The Beauty of Insanity

Victoria

           Victoria heard his car’s recognizable growl as he pulled in late again for dinner.

She smoothed out the rouge table cloth and inspected the silverware, taking one last glance to ensure everything was in perfect order.

Victoria could tell by the way he dropped his suitcase in the entry way that he was already in a foul mood.

“Hello dear, how was your day?” she sang as she organized the plates of food.

“Same as always, crap.” He stomped into the kitchen and dropped into the nearest chair; passing Victoria’s greeting lips as he took a swig from his awaiting brandy glass. “What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite Carl, ribs.” She pulled the steaming plate out from the oven and offered it to her husband proudly.

‘Fuck, again Victoria? Is there nothing else you can make?” he slammed his fist down on the table as Victoria laid the platter down. She mindlessly pumped the handle of the carving fork as she slowly turned to look at him.  

Ignoring the fabricated disappointment Carl wore, Victoria’s attention was pulled to the collar she had starched and pressed that very morning, the scarlet outline emblazed just below his neck mocking her to react.

“You have something on your shirt Carl.” Victoria chewed the inside of her cheek as she waited for his excuses.

He pulled at the shirt collar, already knowing which side without having to follow Victoria’s gaze. He fingered the rouge coloring on his fingertips, lost in a forbidden moment before turning back contemptuously to his wife.

“I assume you think it is some woman right? That I was out cheating on you? Go ahead Victoria, accuse me of your crazy made up schemes.” Carl snarled at her, daring her to incur his wrath.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort Carl.” She lifted his plate and began serving him dutifully.

“Whatever Victoria, I can see the look in your eye. For your information, my wife, I was eating cherry pie and it happened to spill on my collar, but I can tell by your suspicious glare that my explanation is not good enough for you.”  Victoria continued piling on food as Carl’s voice elevated. “You know what? I’m not hungry anymore.”

He tossed the cream napkin on the table and stormed off from the table, pausing briefly in the doorway to look over his shoulder at a stock still Victoria.

“I can’t keep living with these constant accusations, you either trust me or you don’t.” The regret on his face was meant for Victoria but she understood its origins better than he knew. “I mean, it’s not like you're perfect Victoria.” 

The aroma of his cologne lingered behind as Victoria took the seat next to Carl’s now empty one, smoothing her gingham apron down as she pulled the ribs closer to her. Spotting a burgundy spot on the carving knife she chastised herself out loud. 

“He’s right, just look at this knife.”

 Victoria twirled the point on her fingertip, reliving the afternoon as she inspected the blade.  She had already gone over her mistakes in her mind, jotting down notes as she watched the Lyme consume the remainder of Ben’s body in the solitude of her basement. His death had been messier than the majority of the rest, but the Lyme had been a better touch for disposing; his ring already sealed in an envelope with a congratulatory card to be sent to his widow like the rest.

“I’m not perfect.” She repeated to the ribs, stabbing a piece and placing it on her plate as she reveled in her improvement, it wouldn’t be long now…

“But I’m getting there.”