Free The Good Wife by Stewart O’Nan Page B

to waste the hours. She comes home from a bad visit with Tommy and plops on the couch, sits there in her jacket, staring at the crack on the wall behind the TV. She’s done with her elephants—not that they have a tree to hang them on. She’s already called the lawyer once today, and it’s too late to go to the mall. She has to force herself to start dinner. Stirring in a bag of egg noodles, she pictures her things in storage frozen in a solid block, a black scab of ice covering the floor. She hasn’t been back to check on it and thinks that’s something she can do tomorrow.
    Once Eileen and Cy get home, they’ll distract her. She used to dream of having time like this. It used to be that work took up the entire week.
    As she’s draining the tuna fish, Casey kicks her, a sharp knee in the gut. She groans and drops the can, doubling over. She has to lean her arms against the sink to catch her breath. She worries that it’s something wrong. But she just saw the doctor on Tuesday. She waits to feel the telltale trickle of blood, stays still an extra second to make sure. The tuna’s okay—still compressed tightly inside the can—and she’s fine, just winded, her heart thumping from the surprise. She thinks of blind Mrs. Wagner, the shock seizing her, knocking her to the carpet, and Tommy and Gary freaking, not knowing what to do.
    That’s as far as she’ll venture into Mrs. Wagner’s house, just deep enough to imagine something other than murder. She wipes
her hands and turns on the radio to drown out the other versions that crowd in—and gets Carole King, You just call, out my name, and you know wherever I am. She turns it up so it fills the kitchen. When Eileen finally opens the back door it’s a surprise.
    After dinner, their mother calls to discuss Christmas plans. They’re having ham, so could Patty make her cheesy potatoes? Oh, and that pea casserole that was so good last year. Eileen waits patiently for her assignment—applesauce and crescent rolls.
    “Gee, do you think I can handle it?” she asks when they’re off
    Patty wants to offer her the pea casserole but knows enough to shut up.
    She hasn’t asked Eileen yet if they’re going to have a tree; no one’s mentioned getting one and Christmas is a week away. She used to have to badger Tommy about it. Eileen and Cy are the same way—practical, not like her. If worse comes to worst, she’ll buy one and decorate it herself.
    The next day she sees a place on her way to the self-storage and almost stops, then figures they’ll be open over the weekend.
    The unit’s the way they left it—dry, the tarp in place. She resists the temptation to move one of the concrete blocks and check.
    At the mall she finds a gift for the kids, a nature kit with a floating lens that lets you see underwater. It’s perfect for the goldfish pond in their backyard that Shannon’s always bragging about, and Patty hasn’t seen anything else. It’s expensive, so she skips Arby’s and goes straight home. She wraps it on the coffee table, taking her time, watching GH , then during a commercial she adds it to the pile of presents at the bottom of her closet. And like that she’s done. It’s stupid, she thinks, but somehow it feels like another loss.
    So why is she surprised when the lawyer calls and tells her the coroner’s report is in and that Mrs. Wagner died of a blow to the head? She’s known it the whole time.

BEST CASE
    THE GRAND JURY’S SECRET. SHE’S NOT ALLOWED IN, OR THE MEDIA, only Tommy and the lawyer, and the lawyer can’t object to anything. It’s basically the DA’s show. Patty doesn’t see the difference between the prelim and the grand jury; it seems like they’re trying him over and over, each time nailing down his guilt a little more. Now the DA’s tacking on extra charges in case he can’t get the murder conviction.
    “Just to prepare you,” the lawyer says, “and I told your husband this, he’s going to see some time on the