'Mommy?' Selena called from the doorway of her room.
'You go on back to bed, honey,' I says, not takin my eyes off Joe for a single second. 'Your father n I're havin a little discussion here.'
'Is everything all right?'
'Ayuh,' I says. 'Isn't it, Joe?'
'Uh-huh,' he says. 'Right as rain.
I heard her take a few steps back, but I didn't hear the door of her room close for a little while - ten, maybe fifteen seconds - and I knew she was standin there and lookin at us. Joe stayed just like he was, with one hand on the arm of his chair and his butt hiked up offa the seat. Then we heard her door close, and that seemed to make Joe realize how foolish he must look, half in his seat and half out of it, with his other hand clapped over his ear and little clots of cream dribblin down the side of his face.
He sat all the way down and took his hand away. Both it and his ear were full of blood, but his hand wasn't swellin up and his ear was. 'Oh bitch, ain't you gonna get a payback,' he says.
'Am I?' I told him. 'Well then, you better remember this, Joe St George: what you pay out to me, you are gonna get back double.'
He was grinnin at me like he couldn't believe what he was hearin. 'Why, I guess I'll just have to kill you, then, won't I?'
I handed over the hatchet to him almost before the words were out of his mouth. It hadn't been in my mind to do it, but as soon as I seen him holdin it, I knew it was the only thing I coulda done.
'Go on,' I says. 'Just make the first one count so's I don't have to suffer.'
He looked from me to the hatchet and then back to me again. The look of surprise on his face would have been comical if the business hadn't been so serious.
'Then, once it's done, you better heat up that boiled dinner and help yourself to some more of it,' I told him. 'Eat til you bust, because you'll be goin to jail and I ain't heard they serve anything good and home-cooked in jail. You'll be over in Belfast to start with, I guess. I bet they got one of those orange suits just your size.'
'Shut up, you cunt,' he says.
I wouldn't, though. 'After that you'll most likely be in Shawshank, and I know they don't bring your meals hot to the table there. They don't let you out Friday nights to play poker with your beerjoint buddies, either. All I ask is that you do it quick and don't let the kids see the mess once it's over.'
Then I closed my eyes. I was pretty sure he wouldn't do it, but bein pretty sure don't squeeze much water when it's your life on the line. That's one thing I found out that night. I stood there with my eyes shut, seem nothin but dark and wonderin what it'd feel like, having that hatchet come carvin through my nose n lips n teeth. I remember thinkin I'd most likely taste the wood-splinters on the blade before I died, and I remember bein glad I'd had it on the grindstone only two or three days before. If he was gonna kill me, I didn't want it to be with a dull hatchet.
Seemed like I stood there like that for about ten years. Then he said, kinda gruff and pissed off, 'Are you gonna get ready for bed or just stand there like Helen Keller havin a wet-dream?'
I opened my eyes and saw he'd put the hatchet under his chair - I could just see the end of the handle stickin out from under the flounce. His newspaper was layin on top of his feet in a kind of tent. He bent over, picked it up, and shook it out -tryin to behave like it hadn't happened, none of it - but there was blood pourin down his cheek from his ear and his hands were tremblin just enough to make the pages of the paper rattle a tiny bit. He'd left his fingerprints in red on the front n back pages, too, and I made up my mind to burn the damned thing before he went to bed so the kids wouldn't see it and wonder what happened.