𝑱𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     I’m driving across the street when I see a throng in front of my house. After yesterday’s episode, I’ve decided to make sure Adrienne always has her pills in bulk. I know she’s been going through a lot and hallucinations are normal with her condition. But I don’t want her to think that I see her to be crazy. She has no idea how much I understand her and what she’s going through. Yesterday’s episode made me realize that I have to dedicate a lot of time to Adrienne. If she didn’t want to tell me about her hallucinations, what more was she keeping from me?

     The question strikes me, and I’d have been sent into a revert if my mind wasn’t focused on the crowd in front of my house. I decelerate to a stop behind a squad car, unfasten the seat belt, and step out. When I walk away from my car, that’s when my mind comes to the squad car I’ve parked behind. It’s the police!

     I near the crowd and weave my way into it, familiar faces staring at me. At first, I place my best guess something’s happened to Ms. Gillian, but then I glance up and see her standing on her front porch, clasping her cardigan to her neck. I’m glad she’s all right, but I’m still curious, wondering why there are so many people.

     I reach the peak of the crowd. Someone’s lying on a gurney, draped in a white sheet. I look up and notice yellow ribbons cordoned off Adrienne’s garden. My mind connects the missing pieces, and I can’t believe what it has formulated. No, it can’t be!

     A uniformed police officer with the name tag Sheriff Hunt steps forward while patrolmen control the crowd. I recognize him immediately. He’s been in this neighborhood on one or two occasions to curb minor disturbances. He knows me and Adrienne, including everyone in this neighborhood. He’s a familiar stranger.

     He approaches me with a sympathetic look and takes off his hat to reveal a strong face with a square jawline and a Roman nose. His look is very striking like a soldier. “I’m sorry, Jeff,” he manages.

     This leads me to believe that my thought is right. The first thing I do is deny any of what’s happening. Denial is my defense mechanism against this attack. I know this is a nightmare, and I’ll eventually wake up, screaming very loudly. I tell myself to wake up already. When I don’t, I know immediately this isn’t a nightmare. It is real, but somehow it feels very surreal.

     I’m still in denial. I don’t believe what I’ve seen. I walk past Sheriff Hunt to the gurney. Two paramedics are ready to take the body away. I intercept and pull back the sheet to reveal the person’s hand. When I see the wedding ring I gave her, my heart skips a beat. God, it’s her. It’s my Adrienne, and she’s dead!

     Even with proof, I still don’t believe it. For me this is a terrible nightmare—one that I haven’t had in years. I don’t dare take off the sheet covering her face. I will instantly faint. I backstep and almost collide with Sheriff Hunt. He grips my shoulders, preventing a lethal fall.

     “I think we should go inside,” he says.

     I don’t argue. My neighbors are already staring at this awkward scene and any moment from now, I might lose it.

     He guides me to the front porch and notices I’m in no condition to do anything. He asks for the keys to the house when we near the door. I finger the doormat. He crouches over and picks up the keys beneath it. Then he gets the door open, and we enter the house.

     I walk straight into the kitchen, plopping down in a chair behind the center table. Sheriff Hunt follows behind. He places his hat on the chair next to mine. He’s been in the house before. When we first moved in, we invited the neighbors for a housewarming. One of the Parker brothers carelessly got drunk and went wild. We had to call the cops to subdue him before he wreaked havoc. Sheriff Hunt and his deputy were on duty, and that’s when our friendship started.

     “Coffee?” he asks, and I bob my head.

     He moves around the kitchen with the agility of a sportsman as he gets the coffee done. I listen to the echoes of his footsteps, the noise from the crowd, the splashing of water as he opens the tap, and I just want to lose it. I can’t believe she did it. My worst fears have come true. I always knew that if I blunder by leaving her, she might do it. But I have been leaving her for work and she never did it. Why today? Then I remember yesterday’s silly quarrel. Of course, it’s because of it. I can’t stop feeling guilty. I inadvertently killed my wife.

     I scratch my temple and tap continuously on the table. Sheriff Hunt brings two mugs of hot coffee to the table. I reach for one and sip consecutively. The warmth from the coffee relaxes me. I sigh. Sheriff Hunt sits across from me, nursing his own.

     “I’m sorry, Jeff,” he says again.

     “I know.” I slurp the coffee, stopping the tears that have gathered in my eyes from falling.

     We sit in awkward silence. When I finish the coffee, I feel the cold again, and I curse under my breath. At nothing particularly. I’m angry, but I don’t know who to take it on. I feel like smashing the mug on the floor and yelling at the crowd to leave already. At the same time, I want to go upstairs, hide under the sheets, and cry all day. I can’t believe I drove Adrienne to her death. Now she’s gone. I’m never going to see her again. Death is so cruel.

     Two minutes later before I calm myself down. Whatever I do won’t bring my wife back. She’s gone, and I’m in pain. The pain will be there forever. It will never go, and it will get worse because I know I killed her. But in the long run, I will learn to live with it, and it will eventually become part of me.

     “Who found her?”

     “A jogger,” Hunt says. “She was walking her dog across the street when it started barking and ran toward the garden. She followed her dog and that’s where she found your wife.”

     I picture Adrienne on the garden floor, her eyes wide open, lying in a pool of blood. It’s so vivid. I shut my eyes and distort the picture in my mind. I can’t believe she jumped over the window sill. That’s why she had been sitting there all along, thinking about throwing herself from the bedroom. The thought depresses me, and I feel terrible I couldn’t protect her.

     “Do you want us to open a formal investigation?”

     “What for?”

     “To find out if—”

     “She killed herself,” I say quickly.

     Sheriff Hunt’s face fills with shock. “Are you sure she didn’t accidentally fall or was pushed by someone?”

     Neither of them makes sense. No one wanted Adrienne dead. She was loved by all. And for crying out loud she was sitting on the window sill. People just don’t fall from window sills. Adrienne didn’t have an accident. She committed suicide. It’s hard for me to say it, but no one knows her as much as I do.

     “No,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s been sitting on the window sill almost every day and she never fell. Why today, especially when we argued the night before?”

     Sheriff Hunt’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

     I sigh, trying my best to explain for his enlightenment. My mind races back to eight months ago before we had the accident that forever changed everything.