Routine

Routine

With the crickets chirping outside and the gentle tic-toc of the grandfather clock down the hall, Angela knew she would really be able to immerse herself in her favorite book as she settled into bed just as she did every night. She could probably get in a good hour of reading before her eyelids would begin to droop, but it was far more likely that she would fall asleep halfway through the first page or two and Ed would come in to find her sleeping like a baby with her book sprawled across her chest, all the lights burning brightly. How he hated it when she wasted energy like that, water too, if she spent too long in the shower. It would be something else for him to complain about when he made it home from his bartending shift. She smiled to herself at the thought. What a penny-pincher she married. Just one of the many qualities she found so endearing about her husband of thirty-two years.

When Angela heard the kitchen door swing open downstairs, she peered over the rim of her reading glasses at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Ed was a little late tonight. It was a quarter until twelve, but he usually made it home before eleven-thirty. She smirked and shook her head as she went back to reading. It would be just like that man to sneak in some fast food on his way home, hoping she wouldn't smell it on him and figure out that he had cheated on his diet. If that was the case, she would let it slide this time. It would be a good subject to bring up next time he complained of chest pains. She would train him to follow the doctor's orders one way or another.

Angela glanced up from her book again when Ed pulled open a drawer and then another. She smiled. As usual, he just couldn't remember where they kept the silverware. At least now it was safe for her to assume Ed was keeping to his diet. He was probably looking for a fork to eat what he liked to call 'rabbit chow'. Of course, he added so many bits and pieces to make it more bearable that it could hardly be called a salad in the end, but even with all of his garnishments, it was better than the greasy, fried food he loved so much. It was partly Angela's fault, and she knew that, but she was raised on the idea that the fastest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Well, after his first heart attack, she realized how eerily true that old saying was.

With a sigh, Angela stuck her finger in the book to mark her place and closed it. Ed had made his way into the downstairs hallway and seemed to be rummaging through the other rooms. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn't likely to find it without her help. He would often blame her for moving his things and putting them away where he couldn't find them, but she certainly never stored his belt beside the toilet or put his socks under the bed. Oh, but she could never convince him of that. It was always a part of her grand conspiracy to inconvenience him whenever possible. It was funny, in a ridiculous sort of way, that he actually believed that and had for years.

Before Angela could bring her tired bones out of bed to help her dear husband, he apparently ended his search in the hall closet. There was only one thing in there that Ed could be after at this hour, the .22 rifle she had bought him for his birthday over ten years ago. It had scared many a raccoon out of their trash cans since then, but she hadn't noticed any making a mess outside in months. She supposed they must have built up the courage to come back, probably lured in by last night's leftover salmon. Angela could already hear Ed's complaints on the matter. She should have double-bagged that sort of thing or drove it straight to the landfill herself. She wouldn't let it turn into another argument though. Ed's heart couldn't take the strain of many more outbursts, the doctor said.

Finally, Ed began his climb up the staircase, reminding Angela of her intentions to relocate their bedroom to the lower floor. He had not liked the idea one bit when she suggested it, but she believed he had finally reached the point where he knew that not following the doctor's advice would put him right back in the emergency room for a third time. That was something he neither wanted, nor could afford. And even though she pushed him to do the right thing, Angela wondered if all the sudden changes he was forced to make wouldn't kill him just as fast. She didn't like to think of Ed dying, not for any reason. He was set in his ways, and so was she, but they were both trying to make the necessary adjustments that would keep them alive long enough to see their son produce some grandchildren for them with his new wife. It was one of the few things on which they both agreed wholeheartedly.

As the door eased open, Angela put on her most welcoming smile, just as she always did. No matter how hard she would try to be angry because of Ed's condition or at his seemingly permanent sour mood, she would always greet him with a smile when he came home from work. It was another pleasant part of their usual routine. But the man standing in the doorway was not Ed. Angela's smile faded as her eyes dropped from the scarred, unfamiliar face to the kitchen knife in his right hand and the rope from the hall closet in his left. Her every muscle froze as the shock of such a sight jogged her memory. It couldn't have been Ed coming into the kitchen and rummaging for a fork after work. It couldn't have been Ed searching for his rifle downstairs to scare away the raccoons. It couldn't have been Ed coming up the stairs to join her in bed and grumble about his night. It couldn't have been Ed. Ed was dead. His last heart attack had seen to that.