The Bath

The knock at the front door came when the bath was almost ready.

The calming scents from the aromatherapy beads Jessica spent way too much money on had been filling the bathroom as they lazily drifted on the currents from the faucet, bobbing under the stream to pop back up and float away as they slowly dissolved. She had been sitting on the floor in her bathrobe, head leaning on her forearm, watching them in the water. The warmth and scents making the small room calm and peaceful. Until that knock broke her revery.

Gary said never answer the door, but the knocking was insistent and she knew ignoring such pounding could lead to trouble as well. She checked her watch, then looked longingly at the bathtub steaming and tranquil. She had arranged a tray with delicacies across the bath and it promised to wait for her while she at least looked to see who was at the door. She sighed and hauled herself up. Tightening her bathrobe, she came down the stairs to the front door and looked out the peep hole. The fish lens warped the two figures standing there in the overhead light, the reflective word, Police, blazing on each. They shuffled as she stared, then, before they could knock again, she called out.

“Hello?” She yelled through the bolted door.

“Is that Jessica Jackson?” One of them yelled back. Her heart jolted, immediately quickening her breath. Never had they come asking for her. The police never concerned themselves with her, she thought bitterly.

“Yes,” she called back, still not opening the door.

“I’m Officer Wilson and this is Officer Mitchell, Mrs. Jackson. We have some important news we need to deliver. Could we come inside, please?” the same officer called.

“Let me see your ID.” She yelled. They pulled their IDs out of the plastic sleeves in their vests to present to the peep hole. She squinted at them, Gary’s instructions wafting through her brain, if the cops come, don’t let them in. If they won’t go away, make them work for it. They’re tricky fuckers, making trouble for honest folk.

“Can you just tell me what you want? I can hear you through the door.” She yelled. She was pressing her eye to the peep hole and saw them put their IDs away.

“We’ve come to talk about Gary, Mrs. Jackson. It would be better to do this inside.” I’ll bet it would, Jessica thought, trying to see the dominoes that were stacked beyond this choice. She flicked her eyes around the hallway, the living room, making sure everything the police might see was in order. She knew Gary wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, they should be gone by then, and if she could get them out fast, she’d still have time for her bath.

Clutching the top of her robe, she opened the door and ushered them in. Now that she made the decision, she wanted this done fast.

They followed her into the living room where everyone sat, them on the couch together, her on a wingback facing them. The two officers looked like a father and son. The older one with a kindly look on his face, all neighbourly and open, sitting like the couch was the most comfortable seat in the room. The younger one on the other hand, sat ram-rod straight, as if trying to touch the least amount of couch he could manage. He looked around, while the older one, greying in both hair and vigour, placed the papers he had been carrying onto his lap. She wondered if she should offer them something to drink, hearing herself say, “Can I get you something to drink?”, before her brain had firmly decided to do so. They smiled and said no, thank you, their voices practiced in the polite refusal.

Jessica had already forgotten their names, so flustered at having them in the house. The father figure cleared his throat and the younger one shifted, sliding his eyes at his partner as he started to speak.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Jackson.” The father figure began, “there’s been an altercation at a bar - “ here he checked his notes, but she felt this was just to delay. He knew very well what bar, there were only four in town, “The Rusty Rooster.” He verified. She nodded, knowing Gary was there and could already guess at what the altercation was about.

“You know the place?” What a stupid question. Of course she knew the place. Dodgy, dark, and filled with football fans watching ‘the game’ on one of the three big screen t.v.s, the fans becoming drunker in unison for four quarters. She felt the question was more to get her to say something.

“Yes, I know the place, officer. Gary goes to watch the Broncos play.”

“Yes, well, it seems he got into an argument tonight. Over the game.”

She nodded her understanding. Before starting the bath she had the game playing on the t.v. in the kitchen and watched the Broncos lose the game, which meant they also lost the AFC division and their chance at the Super Bowl. And if Gary had placed a bet on them to win, an argument would only be the beginning.

