Parents Died; Wife Funded First Love's Art Show With Settlement

A year after my parents died in the car crash, the settlement money still hadn't come. When I went to ask about it, the man across the desk told me it had already been withdrawn. By my wife.

I froze for a second, then hurried to call her. She was out of town.

Yes, I took Mom and Dad's settlement money. Greg needed it for his exhibition, so I

Listening to that faintly guilty voice, my whole body shook. My own came out hoarse. "So you used my parents' settlement money to fund his exhibition?"

That wasn't just money. That was my parents' lives.

She rushed on. "Don't worry, Greg's exhibition was a huge success. He and I will be back in a week, and I'll pay every cent of it back to you then."

I gave a soundless, bitter laugh.

Pay it back?

No need. I'd take it back my own way.

The livestream of Greg Henson's exhibition was playing on my laptop.

My wife, Queenie James, stood at his side, her eyes full of nothing but him.

A reporter with a microphone was conducting interviews off to the side.

"Master Henson, your very first exhibition, and already such a success. Is there anything you'd like to say to the fans who love your work?"

"There's one person I have to thank. Without her, this exhibition would never have happened."

Greg took the microphone from the reporter, turned to look at Queenie with tenderness, then gripped her hand and raised it high.

"It's her. She added the most important piece to everything I've become."

"It's her. In my failures, in the darkest stretch of my life, she stayed by my side and encouraged me, warmed me like the sun."

"Without her, I wouldn't have any of this."

"On this special day, in front of every reporter, every outlet, and everyone online, I swear I will never fail her."

Queenie pressed a hand to her mouth, moved, two clean lines of tears running down her face.

Warm applause rose up through the livestream.

I sat in my chair with no expression at all, both hands clenched hard into fists.

Today really was a special day.

The one-year anniversary of my parents' deaths.

On the screen, the reporter with the microphone smiled. "Our Master Henson truly is a man of deep feeling. I'm sure everyone would love to know more about this woman who's stood quietly behind him all this time."

"So, Miss James, may I ask you a few questions?"

Queenie wiped her tears and put on a poised smile.

"Of course."

"Miss James, Master Henson just said you were the last piece he needed to make this exhibition happen. As I understand it, you sponsored it with three million dollars. Would you mind telling us why you gave such a large sum, and where the money came from?"

At that question, something in my eyes shifted, and I stared hard at the Queenie on the screen.

Her smile didn't fade.

"That money was entirely my own. Greg and I have known each other for years, and no one understands his gift for painting better than I do. All he ever lacked was a chance. As his closest friend, of course I wouldn't hesitate to put that money forward to support him."

"And the results prove it. My decision was absolutely right."

Snap.

I slammed the laptop shut and clutched a hand over my heart, breathing hard.

It hurt. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe.

My wife took my parents' car-crash settlement to fund her first love's exhibition, called the money her own, and called the decision right.

Heh.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Then what did that make me?

And my parents, dead in that crash, what did that make them?

A stepping stone on Greg Henson's road to success?

I dragged in a few ragged breaths and called the lawyer who'd handled my parents' accident back then.

"The settlement money, can one spouse use it privately without the other spouse agreeing to it?"

The lawyer on the other end paused, then said, "Of course not. Not unless you're divorced. As long as the marriage is still in effect, that money doesn't belong to either of you privately."

"Good. Then please draft me a complaint. The charge being that she used my parents' car-crash settlement without the agreement of both spouses."

There was a wait before the lawyer's voice came back through the phone.

"Mr. Delgado, are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"...I'll take care of it as quickly as I can."

"Thank you for the trouble."

I hung up, my gaze settling on the closed laptop.

Queenie James, since you want so badly to help Greg Henson succeed, then I'll drag him down to hell.

You included.

At two in the morning, Queenie video-called me.

"Look, babe."

She spun in a slow circle so I could see Greg Henson's exhibition, her voice bright with excitement. "So many people, and every single one of them is praising it. Greg finally made it."

Yeah. He'd finally made it.

Except his success was painted with my parents' blood.

"Babe, why aren't you saying anything?"

I looked at Queenie through the phone camera, my gaze as flat as if I were staring at a stranger.

"Say what? Congratulate him?"

Queenie's tone turned petulant. "Of course you should congratulate him. You know how hard Greg worked to pull off this exhibition, everything he went through, he"

For two solid minutes she talked, and every word was about the hardships Greg had suffered, the pain he'd endured.

And what about me?

What about my parents?

Was their settlement money supposed to be one more brick laid in the road to Greg's success?

