This story is by W. Steve Wilson and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
I cherish these weekend evenings with Bill, relaxing on the patio, sipping a glass of malbec, relishing the gentle charm of a Midwest even-fall: the rustle of the trees no longer green, soft breezes carrying a mild bite of autumn, and the distant honk of geese flying south.
Yet, a hum of anxiety tempers these moments. Our future hinges on Bill’s retirement income, but his last check-up and recent dizzy spells have me worried.
Bill reaches over and takes my hand. “I know that look, Andrea. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about our future.” I turn to face him and take his hand in both of mine. “I’m so looking forward to your retirement. But—and I’m sorry if this sounds callous—what if you go first? How will I live without your pension?”
Bill smiles, as he always does, to ease my anxieties. “I tell you what. If something happens to me, don’t let them unplug me. As long as I’m breathing, the pension checks will keep coming.”
“Bill, that’s awful.”
His smile widens, and his eyes crinkle.
“It’s not funny.”
He turns his chair to face me. “Actually, that might work. The venture capital guys at the firm have been bugging me for a new start-up idea.”
Bill thinks for a moment. “How about this: a specialized facility providing extended care for coma patients? If we keep the costs down, it could be profitable. Maybe qualify for long-term care policy benefits.”
I sit back and cross my arms. I’m skeptical. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope.” He stands, retrieves the half-empty bottle, and refills our glasses. “With the right funding, we could be up and running in no time.” He lifts his glass in a mock toast.
“Why on earth would you want to do that? You need to slow down.”
“I will. The guys at the firm could run the company. I’d be a silent partner.” He sits back down. “And you could be part of it. I know you just retired, but with your experience in hospital administration, you’d be perfect to help us launch the company.”
I sip my wine and consider his plan. More income would be nice, and it would give us something to do together.
“Well, OK. As long as you’ll be a silent partner. I’m looking forward to having more time for us.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be around so much you’ll get sick of me. And besides—worst case—you’ll have a place to park me.”
I punch his arm. “It’s still not funny, Bill.”
###
It has been a year since the Coma Center opened. To fill my days, I have stayed on as Chief Operating Officer. It keeps me busy and lets me stay close to Bill.
But I’m lost without Bill.
It’s grim karma that a month after he retired, Bill suffered a debilitating stroke, ending up a patient at the Coma Center. He was right, though: the pension checks keep coming, and our ridiculously expensive long-term care policy will cover the cost for a while.
I miss him every day. Life is a daily drudge of loneliness. Companionable weekend evenings relaxing on the patio have been replaced with solitary nights crying into my wine. There are days I ask myself, ‘what’s the point?’
Returning home from the center, I see Bianca’s text—she needs to talk. I can guess what it’s about, but it will be good to have her company.
Bianca arrives, and I offer a hug.
Her wince, long sleeves, and heavy makeup tell me all I need to know.
I grab a bottle of wine and a box of tissues, and we settle ourselves on the patio.
“Bianca, I’m so sorry. What set him off this time?”
Bianca gently hugs herself and lowers her head. Tears well up, and she wipes them on her sleeve. “Nothing, really. He’s always angry, always critical. I’m too old, too fat, no fun anymore.”
I hand her the box of tissues. “Why don’t you leave him?”
Bianca blows her nose and dabs her tears. “I don’t think I’ll have a choice. He’s taken up with a twenty-something in his office. Now I know how his first wife felt.” She lifts her head and looks me in the eye, her lip quivering. “I honestly thought he loved me, that she was the witch he said she was. Really, he just needed a newer, younger sex buddy.”
“Then get rid of him. Divorce him. It’s not like you don’t have plenty of cause.”
Bianca rests her hands on mine, gently squeezing. “Easy for you to say. Without Frank, I have nothing. Everything is in his name. He even took over my old condo. I’ll be homeless and poor.”
“You’ll be fine. We just need to find you a good lawyer.”
“Really? I don’t think so. Frank controls all our money. You saw what happened to Barbara. He destroyed her. She’s destitute, in and out of rehab, can’t hold a job.” She presses her forehead to our clasped hands. Tears dampen our intertwined fingers. Bianca’s shoulders shake with each sob.
I know she’s right; but this has gone on too long. She’s been upset before, but I’ve never seen her like this. I extract one hand and stroke her long, blonde hair.
How in God’s name can I help my friend? I know how bad off Frank’s first wife is; I need to rescue Bianca. She doesn’t deserve to be tossed out, discarded, thrown away like a used, worn piece of home décor. I’m tired of seeing my friend live with his abuse. Honestly, the world would be better off without that bastard Frank.
That thinking takes me to a dark place, to a choice. I’m so exhausted, I don’t care about the consequences. If I can save Bianca, I’ll be content with my legacy. It’s a small sacrifice I could make to trade my future for hers. And I’ll gladly trade Frank’s future for Bianca’s safety.
I scoot closer to Bianca. “I have an idea that will fix everything, but it’s risky.” Leaning in, I hesitate—just for a moment. “We’ll put Frank in a coma.”
Bianca lifts her head. Her eyes widen as my comment strikes home. “You can do that?”
“The drug used to stabilize the patients—I have access to the pharmacy. No one would question my movements around the center.”
“You’d risk that for me? What if you get caught?”
“Don’t worry about me. You just need to get Frank to take it.”
Bianca wipes her eyes and sits forward in her chair. “How do I do that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a cocktail we mix with the patients’ IVs solution.”
Bianca sits back. “Well, then that’ll be easy. I’ll mix it into his ‘special blend’ of cocaine and crushed ED meds he adds to an energy drink before he comes for me. I’m sure I can get him to take some.” She shares a grim smile.
We raise our glasses and toast to her future.
###
It has been a trying day and I’m looking forward to a long, hot, relaxing bath. Bianca’s glee at being rid of Frank is becoming a bit much, and I dread our chance encounters on those rare times when she comes to visit him. I encourage her to dial it down, to keep up appearances.
No one suspected when I approved putting Frank on the coma drugs when he was admitted, easily masking the drugs already in his system. The medical authorities accepted Bianca’s explanation for Frank’s sudden collapse, concluding the chronic use of cocaine and ED drugs contributed to his condition.
Yet, to me, she takes too much satisfaction that he’d succumbed during sex.
It has been another year, and I still miss Bill terribly. My gloominess has worsened in the months since we put Frank away.
Sure, Bianca is better off. She’s living comfortably, no more hiding bruises with sleeves and makeup. She even tells me Frank’s intended next target is living a good life with a new love.
But I question if we shouldn’t have exposed Frank, gone to the police, and reported his abuse. My guilt gnaws at me, and I can’t find peace; my only solace is I did it for a friend in dire need—I saved Bianca.
And the world is definitely better off without Frank.
So, I take it day by day, immersing myself in work, visiting Bill, and finding little pleasures where I can. Like now—the simple enjoyment of a hot bath.
I pour a glass of wine and slide beneath the bubbles, luxuriating in the soft massage of the Jacuzzi jets.
A call jangles, yanking me from my reverie.
No rest for the wicked, I think.
Taking a sip of wine, I take the call and hit the speaker button.
“Hello?”
“Andrea?”
“Yes, this is Andrea.”
“This is Claire. I’m a friend of Bianca’s. I understand you can help me with a husband problem.”
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