CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
As Thomas sat quietly in his living room looking over the file of Martha Camp’s murder—Nancy came in from the kitchen.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she said sitting next to him.
As he glanced up, “Ah…what? I’m sorry dear, what did you say?” His mind was miles away trying to figure out who and why would someone want her dead.
“I said, dinner will be ready shortly,” she said placing her hand on his leg. “Put the file away, you’re going to drive yourself nuts if you don’t get some rest.”
“I must be missing something,” he said staring at the file.
“Look at me,” she softly spoke. “I need for you to pay some attention to me for a change.”
Turning to face her, “Okay, okay, I just need some…”
“It’s not about what you need! It’s about what ‘we’ as a couple need; and I need for you to relax and get some rest! You’re going to make yourself sick and I won’t have it!” she bellowed as her tone went from sweet to audacious.
Thomas put the file down on the wooden coffee table, which he had purchased several years back for her birthday. It was not a good birthday present for her, as any woman would agree; a coffee table does not convey love or affection. “You’re right, I do need some rest,” he said slumping back in a more comfortable position on the couch.
Nancy leaned closer to him, locking her arm around his as she began to speak in a low, passive voice, “Martha’s funeral was very nice. A fair number of people came; don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I guess so,” he said as he replied in a soft, hazy manner.
“It was a shame no one attended Terri Helms funeral; she wasn’t such a bad person. Don’t you think she wasn’t a bad person?”
“Well, I really didn’t know her that well.” His eyelids were drooping as he was on the verge of dozing off.
“Stella said she saw in her crystal ball that there would be more murders; you think there will be more murders?”
“Well…I…surely…hope…not…for…” He drifted off to sleep.
As his head fell back against the couch, she shook his arm gently to keep him awake. “Do you think I’m as pretty as my sister?”
“Uh…what?” Trying to focus, he looked at her face.
“You heard what I said! You think I’m fat don’t you!” She screeched as she rose up from the couch and stormed off to their bedroom.
Startled, he sat straight up. He heard the door to their bedroom slam shut. Thomas thought to himself--what the hell did I do now? Maybe my mother was right after all; maybe Nancy wasn’t the right girl for me.
Now he tried to focus in on the large calendar, which hung on the kitchen wall near the refrigerator. Looking at the dates, he mumbled, “Well, it ain’t that time of month, so what’s her problem?” Making himself comfortable on the not-so-soft couch, he drifted off to sleep dreaming of better days to come, or so he prayed.