Then again, of course it was. The dead could never matter as much as the living.

"Queenie!"

Greg walked over, saw me on the screen, and smiled.

The smile was pure mockery.

"So it's Job. If I'd known you two were in the middle of a cozy little phone chat, I wouldn't have come over."

Queenie cooed at him. "What cozy phone chat. We're an old married couple. I was just telling him you succeeded, sharing the good news with him."

"Is that so?" Greg raised an eyebrow. "Job, are you happy?"

My eyes went red in an instant. Through gritted teeth I said, "I'm happy. So happy I could kill you."

"Babe!"

Queenie's face went hard.

"What kind of vile thing is that to say, you"

"Queenie!" I cut her off, forcing down the pain twisting inside me, my voice cold as I asked, "Do you know what day it is today? Today is the one-year anniversary of the crash that killed my parents. Do you think I should be happy?"

The last words came out almost as a shout.

Queenie went white in a flash, flustered. "You're right, I'm sorry, I forgot."

I stared at her. It wasn't the look you give a stranger anymore. It was the look you give an enemy.

My own wife had forgotten the anniversary of her in-laws' deaths, and spent the day thrilled that her first love had pulled off an exhibition.

Did she even deserve to be called human?

Seeing the look in my eyes, Queenie's tears spilled over. "Babe, I was wrong."

"Ah."

Greg sighed and pulled her half into his arms.

"The fault isn't yours, it's mine. Job, Queenie didn't mean it. If you want to blame someone, blame me."

"And besides, I'm truly grateful to your mother and father. So once I'm back, I'll go to their grave myself, light some incense, and kneel to thank them for what they gave."

Hearing that, I nearly smashed the phone in my rage.

He'd painted his road to success red with my parents' blood, and now he stood there playing the saint, saying he'd kneel at their grave to give thanks.

He wanted to make sure my parents couldn't even rest in peace.

But Queenie believed him. She looked at Greg with gratitude, then said to me through her tears,

"Babe, in a week, no, two days I'll come back. Wait for me. I'll go to Mom and Dad's grave myself and beg their forgiveness."

I drew a deep breath and said coldly,

"Fine. I'll wait for you."

Three days never came. By the evening of the second, my phone rang. It was Queenie, telling me to come pick her up at the airport.

Twenty minutes later I got there and found her sitting in a row of chairs, Greg's head resting on her lap while he slept.

Something in me went flat and cold. I walked straight toward them.

The moment she saw me, Queenie pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shh! Greg just fell asleep. These past two days have worn him out, coming all the way back with me."

My face didn't change. "You know, you two didn't have to come back at all."

She pouted at me, half-scolding. "Don't say things you don't mean, honey."

Things I didn't mean?

No.

Every word was exactly what I meant.

"So you had me drive out here, and now that Greg's asleep, I just stand around and wait?"

She hesitated at that, then bent down and murmured softly against his ear. "Greg, we're here."

The sight of it put a sharp ache behind my eyes.

Five years of marriage, and I could count on one hand the mornings she'd ever leaned close and woken me like that.

Her gentleness had never belonged to me.

I first met Queenie in a bar. She was sitting alone, one empty beer bottle after another lined up in front of her.

She was blackout drunk. When she stood, she swayed straight into me and threw up all over my shirt.

That was how it started.

Only later, once I knew her, did I find out that Greg had left that night without a word, chasing his dream of painting, and that was why she'd gone drinking herself sick.

She told me so many stories about her and Greg.

It was the first time in my life I ached for someone.

She shouldn't have been drowning in the past. She deserved better.

I started showing up in front of her more and more. Her striking looks, the easy way she talked, drew me in a little at a time until I couldn't pull myself back out.

She went to that bar to drink herself numb again and again, never mind the kind of people who filled it. I worried every single time. She waved it off, laughing that I fretted too much.

Then one night I was stuck late at work and got there a little too slow, in time to see two men hauling her toward the hotel next door.

Blood rushed to my head. I threw myself at them like a madman.

She got away. I ended up in the hospital.

When she sobered up, she choked out, "Why? I'm not worth it!"

I smiled. "You are. To me, you're the best thing in the world."

The tears broke loose all at once, and she fell into my arms sobbing.

In that moment I was certain I'd made it into her heart.

But watching the way she'd just looked at Greg, so gentle, I finally understood. Being inside her heart didn't mean I was the only one in it.

Greg weighed more in there. He always had.

"What are you thinking about?"

I came back to myself. Greg was awake now, his head against Queenie's shoulder, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

The corner of his mouth curved up.

