out, and you withheld your sigh of relief.
“Say, where’s your husband?” Leland asked.
“I’m not really sure. I kinda lost him after he got sworn in, heh.” You chuckle a little, almost self-deprecatingly. You looked like a lost duckling without its guiding mother. “He’s probably with the other new recruits, like Lenk and Clark. I’m sure you know them.”
“I do.”
He was so focused in on you, as if you were the only thing in the universe, the sole object of his attention. Predatory, maybe, like a hawk deadset on trapping its prey right in its clutches.
You wondered what his eyes looked like under there.
You laughed, backing away a bit.
“It was nice getting to know you, Officer— Leland.” You quickly corrected.
“Good to see you, darling. Go see Murphy, now.”
“Right.” It was all you could say before you finally turned on your heel and left.
You let out a sigh as you were back in the crowds; at least where Officer Coyle was, there was a private space to let yourself be. People would come up to you, some you recognized from passing glances on the sidewalk earlier that night, and you would introduce yourselves to one another. They said you were too formal, that you needed to let go of some of that to feel comfortable. You nodded along with them.
It hadn’t been more than ten minutes before you saw Murphy come towards you from the crowd, his eyes lighting up from the sight of you.
“Sorry I didn’t get to see you right after the ceremony; Clark and Lenk and I were hanging out a bit. Like, uh, last hurrah before everything changes.”
You nodded your head.
“I understand.” You smiled, and that was all it took for him to think everything was alright.
Murphy held you close to him, his side hug almost too tight for comfort as you two walked around the party. He introduced you to people, leading the conversation, to which you were grateful for.
He saw a particular couple: a blonde woman with a stocky man shorter than her. He seemed to beam as he dragged you along there.
“Have you met my wife yet?” Murphy asked, holding you close. Your smile was wry as you looked at the couple.
The couple turned to you two, and the blonde woman cooed, looking at Murphy with a wide grin.
“Oh, we haven’t! You're so beautiful together!”
“Thank you, you’re too kind.”
The blonde woman then looked at you, her smile unwavering. Her husband smiled at you, too.
She gestured between the two of them:
“Well, I’m Anne, and this is Paul.”
Paul then took your hand and kissed it, a very chaste kiss not at all like the one you got before with Officer Coyle.
“You should come over sometime! We live just down the road from here.” Anne beamed.
“What’s the address?” You asked out of instinct. The two looked at you confused, and Murphy laughed a little. The nerves and anxiety came back, this moment becoming a stain on your husband’s ceremony—
“Oh, well, if you want to get technical—”
“407 West Avenue— West Blackwell Avenue.” Paul finished Anne’s words, and she nodded:
“Yeah. That.”
“Hear that, honey? That would be great!” Murphy said, looking down at you and placing a kiss on your cheek. You smiled as best as you could, then.
Murphy and them talked of an upcoming barbecue at their house, but you weren’t really listening. It wasn’t long before the celebrations came to a slow halt, and Murphy led you outside to the car. You sat on the passenger’s side, realizing you forgot to get your trays, but you decided to let it go.
“Oh, I didn’t give you the car earlier. I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine.” You said reassuringly as he drove on.
Silence followed, and he soon arrived home, parking the car in the driveway.
Murphy kept talking of how excited he was, and you tried to match it in spite of the embarrassment you still felt. You two went through your night routines before laying in bed together, Murphy fast asleep with a content expression.
You smiled at how happy he was, but you sighed heavily as you laid there.
You didn’t think you would belong here, but there was a part of you that wanted to fit in so badly. To make Murphy happy, to accept where your life would be next to him.
You thought of something… less embarrassing.
Officer Coyle’s distorted face lingered and flickered in your thoughts, his image almost painted onto the bedroom ceiling. Those sunglasses proved elusive, your mind not being able to imagine what his true face would look like. It was fragmented, pieces you so desperately wanted to put together but couldn’t.
You let out another sigh, opened and closed your eyes, before nuzzling closer to Murphy and bidding farewell to the night.
///
March 1, 1952
You weren’t the same woman anymore.
A year had passed since you moved into Blackwell, and becoming accustomed to it was a hard yet rewarding endeavor.
The town, its neighborhood, and surrounding attractions were now your home, engraved into your mind as a permanent hospice. A haven of safety and peace. The sound of industry and bustling traffic was no longer part of her morning and night; birds chirping, the murmur of a lawnmower, the hoots of an owl, and the buzzing heat and cooling breeze that would sweep across you in a low hum was all part of your daily life.
You never went outside Blackwell’s town limits, and as the months went through its seasonal cycle, you forgot to call mother more times than you could forgive yourself for.
You last heard her voice back in December, but all you could think about was Blackwell, your new life. You loved shopping, you loved hanging out with the other ladies on your street and the next, you loved setting up birthday parties for the children—
You loved everything; nothing made you happier than this, but then you thought about your mother again.
“Doing okay there?”
You snapped out of it, then
You were attending a lunch in Sarah’s backyard, seated on her patio chairs. There was also Alice, Nancy, and Anne. These lunches were a weekly custom, a way to chat and indulge as the men went off to work.
