—You know, we can fix this. I heard of people going to those marriage counselors. They fix you right up. We can give this another try, hon —I told her, watching the white line of the highway extend before me.
She remained silent. I fucking hated her silent treatment. One day I was going to do something that would make her sorry. I saw an exit up ahead and took it, determined to find a solution, sure that we could make another go at it. The town was ok. I stopped the car on the side of the road, next to a diner filled with people talking, laughing, and enjoying their meal. Yes, that could be us again, if only she would speak to me.
I didn´t look her way while I googled marriage counselors. I was amazed that a town this size had so many. I called the first one that showed on the screen of my phone. They answered that on such short notice it wasn´t possible to arrange a session. I tried three other ones, they all said the same. I was getting frustrated. She could be helping instead of giving me the silent bitch treatment. Finally, the last one agreed to see me in half an hour, the time it would take me to cross this shitty town.
When I reached the address and its parking lot, a man was getting out of his car. I parked next to him, convinced it was the counselor we had been scheduled to meet.
—Hey, how ya doing? You the counselor? We might just have to do the session here. She refuses to talk to me —I explained, gesturing to the passenger side of the car where Martha´s brains were splattered all over the window, one eye hanging from its socket.