SHE'D HAD ENOUGH
Copyright (c) Rick Yost

She had just finally had enough of him.
She'd had enough of his mental and physical abuse. Now she stood over his lifeless body in the middle of her designer kitchen. She stared at the bloody butcher knife in her hand. Then she stared again at the body of her husband.
“Shit!” She said aloud, trying to not let confusion and panic take hold of her.
It had been a typical argument, they’d had very similar arguments for years.
It was also typical for these arguments to turn into all-out yelling matches. No matter what peripheral subjects were brought up, there were two points of contention which were constant: his anger over her extravagant spending habits, and her rage over his many affairs with other women.
They were both worthy and practiced opponents. He paced as he yelled. She stood at the kitchen counter cutting vegetables for dinner. Often during their heated discussion, she would stop cutting and turn, waving the knife in the air as she expressed herself.
Infuriated by something he’d said, she picked up and slammed the plate of vegetables down on the counter. She didn’t realize he’d stepped up right behind her to place his coffee cup in the sink. She wheeled around- knife in hand, and with inertia’s help, stabbed it directly into the middle of his stomach. It happened so fast..
They were both so shocked. They stood like statues: speechless, looking at each other with wide eyes and mouths agape. She looked into Harold’s eyes as he stood the length of the knife handle from her. For the first time in their seventeen-year marriage, they both knew exactly what the other was thinking- Harold was about to die. They were finally communicating.
She didn’t let go of the knife. His dead body just slid off and fell to the floor at her feet.
She felt faint and leaned against the counter to steady herself. “Oh fuck Harold!” she said in almost a whisper.
In a matter of seconds she went over in her mind how this would play out if she called the police. “There’s no way even I would believe this was an accident.” She said aloud.
Harold lay face up on the Spanish tile floor. She thought of how even dead, Harold was making yet another mess for her to clean up.
Suddenly, there was clarity. She moved with precision. Using a half-dozen garbage bags and a roll of duct tape, she wrapped the body up like last night’s leftovers and dragged it out to the garage. This was no small feat. Harold was a large man.
She casually spoke to the corpse while heaving and pulling it across the back yard. "You know Harold, I’ve known you to do some stupid things, but I have to tell ya’…” She stopped to take a breather. “…This privacy fence was the best idea you've ever had."
The plastic bags made it easy to drag the bundle across the Bermuda grass. There was entry into the two-car garage through a side-door inside the fence. She had no fear of being seen. Once inside, she set about lifting him into the trunk of his car. It took some time and a great deal of effort, but just like Harold used to always say, "If you want something bad enough, you’ll make it happen."
"You know, I think I finally understand what you mean dear."
With Harold’s body now safely in the trunk, she slammed the lid and went back into the house. She spent the next two hours meticulously cleaning her kitchen floor. She burned the knife-handle and her fingerprints off with the patio grill. She then stripped naked in the kitchen and put her clothes in a trash bag to be disposed of with the knife and the body. She showered and dressed casually for the evening.
She then got into the car and drove Harold and herself across town. She knew exactly what she would do. After dark she would drive to the lake marina where Harold kept his boat- 'Temptress'. There was hardly anyone around the marina at night. She would put him on the boat and take it out, just the way he'd taught her. She would find something to weigh him down and roll him over the side out in the middle of the lake. Then she’d bring the boat back to dock, lock it up, and go back home to work on her story. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a start. She had the rest of the evening to refine it.
"You know Harold…” She threw her voice over her shoulder, as if the dead man in the trunk could hear her,“I was really pissed you couldn't afford to take me to Hawaii, but you could afford that damn boat. But you know, it might just come in handy."
She pulled off the freeway and toured through downtown Dallas. She came to the corner of Pearl and Commerce. She parked the car in a lot adjacent to a nightclub called Pearl. She'd heard Harold speak of it. He said there was good music, and good people there.
She nonchalantly stepped around the car scanning for tell tale smudges. She smiled to herself. She looked in her wallet for Harold’s Gold Card and said,"I could really go for a drink. How ‘bout you Harold?”

She successfully disposed of Harold, avoided prison, and became a regular customer
at Pearl. You sometimes don't know who’s sitting next to you at a bar.