Standing on the shoulder of the Highway 16 bridge overlooking Savannah, Megan Pinfold marvels at the beauty of it. The tree-lined streets are arranged in blocks with squares – small parks – inserted randomly, breaking the neat lines. Around the squares are well-tended, antebellum homes. To the left is the Savannah River and its harbor. Silent sailboats and chugging fishing vessels slowly move upstream or out to sea. A brightly lit area that never sleeps borders the harbor. It is River Street, the primary social center of the city. The early autumn air is still heavy and humid with the life-and-death smell of the ocean.
Megan lived near Atlanta, about sixty miles from where she grew up and attended high school and college in a small town of five thousand. A computer programmer by trade, she worked her way up to a manager position at a small retail company.
At age thirty-two, after one failed marriage, she met Thomas. He owned five greeting card shops that he managed when not flying a corporate jet for an air taxi company. The first time she saw him she was quite taken with his pilot uniform, and later, what was inside. Yes, he was a catch, and she had caught him.
Megan’s family was middle class. They could only afford a small house, small even by the standards of her rural hometown. She always had a subconscious motivation to do well enough in life to be envied by her childhood peers. Purchasing her own well-furnished home in a nice neighborhood would be enough for most people, but there were things she wanted that were out of her reach. With Thomas, she could reach them. She struggled at times to keep her love for him unclouded by peripheral motives.
She was present less and less at her place of work, either calling in sick or working from home as much as her boss would tolerate. Thomas had recently mentioned the “m” word which meant that she would not have to deal with the boring tasks of programming code reviews and the childish needs and complaints of her staff much longer. The world of the great unwashed was becoming unbearable. While she had every confidence that the marriage would happen, it could not come soon enough.
Thomas traveled quite a bit and was gone at least several days during the week. He told Megan that his normal flying schedule meant weekends were the only time he had to actively manage the greeting card stores, two of which were not in Atlanta.
She would sometimes go with him except for the trips to Savannah where he was planning a new store and trying to hire staff. He had been working on it since they met and was making little progress in getting the store open. Either the proper locations were not available, had fallen through, or competitors had opened in nearby sites, forcing him to scrap plans and search for others.
Megan tried to assist whenever she could, taking care of his mundane things at home like bill paying, checking on his house, and keeping his bar stocked. One of the things she liked about Thomas was that even though he only mentioned it occasionally, the Savannah situation did not seem to affect him much. When he came home after those trips, he was usually tired but not discouraged.
One day a breakthrough occurred. Megan’s dreams were within reach. Coming home from a three-day absence, Thomas told her he wanted to spend more time with her and the only way that would happen was for them to move in together. Her heart leaped, and she threw her arms around him as tears filled her eyes. “Oh yes, yes, yes.”
Thomas led her to the couch where he held both of her hands and told her they needed to plan some things. He explained that his house would probably be easier to sell than hers because of its location, and he felt it was best that he move in with her. She happily agreed.
The next day Megan called in sick to work. Walking around her house, she realized it was lacking. Thomas’s furniture and things were so much nicer than hers. None of her things could stay. None of them were any longer “her.” A total makeover was required.
Thomas sold his house in just two days, and the buyers required immediate occupancy, so all of his possessions had to be moved quickly. The Salvation Army truck pulled up to Megan’s house and hauled away all of her furniture. Thomas’s things got moved in.
There was a bit of squabbling over where his furniture should go, but once settled, they both sat down in the living room, and, sipping their vintage cabernet, they discussed the makeover she had envisioned. Thomas agreed with everything. She didn’t sleep that night. Thomas did.
The next day, he left for a two-week assignment, flying to several cities for multiple clients. He would be unreachable most of the time. Megan suppressed her loneliness by picking out colors, ordering new drapes and carpet, and designing a bathroom makeover. One evening, while sitting on the floor amid wallpaper and tile samples, enjoying a glass of wine, the phone rang. She was so happy that Thomas was calling.
“Hellooooo.”
“Megan? Hi, this is John. Are you feeling any better?”
Crap. It was her boss. “Oh . . . ah . . . yes, somewhat, but I have to go to the doctor again tomorrow.” She gently put down the glass of wine, careful to avoid a noticeable clink on the glass top table.
“Okay. Well, if you can grace us with your presence, we’d really appreciate it. The new SKU project is running into issues, and you have to get your development team back on track.”
Megan thought for a moment, I’ll resign soon enough. Why not go in? I could use a break from all the moving and makeover stress.
