Middle Rage

Part 7 -- Maria

Chilly air blows against my face, the rest of the garage stale and hot. I came out for the Costco mega bag of frozen ravioli. Behind it, a paper lunch bag with "DAD'S STUFF, DON'T TOUCH" on the outside, Ziploc baggie with soupy stuff inside. I open it, sniff. Stomach acid gives it away. Gagging, I seal the bag, then wipe my fingers across my jeans, knowing it's only cold, but feeling contaminated. Are there other vomits my husband might keep? I think hard, all the possibilities. No. It must be from Dan's party.

Soren suspects. He has the stamina of a dog gnawing a bone when it comes to curiosity; sometimes, he'll bring a cold case home, spend the weekend locked in his office. He'll search internet forums, talking to people from Friday night to Sunday morning who might know something, or think of the clues in a different way, stopping just in time to get ready for church. If Soren suspects Dan's health scare is wrong, he'll keep poking around, talking to witnesses, putting together a case.

If that happens, who would crack first, Oma or Aimee? One of them will, no doubt. Anyone can see they're soft, unskilled in the ways of interrogation. They'll be tripped up easily, caught like rabbits. From there, it's a quick stop to the worst case scenario: Either one of them gives up the story, and arrests all around. Then a sliding scale landing anywhere between probation to real jail time for assault, and that's before Dan and Jenn file a civil suit for their pain and suffering. I wonder at Dan's medical bill. The cost of the ambulance ride alone might be a thousand dollars.

The less likely possibility is that I go down with them: I knew what they were going to do, and helped Oma after the fact. If we all get pinched for what we did, the next year or so of my life will be court dates and penalties, probation officers and community service. Our insurance will go up – people don't think about it when they commit crimes, but everything from medical to car insurance increases. And of course, the shame Soren will have to bear, a cop with a petty  criminal for a wife.

Far more likely scenario: Because I'm a cop's wife, I'll be erased from the narrative. Cops protect their own publicly, dole out in-house punishments. Everyone in our neighborhood will see I got off easy, and they'll hate us for the injustice of it. Worse, Soren will be burned in his squad, a cop too dumb or dirty to keep his own wife on the right side of the law. My husband will drive a desk until he proves he bleeds blue. And he'll do that by having to protect other dirty cops, just like they protected his wife. Soren will learn to hate me, because his love for me will make him sacrifice the thing he loves most about himself; being an honest cop.

I almost throw the baggie out. That would solve everything. Except Soren. He'll know it was me, and he'll never believe I did it by accident. Not with his huge warning across the front. If evidence disappears, he won't be able to let it go until it's figured out. That lie between us will fester until he understands why I did what I did. He'll twist on Aimee and Oma and Scott and Jake and Jenn and Dan until someone cracks.

And then? I don't know. I don't know if our relationship can survive making Soren choose between me and what he believes is right. I can't help feel this crazy pride. In a corrupt, terrible world, Soren might be The Last True Law, defender of victims long before he got his star. It makes me feel safe around him. Except, of course, right now.

I tell myself: This bag of vomit is no true evidence. There is no chain of custody, the vomit bag's not officially tagged, no police signatures across seals. Even if Soren takes it to the lab, and they find Visine, he could never use it in a prosecution case. Any defense lawyer would laugh it out of court. This last fact allows me to breathe. This is a hobby interest for him, at least for now. So I put the bag back. I leave the raviolis too. Like I was never here.

In the middle of the night, I wake up with this thought: What if he didn't do it official because he already suspects you? It's a long time before I can sleep. I have to suffocate any chance he has to follow his investigation.