“You don’t seem surprised.” The younger officer interjected, the senior officer mutely glared at him from his side of the couch. She looked to him as well, slowly. He was watching her like he was trying to puzzle out her behaviour, like she was too calm or not asking the right questions, not playing the part properly. She had no idea how to play this part, but there was something alert in him that she did not like. Was he a friend of Gary’s? Was he going to tell him how calm she was, hearing he behaved badly and didn’t stick up for him, that she hadn’t acted like an argument was totally out of character?

“Gary gets very… passionate about football,” she explained, “and the Broncos are his team. To have them lose this close to the Super Bowl, well, that can make any fan upset.” She said diplomatically. Please, she thought, finish telling me what this is about so I can go back upstairs.

“Are you a Broncos fan yourself?” The younger asked.

“No I’m not. I never liked the game.” She said flatly, then, looking back at the senior officer she asked tentatively, “Can you tell my what happened?”

“Well,” The older one took control again, smoothing the irritation out of his demeanour as he brought his attention fully back to the task at hand, “witnesses say there had been a heated argument between Gary and another patron at the Rooster. They were told to take it outside, which they did. Then it got physical, and well, Gary was knocked down and hit his head on a curb and, well, Mrs. Jackson, he died.” The older cop finished, and waited.

Jessica blinked. “Wait, what?” She blinked again, “he’s dead?”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news Mrs. Jackson, but the trauma to his head killed him almost instantly. He wouldn’t have suffered.” He said gently, “we have the other man in custody and are interviewing witnesses about the incident.”

“Altercation.” She corrected, word choice suddenly becoming very important to her.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been calling it an altercation. It’s a better word than incident. But frankly, neither one is very…” Her eyes searched, then picked the word off the ceiling, “impactful, you know? You’d think an act that ended someone’s life would require the word to have more oomph, more gravitas.”

The older cop sighed, “Ma’am, I’ve been doing this a long time, and I have found that words with less force are usually appreciated by those hearing the news.”

Jessica looked apologetic at him, “Of course, officer. This isn’t your first rodeo as they say.” But it is mine, she thought.

Her eyes turned to her lap, suddenly aware of her hands, one folded primly over the other, resting. Peaceful. It seemed curious to her.

“Is there anything I need to do right now?” She asked, eyes still downcast.

“No, ma’am, but there are steps that need to be taken tomorrow, at your earliest convenience. Do you need someone to stay with you tonight? Do you have someone you can call who can be with you in this time?”

She looked into his eyes, the creases from countless conversations like this covering his care-worn face and she pitied him.

“I will be all right. I have someone who can come by. No need to leave someone here.” She assured him.

With a palpable sense of relief from the younger, they got up to leave, dispensing information regarding next steps formally and efficiently. The senior officer offered his condolences. She thanked him and showed them out of her home.

Jessica locked the door and held the knob for balance as her whole body trembled, her breath catching and hiccuping out of her lungs. The officers outside heard the first crescendo, muffled through the door and looked at each other. The younger officer, having never told a person their loved one had died before, started to go back. His partner stopped him, “Sometimes people hold it together until the door closes, not realizing they can still be heard, or maybe they no longer care. Best to leave her to her grief.” The police walked together to the street, got into their cruiser and left.

Inside, Jessica was doubled over, laughing hysterically. No, she cackled, she positively guffawed — she thought through her life and wondered when was the last time she guffawed — ever? She couldn’t think of another time she laughed with such abandon, such loud, unbridled joy. She couldn’t walk and had to crawl up the stairs and this she found even funnier. Tears flowed unhindered as laughter filled her body, muscles beginning to ache from this novel, all encompassing freedom she felt. Wiping the tears away, catching her breath, she got back to her feet and opened the bathroom door to be enveloped into a warm steam of tender aromas and softened features. She looked at the tray over the still steaming bath - the wine, the glass, the chocolates, the pills. She scooped up the bottle of pills with a flourish and popped the lid off. She poured the pills down the toilet and flushed them.

“Ha!” She shouted at the swirling water, then grabbed the fluffiest towel she owned, placing it by the tub. She dropped her robe to the floor and eased herself into the softened, steaming water. She poured herself a glass of wine, ate a chocolate and closed her eyes to enjoy a calm and peace she hadn’t known in a long, long, time.