“I will try to come in on Thursday. I’ll let you know tomorrow after the doctor.”
“Okay, that would be great. See you soon, I hope.” He hung up.
John’s sarcasm grated on her, but, in the scheme of things, it didn’t matter.
She spent Wednesday ordering her final choices of decor. Thomas called to check on her. He was so wonderful and attentive.
“Thomas, I have to go to work tomorrow and probably Friday, too. The idiots can’t get a new program working. I also want to see my friends Sally and Tom to tell them the good news about us.”
“Sally and Tom? Ok. You are indispensable to them. Just like you are to me. What are they going to do when you’re gone?”
“You always know what to say.” There was a pause. Megan could hear people talking in the background. Thomas must be calling from the airport. “The house is almost done, well, picking things out anyway. The painters should be here next week. This is really moving along.”
“You know, if the house still isn’t what you want, we can always look for a new one. I feel awful that I can’t help with the finances on this. I hate that I’ve got all my money tied up in the stores.”
There was a pause, longer than normal. Thomas finally said, “Are you still there?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No. Of course not. I can get a loan to do the makeover. I just never dreamed of having a new house with you. That opens up a whole new set of possibilities.”
“It does. Okay, I should be back Sunday unless they schedule another trip for me.”
“It can’t come soon enough. I really miss you. I love you.”
“I love you too. Gotta’ go. Bye.”
She took a sip of wine and smiled. He was so agreeable and supportive. He made her feel important, like she mattered.
A new house. Where would it be? How big? Enough room for kids? Oh, my gosh! Kids! What a wonderful life we’ll have. She was so happy. The blank canvas of her future was taking shape.
When the clock chimed eleven, she remembered work and grudgingly went to the bedroom, set her alarm for eight a.m., and turned in. The wine did its job, and she easily fell asleep.
The next day she drifted into work at 11:30. Her blood pressure shot up when she saw her desk piled high with notes, papers, and folders. The flashing red light on her phone indicated waiting messages. She decided they could wait longer. What irritated her more than this was that her whiteboard had notes and diagrams all over it that someone else had done. Who had the audacity to use my office?
“Megan. Hi. How are you?”
She turned to see John. “I’m okay. Who’s been using my office? I have confidential stuff in here, you know.”
“Well, they needed a conference room. The one we have was being used for some HR thing they’re doing, but we’re meeting over there now. Can you join us?”
“I suppose so. I’ll be just a minute.”
Ten minutes later, Megan entered the HR conference room just as one of her programmers was yelling at another over some technical nuance. Everyone froze. Megan looked around the room at the faces that were either happy, angry, or disgusted. Two women glanced at each other with a classic well-the-queen-has-arrived look.
Megan sat down. “So, fill me in on what has been happening.”
Several started talking at the same time. She didn’t care. She hated dealing with these people. The meeting went on for four hours. After that, there was another with the business unit people that went for an hour before she announced that she had to leave, got up, and walked out of the then-silent room.
Unused to working that long, Megan was tired, her legs felt heavy, and eyes were mildly burning and unfocused. She gathered the few things in her office precious to her: a picture of her parents, a pen she had gotten from her grandmother, and a glass paperweight engraved with her initials. They all fit in her briefcase.
She went to John’s office; he wasn’t there. Placing her resignation letter on his desk, a wave of joyous relief came over her. She walked through the office for the last time, leaving the years of frustration and chaos behind.
It was raining. The normal twenty-minute commute home in Atlanta traffic became an hour. When she got there, the garage door opener didn’t work. The power was out. She parked in the driveway and ran to the front door in the gray, dusky light. Opening the door, she walked into the foyer, noticing dark, muddy footprints on the light tile floor. Their size revealed a man’s shoe. Her heart raced as she just knew that Thomas had surprised her and was there. She turned to hang up her wet coat, but the coat rack wasn’t there.
“Thomas!” Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she made her way into the living room. It was dimly lit by the streetlight outside and totally bare of furniture, lamps, rugs, coasters, pictures, and even the fireplace screen and tool set. In the corner were a couple of throws, pillows, and a number of photographs scattered on top. She dropped her coat on the floor.
As she stood open-mouthed, fear came over her, mixed with anger. She dug into her purse and found her pepper spray. Slowly making her way to the dining room, she looked around the corner. The room was empty. She went down the hall to the master bedroom. Empty. The master bathroom rugs were gone, but her things – cosmetics, hand mirror, blow dryer – were there, scattered on the floor.
