Portraits By Kelly

 

 

 

Portraits By Kelly

 

 

Silently, I gave her credit. It had to take a great deal of self-restraint and composure for her to last as long as she did without asking the question. I was certain that she wanted to the very moment I entered her office. I sensed it instantly, but it had now been a week since the act itself. I chose to keep my quiet comfort as long as possible. Down time. Besides, there was more ahead to do, then, to prepare for.  

Shrinks are sometimes at a disadvantage, I’ve always thought. Like the lily-white high school teachers I had in school, like most of my past employers, like my ex, they assume that they are automatically smarter than the people they come in contact with on the job. This can cloud their ability to observe sharply. As I lay, in the moments before, she could not have known that I’d consider her royal blue business suit, especially over that bland grey blouse. Definitely not her to make the statement, Today I’m all business. This woman was never all business and no style. And the missing bracelet made for her by her first grandchild, total giveaway. She saw the morning news and was afraid, but she had to come.

 

And the thought passed through me, it was nice of her to see me. She had always been considerate of my feelings, sensitive to my situations, as much as her pedigree would allow. When I was sick she sent me herbal teas, during the holidays she always mails a card, and when I can’t make the sessions I could expect a phone call even if I call in advance and leave a message saying why. As if she needs to approve.

Even now, before the meat and potatoes, and yes I know it’s part fear, part psychology, small talk and such, she asks how my painting is coming along, about my daughter---if I’ve heard from her, how I am feeling overall...Sometimes we all simply need someone to pretend, y’know? The way we pretend for them...I once heard an ornery ol’ man say, “The truth is like the proper medication: It’s effective as hell, but you can only take so much of it per day.”

 

There I stood at the foot of the bed yet again. Examining. This one I did not recognize so I assumed she was not an acquaintance of my daughter, Kira, but she could not have been much older. He looked so normal. Natural. Lovingly, he looked. I hadn’t seen this from him in quite some time. And spooning. A couple. Their skin matched. Ours did not. Maybe he grew tired of what that entails, or the experiment was now over, and peer pressure’s a b***h---I don’t know. Still, to someone without a sadistic daddy-does-daughter image in their head, they’d look good together. My husband, the financial advisor, was always so image-conscious, it was good to see him like this...bare, uncensored. So I took a mental picture and refocused.

Ah, the possibilities. The ol’ pillow-covered bullet to the brain. Classic, but no, not on my new Sealy. Poisonous injection? Nah, that too screams of bloody murder. This wasn’t my doing. Why should I concede my freedom so easily? And this will effect Kira’s life forever. More thought here is required. More creativity. I am, after all, an artist.

 

 

“Mrs. Weisman---Kelly?” Her slip-up slaps me back into reality. She could never say my last name with the genuine belief that it was mine. “The body found in Lake View...” she adds this time, her tone urging me to identify it. I do with certainty. “Did you have anything to do with your husband’s death?” she asks again.

Effortlessly, my gaze leaves hers and floats the length and content of the room---my last visit, surely---landing briefly on the voice-activated recorder. Ready or not to accept the consequences, it is the delivery more than the answer I care about. That is where the truth lies in its proper dosage. “I must have, don’t you think?” She did not react but I had already noted her body tightened for this. “Why, I imagine I must have been killing him for years for him to do what he did to me, as much as he has. Men aren’t perfect beings, I know, but would a man intentionally hurt a woman like me? A plain Jane homebody plucked from a small town who married him with the sole purpose of pleasing him and bearing his children?”

I look her in the eyes. Here, I’m supposed to. They are detail-oriented as always, inquisitive, analytical, and currently checking for sarcasm. Mine are filled with the passion of truth, though I harness it carefully. “Show passion but not rage,” my future attorney will advise.

“Yes, I’m sure it must have been murder to live with such a woman. He was, after all, a good man. A great catch! I was very lucky to have him...” Just ask anybody that knows us.

 

 

An excerpt from a past publishing. 

Originally written in 2005.

Author's Note

An excerpt of a past write.

Reviews

[Misillusions]

Wow, you have something here...I didn't know you do mystery! I'd like to be your beta reader when you're done.

Thanks