I hated her. I hated her until I wanted to kill her. I’m a nice guy, but my wife is Wanda – Wicked Witch Wanda. I didn’t figure that out until after I’d married her.
“What are you doing today, Jackson?” she asked, peering over her newspaper.
We didn’t talk much these days. In fact, I was rather pissed at her. She hated it when I didn’t talk to her. She was thirty years older than me, richer than God. Did she think I was here for wrinkles and red hats? I didn’t mind those things at first. I’d tried. I’d cared about her until she started messing with me.
“I’m not doing much today,” I responded, refusing to make eye contact with her. She hated that too. Good! She could rot in hell. Cutting off my allowance. Reneging on the promises she’d made me. Come on. What the hell did she think this was? True love?
I cut up a piece of breakfast sausage, held it under the table for Rusty. My dog was the only thing I liked in this bloody house.
I waited. No Rusty. In fact, I hadn’t seen him all morning.
“Oh,” Wanda said. “Rusty isn’t here.”
“I can see that.” She knew I loved my dog. Rusty and I had been through thick and thin. When my first wife died of cancer and I’d lost everything I owned, Rusty had been there. When I had to live in my car for a year, Rusty had been there. For everything that mattered, Rusty had been there.
“Rusty’s not coming back,” Wanda said.
Messing with me was one thing. Messing with my dog was another. “What?” I glared at her across the table.
“Well, look who’s giving me his full attention now. It’s about time,” she whined. The type of whine only a born-rich debutante who’s never endured any significant suffering in life can execute. “I deserve respect.”
“Yeah. We all deserve a lot of things, Princess and I deserve my dog. Why are you being such a bi…”
“Stop it, Jackson! Your precious Rusty can come back. As soon as you come back to my bedroom and do what you’re paid to do.”
“I haven’t been getting paid lately,” I said. “So I’m not particularly motivated.”
“Well, Dearest, I thought that might be a problem.” She pulled a wad of bills from her pocket and threw them at me. I caught them with one hand, started counting. Generous. This was about a month’s worth of generous. “Tonight. My bedroom,” she demanded. “Eight p.m. and you’ll have your dog back tomorrow. Otherwise, I don’t think poor Rusty will survive.”
I felt my face heat up. Bitch! Damn. I had done this to myself. To Rusty. Things needed to change. Today. It was time for my escape plan. I was ready.
I stalked out of the house, escaping through the back door in the kitchen. I knew where Rusty was. Wanda thought I was stupid. I wasn’t. Gloria, her housekeeper, had Rusty. They were waiting for me at her apartment in Glenview. As I drove away from the house, I figured Wanda would be having her one allotted cigarette in about ten minutes. I hated smoking, but today, it was going to change my life. I felt my mood pick up. Gas leaks could cause a lot of damage, especially accidental ones. I’d learned all about it from the Internet.
I’d just reached the road when the house exploded in a huge ball of fire. Wanda had her cigarette early I guess. I smiled. My wife was literally toast. I slammed the brakes, skidded to a stop as neighbours came running. Time to act sad. Time to go through the grieving husband routine. After that, me, Rusty, and Gloria were going to live happily ever after — Anywhere else but here.
by 
Connie Taylor
Latest posts by Connie Taylor (see all)
- Rescuing Rusty - October 31, 2020
Great piece, Connie!