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Grace was in her nightgown, sitting by the chair with a small light and a book on her hands but her focus was elsewhere as she listened to the quiet house, waiting for the sound of his boots on the floor, the rhythm of his steps as familiar to her as the beat of her own heart. They established a respectful routine, playing pretend that they were just a recently married couple with a baby on the way. The neighborhood was nice and quiet. All the cops were paid by Tommy to make sure things remained that way. He even told her to decorate the place, offering her the money with a nonchalant “isn't that what rich women do?”. The place was tasteful, everything was in order. She felt like a child again, playing house and aware that come dinner time the fantasy would have to be shattered.
Grace’s man (she couldn't’t bring herself to quite pretend he was her husband) was just running a little late, she told herself. She was taking their game too far, playing the worried housewife. She could remember his distant laughter, teasing her and, asking if she would stay at home waiting for him when she was about to tell him that no, she wouldn't’t because very soon he would regret this - this carefree intimacy he was so eagerly building. Now they had everything but they knew too much. Now laughter was tainted with deeper knowledge. But he was still hopeful. She could feel it in his touch, in the way his eyes lingered on her, in the formalities he demanded, in the neat and orderly life he had bought her. It was a gift for her because he loved her. Even if he refused to say so. Even if he lost all the eagerness he used to have. Now he reminded her of a cat with his way watching her from afar and deciding when to approach, walking away just as she was getting too comfortable.
She heard a sound, but it was different from what she expected. The pacing was wrong and she readied herself, made a run for her purse and grabbed her gun. Then came his voice, calling her, telling her to come out.
He was waiting for her in the corridor and he murmured quietly to her, his hand inviting her to him - as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see his clothes were damp:
“It’s fine now, Grace, but it didn't go as planned. You have your gun there? Good.” He gave a nod and she knew he hated this. He hated that she had to fend for herself, that his spell around the house had failed. But he loved that she was ready for it. “For now it’s fine, you can go to bed... we’re safe.”
Without word, she reached for his hand, her voice a whisper in the darkness:
“Come on. I’ll help you, Tommy”. She could feel the stillness in the air, a second of doubt between them – would he let her in or insist on pretending? She had chosen her word carefully, showing him she remembered her promise even if she broke it. “Tommy?”
His hand was in her and they walked to the bathroom. Grace was afraid of what the light would show her. Was he hurt? There, she started working on him, steady hands getting him out of clothes and examining bruises, the blood just above his eyebrows, a deeper cut on his right hand. He closed her eyes and let her wash him, then fix up bandages. Relief taking her over as she realised most of the blood wasn't his.
“I’m sorry” he said quietly, surprising her. He looked older, tired. She still had her gun with her, resting in the sink and he knew it but couldn't’t bring himself to protest.
“I’m sorry too. Did I miss something? Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m clean. You’re a good nurse.” He smiled now, a little less stiff. He grabbed her hand this time and they both got up and went to bed, Grace feeling better about them then she ever did since they had started things again.
Tommy still didn't’t get her. He thought she had married because she was looking for what he couldn't offer. He reasoned that upping his offer was the answer. The reality was, between them there was something truthful she would never find in someone else. Truth isn’t beautiful and nicely packaged, Grace thought, it was hard and dangerous but addicting. They were kindred spirits and the longer Tommy tried to pretend she was so much better than him the less they would work. They lay in bed and she turned to him, signaling for him to do the same.
“What happened? Can you tell me?”
“I killed a man. I know you probably think I’m used to it but it’s still unnerving. All the mess, the blood.”
“I don’t think that at all”
“What do you think?”
“I know it is disturbing. It haunts you.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her, studying her features. Trying to call her bluff, she thought.
“I wish you didn't’t, Grace.”
“I wish you didn't too.” She tried to let her read her. It wasn’t natural to her – letting someone really see her, but she willed herself to do it. He got closer and closer until his eyes were just a blur and kissed her softly.
“I love you too, Tommy. Now just rest” They adjusted to each other, his arm around her. Tommy thought it was probably a sin to feel so happy about confessing a murder. He felt perfectly absolved, if he was being honest.