You laughed, looking at their concerned faces.
“Oh, yeah! Sorry, was just thinking about my mother. Haven’t called her in a while.”
Anne widened her eyes, leaning towards you from her patio chair.
“She’s probably worried sick! You should call her today.”
“I will, I will.”
The women went back to talking to each other, gossip in the air as you sipped your lemonade and listened. That was normal; you didn’t have much to say, but they seemed to enjoy having a listener. After a few minutes, you glanced over at the sliding door into the house being opened, and the women all chimed:
“Hey, Kathy!”
Katherine Coyle: she was Officer Coyle’s second wife, newly wedded to him for only a couple of months so far. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Golden brown hair that curled just below her ears, framing her face in a sort of crown. She always wore gloves that reached high up her wrist, and she never wore a dress that showed the top parts of her arms; modest and innocent in an alluring way that could make any little girl follow in her footsteps.
She rarely came to their lunches, though, but that didn’t matter. Everyone else noticed her and motioned for her to sit down, and she sat next to you in the empty chair, already chatting away.
“Hey, everyone. I hope you’re all doing well?” Her voice was cheery yet soft, feminine yet not high-pitched. She nodded at their answers, clasping her hands together.
“Sorry, I’m late. I was thinking about doing a get-together next week; Margaret’s eldest is having her birthday, and I thought we should celebrate.”
“Aw, that would be nice!” Sarah chimed.
“And we could bring all the other children over, have a picnic in my backyard, have the kids swim in the pool…”
“You have such a golden heart, dear.” Nancy said, reaching over to pat her clothed shoulder.
Kathy then looked at me, and you looked back at her, your breath hitched in your throat. Her eyes bored into yours, a light blue that any susceptible person could melt under.
“Would you like to come over? You don’t have to, but I would love to see you there.” She murmured with a smile.
Before you could say anything, Alice interjected:
“I think you and Murphy would like it. Perhaps it would convince the man to finally think about having kids.”
They all laughed at that, and you smiled into your drink.
“Yes, I would love to go.”
///
The birthday party came quickly, the week passing by in a haze.
The Coyles’ house was the one you could see from your bedroom window; when Kathy learned that just a few days ago, she laughed. On the day of the party, you arrived earlier than anyone else, helping Kathy set up the decorations and tables outside. She seemed surprised to see you so early, but it was never brought up.
Murphy wasn’t able to come, nor were most men in the police force, like Officer Coyle: it was mostly women and mothers with their children, the only grown men around were Anne’s and Margaret’s husbands.
The party was nice, the sun at its peak as noon rolled by. Children played around after eating, jumping into the swimming pool. The women, like yourself, were seated at a table in the far corner, watching over the party in contentment.
You studied Katherine as she sat next to you once again, a glass of water in your hands: she seemed so happy in this moment, her blue eyes following the laughter and smiling faces of the children running around with bubbles and toys.
She was a beautiful woman; no wonder her husband fell for her. Those red lips, orange polka dot dress, beautiful golden brown hair that curled right around those pretty little ears—
You looked away from her and down into your water. There was this rising feeling in your body that was hard to ignore; a sin that tainted every thought it touched. Everything was perfect for her.
Yet, everything was perfect for you, too.
Right.
You looked back up, smiling as the boys and girls darted back and forth before you. They would look at you too, sometimes, wanting some sort of approval of what they were doing.
“So, Kathy. How’s the hubby been treating you?” Anne asked, sipping her Coca-Cola through a straw. The other women around the table looked at Kathy eagerly.
She bit her lip.
“Oh, he’s something… A gentleman, but he has a rough side, you know?”
They giggled.
You ignored them.
Evening began to cover Blackwell soon, and the birthday party had gone nicely, cheers and presents galore for the birthday girl. Everyone left Kathy’s house except for you.
“Thank you so much for helping me set up everything. I really appreciate it.” Kathy said with a smile, washing the towering pile of dishes in her kitchen sink.
“You don’t have to thank me. I can wash those dishes, too.”
“Are you sure? That’s a lot to clean, and it’s getting late.”
You smiled at her, then.
“It’s alright, don’t worry about me.”
She paused in her movements, her gaze at you soft as she then pushed away from the counter, wiping her hands off her apron.
“I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?”
“Okay.” You said, watching as Kathy disappeared into the nearby hallway.
You scrubbed at the dishes, suds of soap forming and water washing it down the drain, then placing them on the drying rack. Yet, as time went by, it felt like the dirty pile was still as tall as it was before Kathy left the room. Five minutes turned into fifteen minutes, and still no sight of her. Yet, you swore you could hear a sob over the rushing sink.
You turned your head to the hallway.
“Kathy? You okay?” You yelled out, but there was no response.
You took another dish and scrubbed at it—
The front door opened, then, slamming shut. You jumped a bit as you turned around to see a familiar yet hidden face: Kathy’s husband, Leland Coyle, Officer Coyle, Murphy’s idol, the man you met at the initiation ceremony just a year ago. You hadn’t seen him since, only heard of him. He stared at you curiously, probably expecting his woman to be there and not you. You were quiet as you turned back to the dishes, heart thumping against your chest.
