Shred of Evidence

“There’s Hope in one mile,” he said.

“I’m not going to make it.” She leaned over and retched on the carpet. “Sorry about the car.”

“Don’t worry.” He cracked the window, checked the rear view mirror.

“Thanks for driving me. I know you had a hard time tolerating my parents.”

“I had the same amount of patience for them as you did at Easter.” He glanced over at his wife.
“Besides, it’ll be the last time I see the place.”

“It wouldn’t have to be this way if I had any siblings.”

“We already made the decision.” He drove past the Hope exit. “Together.”

She leaned forward to crank up the volume on the radio. The all Christmas music station now played a familiar version of ‘Silent Night’. “There’ll be nothing holy about tonight,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she pictured her parents’ living room. The artificial tree with all blue ornaments in the front window would be framed with blue lights outside. Her father always managed to put out the lights at Halloween before any snowfall. There would not be any presents under the tree yet. It was only the first weekend in December. Then she leaned her head back and fought off another wave of nausea. “I shouldn’t have taken that last dose of chemo.”

“You had this job to do.” He sighed. “The doctor said it would give you a few weeks.”

They drove in silence until the highway sign read Nora Springs
.
As he drove off the exit ramp, she glanced at the back seat to make sure the gun didn’t roll onto the floor. “You should be back in time to make it into work at seven.”

“I can stay if you need me.”

“We agreed I would do this when you are at work.”

They did not speak again until he pulled up in front of the house where she grew up. In the window, the blue lights welcomed her.

“Five in the morning and they have the tree lit.” He leaned over to kiss his wife.

“My mother likes to spread holiday cheer to anyone driving past on the highway.”

While he reached for the gun he said, “You know they will not feel a thing.”

She brushed at a tear on her face. “I have to, right?”

“Your mom always says she can’t celebrate the holidays without you.” With his gloves on, he checked the silencer.

“And I’m a good daughter.”

“The best.” He kissed her again. “You’re sure you have enough pills?”

She took the gun. “I’ve been saving up for a month.” She shuddered from the cold air as she opened the car door. When she closed it, Elvis was crooning about a blue Christmas.