The Lee She Loved
Michael Barbato-Dunn
Marina woke to hushed conversations from the kitchen. Three voices, including Lee's, all low and serious.
Marina and Lee had lived apart now for six months, she and the girls here in Irving, Lee renting an apartment twenty minutes away in Dallas. He said he had good work there, though never offered specifics. Only on weekends did he stay with them. At first, the arrangement embarrassed her; they'd been married just two years. But she quickly came to appreciate the space it gave her from his increasingly frequent rants and demands.
Now, while visiting, he’d had the nerve to invite men over past midnight. Marina clenched her fists and prayed that Mrs. Paine, her sweet landlady, didn’t wake.
After a time, she heard the front door close. Then, quiet.
#
In the morning, Marina placed June in her highchair. Audrey, just one month old, was still sleeping. As was Lee.
She noticed a business-sized envelope on the kitchen table. It was sealed, with no writing on either side. She felt its heft on her palms, its fullness, its flexibility.
Cash, she realized. Lots of it.
When she’d first met Lee at the dance hall in Minsk, he had been magnetic: opinionated, passionate, radiant. So very unlike her homeland’s crass and odorous men. They danced for hours.
But after bringing her to the States he’d turned, twisted. Now this: late night meetings, unexplained payments.
Marina dropped the envelope on the table, then wiped her hands on her apron.
#
Audrey woke two hours later. The baby’s sleep had been peaceful, and now she gurgled and grinned as she took the bottle. June was quiet, watching Bugs Bunny on the set in Mrs. Paine's living room. Marina exhaled.
Lee stomped down the steps, jacket on, cigarette dangling. "Morning," he muttered, then stepped into the garage.
Audrey cried; her bottle was empty. Marina hoisted the baby to her shoulder and went to the refrigerator. My poor girls, she thought. They’ll suffer, growing up with a mostly absent father.
At least they had Mrs. Paine, a newly divorced woman who asked for little rent and helped with the girls. On Friday nights, she played Elvis on her turntable and the two women danced.
Lee returned to the kitchen, a duffle over his shoulder. "I'm going back to Dallas."
"Who were those men last night?"
He scowled. "None of your concern."
"But—"
Lee pointed a finger. "I'm warning you, Marina. Not a word to anyone." He kissed the baby on her forehead and scurried out the door.
Marina sighed. Turning back to the table, she realized the envelope was gone.
#
Mrs. Paine came back from grocery shopping. "Did Lee return to Dallas?" she said. "Big day there—the president is coming!"
Marina stared at Mrs. Paine. She heard cartoon chatter in the living room, and June giggling. "Lee left two hours ago. Can you hold Audrey? I need to check something."
She handed over the baby, then went to the garage and opened the storage chest. The blanket in which he'd wrapped his rifle lay in a heap. Images swirled: the hushed conversation, the envelope, his dash out of the door. She felt nauseous and lowered herself to the concrete floor, its chill piercing against her skirt and legs.
Marina held the blanket to her face. It smelled of the old Lee. The Lee she missed. The Lee she loved.
She hurried to the kitchen, past Mrs. Paine and Audrey, to the phone on the wall. Taking a breath, she dialed the police, hoping she was not too late.
Michael Barbato-Dunn has appeared in 101Words, Microfiction Monday, the Shacklebound Book of Drabbles, SciFi Shorts, the Dribble Drabble Review, and other publications. He lives in Philadelphia. Find him at michaelbarbatodunn.com.
