The Far End of Happy by Kathryn Craft

in her heart.
    “I thought you were going to bed.” His words were slurring. How could that be? She’d only left him alone a short while.
    “How am I supposed to sleep after what you said tonight?”
    They sat for a half hour or so while Jeff added his cigarette smoke to a fog already determined to choke them off from the rest of the world. Beneath Ronnie, the glider creaked a distress signal into the night. Each stared off in a different direction. She still couldn’t look at him. He’d see right through her. Ronnie’s inadequate acting skills were the reason she never went along when the IRS audited Jeff; she’d trigger a bullshit meter a full block away. Let him try to defend his own shoddy tip reporting.
    The lulling rhythm of the glider, the relinquishment of demands to silence, the booze—she wasn’t sure why, but soon Jeff relaxed into his chair. On the table beside him, ice cubes melted at the bottom of the mug. Jeff used to make his Manhattans in squat “rocks” glasses, as any commercial bartender would. But for the past few years, he’d been making them in plastic beer mugs “so he wouldn’t have to get up as often.” Ronnie did the math. Chances were he was drinking nine to twelve shots of liquor on his nights off.
    For once, she was glad he was impaired. Ronnie no longer feared any sudden movements. As she looked out into the night, an occasional wing caught the porch light as bats swooped down for bugs.
    After a while, she sneaked a sideways glance; he’d let his glasses slide down on his nose. Why didn’t he push them up?
    Creak. Creak. Each crepitation ticked off another second until help arrived.
    Finally, the first pop of gravel beneath tires in the driveway. Jeff leaned forward; he’d heard it too. Soon headlights advanced around the corner of the porch.
    “Who on earth—?”
    Ronnie felt blame’s spotlight seeking her out.
    Another moment and the full length of the state police cruiser came into view. An evening that began with the removal of wedding rings had resulted in the arrival of police. Ronnie felt, for a moment, that it was her offense that was actionable.
    She finally hazarded a look in Jeff’s direction. His eyes were like weapons trained over the top of his glasses. Words sloshed around in his mouth before he spit them toward Ronnie: “I will never forgive you for this.”

ronnie
    Two policemen got out of the car, Ronnie keenly aware of the peaceable scene they’d happened upon: a man and woman enjoying a spot of night air before bed. Ronnie stood and acknowledged that she had placed the call. She could feel the heat of Jeff’s presence behind her. One officer asked to speak with her in the house; the other said to Jeff, “I hear you’re not doing too well tonight, Mr. Farnham.”
    Inside, Ronnie’s officer explained that separating them was standard procedure in domestic situations. Ronnie told him what had happened that evening and showed him the suicide note.
    The officer said they’d take it into evidence. He passed the note through the door to his colleague. The other officer asked, “Is this your handwriting, Mr. Farnham?” She heard Jeff say yes. The officers conferred for a bit, their voices muffled behind the door, before the one assigned to Ronnie returned.
    Jeff did not repeat the threat of suicide in front of the other officer, he said, so unless Ronnie was willing to get involved, their hands were tied.
    “What do you mean, ‘get involved’?”
    “Your husband does not want our help, but that suicide note will allow you to commit him to the psychiatric ward against his will for up to five days. To do that, you’ll have to come down to the hospital and sign papers.”
    “Okay. I’ll head over first thing in the morning.”
    “It’ll have to be now if you want help from us tonight. Otherwise, we’ll have to leave your husband here—”
    “No.” That much was unthinkable. “But I have two children asleep upstairs.”
    He shrugged. Not his