A strong hand then grabbed at your waist. A gasp came out, and the plate dropped into the sink, shards of glass shattering from the fall.
“Seems like you dropped that, honey.”
Husband, cop, idol, hero: he was all those things at once, and yet, all you could do was nod with wide eyes focused on the sink, exhaling far too much and inhaling far too little.
Another hand came into view, this time on the counter, trapping you in gripped claws.
You couldn’t see his face, and the thought of it unnerved you to your core.
“Now, tell me. What would ya be doing here in my house?”
You gulped.
“Katherine needed some help around the house so I came over. We had a birthday party here with Margaret, Sarah, and some others with their kids. I don’t mean to trouble you, I—”
His grip on your waist tightened, pushing you even closer; you could feel his breath on your ear, smell hard liquor and cigarette smoke, and feel his rough hand against your thin dress.
He then sighed into your ear, almost like a purr.
“Hmm. I never told her it was okay to invite a buncha people over today. Where’s she at?”
For a second, you didn’t want to answer him. You picked up the pieces of the broken plate in the sink, counting them out and placing them together on the counter, opposite of Leland’s hand.
“I… think she's in the bathroom. She hasn’t been out in a while.”
His grip tightened, and you held in a wince.
You then looked at him.
You never got to see his naked eyes. An unimaginable fern green— not too bright, but still enough to gleam in the faint darkness between them. A golden crown encircled the pupils, spiking up into thin lines before morphing into the green iris.
They were drunken eyes saved for the bedroom, a gaze that felt similar to one he may have given you at the police station just a year ago.
Leland smiled.
“You go on home, sweetness. You've done more than enough for us already.”
You stared at him, and the scared look in your eyes was glossed over, his eyes lingering on your neck and lips.
“Okay. Goodnight, then.”
“That's a good girl. Get some rest.”
His grip remained on your waist and on the counter, but he eventually let go, patting the counter before turning away.
You exhaled a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, seeing Leland walking down the hallway towards the bathroom.
You were out of the house before you knew it, hurriedly stepping down the stairs and across the road to your house. The night was loud, a powerful wind and a horde of dog barks and growls sweeping the neighborhood into cacophony. Your house was right in front of you, feet pattering up the stairs to open the door—
But it still felt like he was there, his scent as strong as it was when he was mere centimeters away from you.
Murphy was at the dinner table, and his head immediately rose up at the sight and sound of you.
“It’s late, honey. Where were you off to? I couldn’t sleep without you, heh.” His voice was laced with utter concern, his face lit up by the lone lamp nearby.
“Sorry, I had to clean up after that party we had at Kathy’s.” You looked away from him, focusing on removing your shoes and placing your purse on the table in front of him. “We should go to bed.”
Murphy just stared at her before sighing and standing up.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
You nodded and smiled, and as you headed up stairs with Murphy behind you, you noticed he stopped midway on the steps. You turned to him, your head tilted.
“Have you been smoking?” He blurted out.
“What? No, no, I don’t smoke.”
“Or maybe drinking?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I can smell it all over you. I thought y'all had kids over.”
“We did…” You turned away to walk up the stairs to the top, Murphy slowly following. You paused before you formulated the right words. “Sarah did bring some drinks and smokes, but I didn’t do any of it.”
A complete lie.
He was quiet for a moment before scoffing a laugh out.
“She probably shouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah. I’ll let her know.”
After brushing your teeth and cleaning up a bit in the bathroom upstairs, you laid in bed together with Murphy.
You turned on your side, watching the window, Kathy’s house right there in front of you.
You worried for the worst, but it soon passed as Murphy wrapped his arms around your waist, both of you falling asleep.
Yet, you couldn’t get Leland Coyle off your mind in spite of slumber, no matter how hard you tried and tossed and turned throughout the night. He was there through it all.
\\\
March 15, 1933
When Leland thought that maybe he saw a flicker of light, it exploded into God's very own strike onto the dead earth; and Leland was witness to it— to show just how almighty He was to the boy. It was a light show for him and only him: not the perverted parents, the skinny cows, the disgusting barks of his dogs, but the little boy with blood coming down his nose.
The electricity crackled the air, and Leland could feel all his hairs stand up in wanton greed. He stretched out his arms, cracking a small smile as the goosebumps on his bare arms and legs shivered his core.
Another boom of lightning struck the endless fields, and Leland jumped—
The dark afternoon sky above, laden with the most deathly ash and dust, rippled with waves of blue light, and it was the most beautiful thing that Leland witnessed in his conceived world.
The Lord was powerful, angry, and right, and He sent down a cascade of light from upon his realm.
It was so beautiful.
Leland watched in awe around him, and the light show was forever suspended in its crescendo. The adrenaline never died and the booms of thunder attuned his heart to the righteous heavens. Leland laughed and whooped and hollered, kicking up dust and dirt as lightning struck the land over and over again.
The laughter took over his body, and he fell onto the flat ground, staring at the electric sky: black dust covered his face and body, his stomach hurt with how happy he was, and God never let up His display of rage and inspiration.
Leland was meant for good things.