* * * *
A couple hours later the vegetables were picked, washed, and chopped, the potatoes were peeled, and the steaks were tenderized and ready to go. I stood at the window, glancing at the road as I finished making a cucumber salad using the last of my crop. Then, behind me, I heard the back screen door bang against the frame. My breath caught.
“That’s what I like to see.” Dwayne’s words ran into one another. “My little woman cooking for me, even today.”
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. He must have stumbled in from over the hill out back. I began turning, but Dwayne crossed the room quicker than I expected and squeezed me from behind, rubbing his hands over my chest, and grinding his pelvis into the back of my dress.
“You smell nice,” he said.
“And you smell like a brewery.” I wrenched away from him and turned. “You said you were going to spend today fishing. Looks like you spent it at Gus’s instead.”
Dwayne’s brown eyes narrowed. I shouldn’t have said that, especially not with that tone. Complaints like that usually pissed Dwayne off and made him come after me. But I couldn’t help myself. This was going to be our last night together, yet he came home with the lingering stench of that swill Gus brewed. Did Dwayne actually think I’d want to spend my last hours on this earth having sex with him when he smelled like he’d fallen into a vat of rancid beer? Oh, who was I kidding? Dwayne never cared what I wanted.
“Why’s everything always a fight with you?”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the bedroom. I was thankful it would be the last time I’d have to put up with him. I just hoped he’d be quick as always.
* * * *
“Jesus. Aren’t those steaks done yet? I’m hungry.”
Dwayne had finished his afternoon delight pretty quick and fallen asleep. Now, after an hour’s nap, he’d parked himself at the kitchen table and was two beers into his last six-pack.
“Don’t you like the salad?”
He pushed the plate away. A cherry tomato rolled onto the floor. “What’s the point of eating healthy anymore? We’re all gonna die tonight anyway.”
He had a point there. My frying pan sizzled as I sprinkled minced garlic over the mushrooms. The savory fragrance wafted around me. “Dinner’s almost ready, and I made a nice peach pie for dessert with extra sugar on top.”
Dwayne grunted. Given that this was his last meal, I’d wanted to make a dessert he’d tuck into with fervor, so I’d chosen peach filling—his favorite—and added the sugar to make it especially enticing.
“I was talking with Jenny today,” I said, adding evaporated milk to the potatoes. “She reminded me how much I like cooking for people. I should have opened that bakery when I had the chance.”
Now Dwayne snorted. “Not that crap again, Violet. You’d never have been able to pull something like that off. You don’t have it in you.”
I growled under my breath as I began to beat the potatoes. How many times had I let him discourage me with those demeaning words? The back screen door slammed against its frame again, but it was only the wind. It had really picked up. I blew out a deep breath. Just a few hours left. At least I wouldn’t have to listen to Dwayne’s put-downs anymore.
I dished the mashed potatoes onto our plates, then the steaks, my large frying pan sputtering as I pulled it off the stove for the last time. Then I poured the garlic and mushrooms on top of Dwayne’s steak. I’d never cared for mushrooms, but he enjoyed them.
“Here you go.” I set the plates down on the table and settled into my chair, facing Dwayne. Behind him, the back door rattled. The sky looked black and daunting through the door’s window, but the warm yellow porch light gave me comfort.
Dwayne picked up his knife and fork and dug in.
“I flipped through some photo albums today,” I said. “You remember how much fun our wedding was?”
I got no response other than slurping and chewing noises. You’d think given that it was his last meal, Dwayne would savor the food, but he was shoveling it in.
So I gave up on conversation and sipped my sweet tea between forkfuls of salad, steak, and mashed potatoes. How Larry had loved Mama’s potatoes. He always ate ravenously, too, but at least he told good stories between bites, like the one about the boy who grew up near us who loved to wander the countryside. He came home one day with real bad stomach cramps. Thank goodness his family rushed him to the hospital. Turned out he’d eaten some poisonous mushrooms. You’ve got to be real careful about what you pick in the woods.
Soon enough, Dwayne practically licked his plate clean. He popped open another beer and said, “Where’s that dessert you promised?”
I still had half my dinner remaining, but why should that matter to him? I got up from the table to serve his highness. I sliced an extra large piece of the peach pie and brought it to Dwayne. “Bon appétit.”
I sat back down and decided to make another stab at conversation. “My garden has really come in handy these last couple months. We haven’t had to worry about food, unlike some city folks I’ve seen on the news. Even tonight, with our last meal, everything’s fresh.”
“Another reason why it’s good to live in the country,” Dwayne said while chewing. Then he set down his fork and touched his stomach.
“Everything okay?” I took another bite of my potatoes. They had come out just right.
“A little indigestion. Guess I ate too fast.”
“Well then, take a breather. That pie’ll sit.”
I heard a snap, then the roof shook. Sounded like a large branch had crashed onto it. I went to the back door and looked out the window, but I couldn’t see anything or anyone.
“Dwayne, are you scared?” I asked as I resumed my seat.
“Not worth being scared, Violet. What’s gonna happen is gonna happen. I plan to drink the rest of this beer and be sound asleep when that old comet hits. You remember how my daddy died in his sleep. It’s the best way to go.”
Yes, I supposed it would be.
Dwayne lifted up another bite of pie, brought it toward his mouth, then started looking peaked. He dropped the fork and ran to the bathroom. Soon I heard him losing his meal. A small smile crept across my face as I kept eating mine.
“You sure you’re all right?” I asked when he finally returned to the kitchen. He was pale and clutching his stomach. He tumbled into his chair, grimaced at his remaining pie, and pushed the plate away.
“Jesus, Violet. My last meal and you gave me food poisoning.” He began moaning and put his head down on the table.
“Nope. There is no bacteria in this food. You know how careful I am with my cooking.” I finished the last of my steak. Delicious.
Dwayne ran back to the bathroom. He was in there a while, losing more of his meal from both ends, apparently, as I cleared the dishes. When he finally came back to the table, sweating and breathing hard, he looked like death. Of course, death was a few hours off. I didn’t know if he’d die from the comet or those special mushrooms or the little something extra I’d added to the pie. Either way, before his end came, Dwayne would spend his last hours suffering.
As he should.
He slumped back in his chair and started moaning again.
“Maybe you caught a bug, Dwayne. My meal tasted just right.” I took my seat at the table and looked at the wildflowers I’d gathered that morning, sitting in a vase on the counter. They were so much nicer than Dwayne’s scrunched-up face. “Or maybe it was those mushrooms you ate.” I looked him square on now. “I