Things We Do in the Dark(12)

There was a shift change before dinner, and the officer now in charge is an older man with heavy footsteps and a wheeze. The keys jangling on his belt serve as warning bells for his imminent appearance at the bars, and all three women look up when they hear him approaching.

“My lawyer here?” one of her cellmates calls out. “Because I need to get the fuck home. I got kids.”

“It’s her lawyer.” The officer points to Paris. “And you shoulda thought about your kids before you assaulted your neighbor.”

“Allegedly.”

“Peralta,” he says, “you getting up or what?”

Paris moves toward the bars as her cellmates talk in low voices about her. They were brought in separately for unrelated reasons, but the two women recognized each other right away. It turns out they move in similar social circles, and they both dated a guy named Dexter, who they agree is a loser. But now they’re tittering about Paris, and their continuous snark mixed with cackles of laughter makes her think of the two hecklers, Statler and Waldorf, from The Muppet Show.

“… killed her husband…”

“… gold-digging ho, but I respect that…”

“… I do like those slippers, though…”

“… Netflix show is funny as shit…”

“… not Netflix, it’s on Quan…”

Elsie finally appears, looking worn. The bright skirt and blouse have been replaced by leggings and a tunic top, and she looks like she’s had a longer day than Paris has. She passes a white paper bag through the bars.

“I brought you a late supper. I can’t stay long.”

“They fed us already.” Paris peers into the bag. Another sandwich, pulled pork on a freshly baked baguette from Fénix, the Cuban place in Elsie’s neighborhood. “But this is much better. Thank you.”

“That smells good,” one of the Muppets says loudly. “Where’s ours?”

Elsie glares at them with a look that could melt steel, then motions for Paris to come closer. She doesn’t begin speaking until their faces are inches apart through the bars.

“I just got a look at the toxicology report.” Elsie’s tone is a hair above a whisper. “They found cocaine and amphetamines in Jimmy’s system. Did you know he was using again?”

“No,” Paris says, unable to conceal her shock. “Of course not.”

“He was clean for seven years.” Elsie’s voice hitches. “I told Zoe months ago that the Quan deal might be too much pressure for him. She insisted he was fine.”

“He did seem fine,” Paris says. “But Elsie—” She hesitates.

“Spit it out. This is not the time to withhold anything from me.”

“There was something going on with Jimmy’s memory,” Paris says. “He was starting to … forget things. Not all the time. But every so often, he’d forget something completely random.”

Elsie stares at her through the bars. “Example?”

“I once caught him staring at an orange for a whole minute. An orange. When I asked him what he was doing, he asked me what the name of the fruit was. Then he tried to laugh it off, saying he was just kidding around. When something similar happened a couple of weeks later, I said I was concerned. He got really angry and said he couldn’t believe he married someone who couldn’t take a joke. It was the first time he ever spoke to me that way.”

She was understating it. Jimmy hadn’t just been angry, he’d been enraged. And mean. Are you fucking kidding me right now? How can you be my fucking wife and not get that it’s a joke? Either you’re stupid, or you have zero sense of humor. I can’t decide which is worse.

“That wasn’t anger, that was fear.” Elsie sags against the bars. “He watched his mother waste away from Alzheimer’s, not long after The Prince of Poughkeepsie ended. I don’t know if you’ve known anyone with the disease, but the end stage is absolutely brutal. Jimmy was there every day during her final year. He always said his biggest nightmare was that the same thing would happen to him.” She gives Paris a look. “Why didn’t you take him to the doctor?”

“He wouldn’t go,” Paris says. “I made two appointments for him, and he canceled both without telling me. He finally promised to go once the second show was recorded, but when I reminded him, he brushed it off, saying he was too busy doing press. He told me I was turning into a nag and to get off his back. He got angry every time I brought it up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s clear from Elsie’s controlled tone that she’s furious. “He would have listened to me. I could have made him go.”

Paris meets her gaze. “That’s why he told me not to tell you. He was my husband, Elsie. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to watch out for him, is what,” Elsie snaps. “That’s the deal you make when you marry a man three decades older than you. You’re supposed to give a shit that he’s getting sick, and you’re supposed to notice that he’s using drugs again. For fuck’s sake, Paris. How self-absorbed are you that you missed these things?”

Paris’s face is hot. There’s nothing she can say to this, because Elsie is right. She has been completely focused on herself the past few months, trying to figure out how to keep her own life from imploding. She wasn’t paying attention to Jimmy’s health. In fairness, neither was Zoe, but Zoe wasn’t his wife.