It was a mocking smile, one that said: no matter how much you do, how good you are, you'll never mean as much to Queenie as I do.

I forced down the urge to drive my fist into his face, turned, and walked toward the exit.

"Wait, honey."

Queenie called after me, guilt on her face.

"Honey, can we go to your parents' grave tomorrow instead, so I can make it up to them?"

I looked at her for a long moment. "Why," I said flatly.

"Because of Greg. His exhibition was a huge success, and some people in the art world, senior and junior, want to throw a celebration banquet for him. It's tonight."

"He doesn't have a date. I already told him yes before we flew back."

A celebration banquet.

I tried to pull my mouth into a smile and couldn't manage it. All that came out was one hoarse word.

"Fine."

I'd come here with some hope left. Now it was as if I'd been knocked into a pit, cold all the way through.

In her heart, my dead parents still didn't matter as much as a living Greg Henson.

"Job, then would you mind driving us over to the banquet?"

Greg stood, smoothed his clothes, and gave me a perfectly polite smile.

I couldn't believe my ears. My head turned toward Queenie.

She pleaded, "Honey, I know this is asking a lot of you, but everyone at the banquet tonight is a well-known painter. Greg and I can't exactly show up in a cab."

So now I was the driver.

I finally laughed. I nodded. "Fine."

A celebration banquet?

It was a good chance.

"You're the best, honey!"

Queenie rushed over, thrilled, and threw her arms around me.

I felt the warmth of her body, and it only reached me as cold gone all the way to the bone.

She was this happy because I'd agreed to be another man's driver.

"Greg, let's get to the car. It's a long way from the airport to the banquet hall, you can sleep a little more on the way."

Queenie took Greg's hand and swept happily past me.

"Driver. Ha."

Greg shot me a glance and tossed the word out like a jeer.

I watched their backs and took out my phone to call my lawyer.

"The court's acceptance notice comes tonight. I'll send you the address in a bit."

Greg Henson. Queenie James. I hope you'll both like the gift waiting for you tonight.

We reached the banquet hall, and a few of the domestic painters standing outside broke off their conversation and came over smiling.

"Ha, our Master Henson has finally arrived. And Miss James too. You'll be the brightest star in the room tonight."

"Thank you!"

Queenie hung on Greg's arm, laughing, delighted.

One of them noticed me and asked, puzzled, "And this is?"

"He's Greg's driver."

Queenie jumped in to answer, then gave me a pleading look.

I understood what she meant. She wanted me to stay calm, keep it together.

She didn't need to worry.

Right then, I was calmer than I had ever been in my life.

The banquet began in earnest.

I watched, cold-eyed, as Queenie clung to Greg's arm, clinking glasses and chatting with one painter after another.

From start to finish, she never once looked at me.

[Mr. Delgado, I'm here.]

The message from my lawyer.

[Good. Come in.]

"Honey, who are you messaging?"

Hearing Queenie's voice, I put my phone away and said flatly, "No one. A friend."

She pressed her lips together and stood in front of me with her head down, like a child who had done something wrong.

"Honey, please don't be angry, okay?"

I shook my head. "I'm not angry."

She didn't believe me. "I know you blame me for introducing you as the driver, but I did it for"

"For Greg. I get it!"

She froze, and the look in her eyes grew more and more panicked.

It struck me as strange. What did she have to panic about?

She was the one who'd done it. I'd even said I wasn't angry. Shouldn't she have gone back to Greg's side, happy?

"Honey, I"

"Queenie!"

Greg came over and cut her off, sliding an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, then smiled at me. "Job, you don't mind if I borrow Queenie for a while?"

I smiled. "Be my guest!"

At that, Queenie, still trying to figure out how to explain, went blank and stared at me.

Greg frowned. He hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

The next moment, he smiled again and raised his glass to me. "Job, a toast to you. No, my mistakeit should be a toast to your parents. My thanks to them for their help on my road to success."

That last word, "help," he bit down on hard.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lawyer Lambert coming toward us. There was no reason left to hold back. I drove my fist into Greg's face.

"Greg!" Queenie cried out, and every head in the hall turned toward us.

She scrambled to help Greg up, then whirled on me, eyebrows arched in fury.

"You"

"Miss James!" Lawyer Lambert cut her off. "I'm the attorney Mr. Delgado has retained. Regarding your use of the settlement money from Mr. Delgado's parents' car crash during your marriage, without his consent, the court has accepted the case."

"This is the court's acceptance notice and the summons. Please appear on time."