She fumbled for her cell phone and called Thomas. It went to voice mail. She thought for a second and called the card store closest to her work.
“Angie, this is Megan. Have you talked to Thomas today?”
“No, I haven’t. I think he’s traveling.”
“Our house got robbed. They took everything.”
“Oh. If he calls, I’ll let him know.”
“What? Can you try to call him now and tell him to call me immediately? I have to call the police.”
“Um, I’d talk to him before you do that. I have a customer waiting. Gotta’ go.” Angie hung up.
Megan couldn’t believe it. She went back to the bedroom. There was a pile of clothes next to the closet. Just then she heard a couple of distant clicks as the refrigerator started running. The power back on, she turned on the overhead light and dug through the pile of clothing. It was all hers. Underneath was her jewelry box. She picked it up and the contents shifted inside. Upon opening it, everything seemed to be there.
They didn’t take my jewelry?
She decided to go to the card store to find out what was going on. Angie was always aloof and generally disrespectful. Angie’s day will come after Thomas and I are married. She will quickly become unemployed.
An hour later, Megan finally got to the store. She ran across the parking lot and, with wet hair and mascara dripping, she yanked on the locked door. Megan then pounded on it several times until Angie grudgingly let her in.
“Angie, what the hell is going on? Where is Thomas?”
“I don’t know. I told you I’d let him know if he called. He hasn’t.” Angie tried to walk away but Megan grabbed her arm. She looked down at Megan’s hand.
Megan asked, “Are we ever going to have a civil conversation? We just had all of our stuff stolen, and you don’t seem to give a shit about it. What did I ever do to you?”
Angie laughed as she yanked her arm away and walked past Megan to the door. She rotated the “Closed” sign, then turned to face Megan. “Your stuff wasn’t stolen. Thomas took it.”
Megan’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know that? Why would you know that? Why would he do such a thing?”
“Megan, you’re an idiot. You were just a plaything to him.”
“What?”
“Thomas got married last weekend to a wealthy woman in Savannah he’s been seeing for years. He used to laugh about you. So gullible and easy.” Angie gave Megan a look of total disgust and contempt. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to lock up.” She walked away.
Stunned, Megan began remembering all the absences, all of the trips to Savannah, the weekends, and sometimes full weeks he was gone. She slowly walked out of the store and got into her car. The rain pelted the metal roof as the realization of her collapsed life weighed on her.
A month later, Megan lay on a twin mattress on the floor. Neat piles of her clothes were folded and placed in and next to the closet. Except for an alarm clock, the room was otherwise bare. She was broke, and $50,000 deeper in debt from the house makeover. She had quit her job. She got up and went to the window. The “For Sale” sign in her yard hadn’t attracted any buyers.
She thought about all the friends and coworkers she had alienated, how she had rejected all of them, and now they rejected her. Even her family was cold to her. She was hurt and desperate, and very angry.
A week later, she looks down on Savannah. The streetlights are fully on, and River Street is jumping with activity and jazz. She pulls the .380 Ruger pistol from her coat pocket, assuring it is there, then puts it back and walks down the ramp and toward Elizabeth Street, home to Thomas Marchand and his bride.
As she gets near the house, she looks up and down the street. It is quiet with no visible moving cars or people. She walks up the dark driveway, holding the Ruger at her side. When near the house, she hears loud voices inside and stopped.
Through a sheer-curtained window she can see Thomas pointing and shouting something. Walking a few steps further, she sees a woman to the left, responding with shouts and crying.
The woman shouts, “You bastard!” There is a gunshot. Then another. Then another. A few seconds later she hears a thump as Thomas hits the floor. The woman drops the gun, then bursts into tears.
A flood light comes on at the house next door. Suddenly illuminated, Megan runs down the driveway and across the street, then walks and walks until she finds herself at the harbor in a dark area with no one around. The only sounds are the clanging of a passing ship’s bell, the voices of people coming out of a nearby restaurant, and distant sirens of the police.
She looks down and realizes that she still holds the unfired Ruger. Next to the river, in front of her, is a wooden bench. Shivering, she walks over to it and sits down as a cool breeze lifts fall leaves that float down into the gurgling water.
The city lights reflect on the waves as the water passes by. She looks left and right to ensure no one is watching then tosses the gun into the river.
She wants to cry. She feels she should. Someone has died, but she can only smile.
