I stood in the kitchen, feeling a ridiculous mix of adrenaline and excitement. This was it. There would be no argument, no yelling, just one dramatic, unforgettable scare.
I pushed through the side door, keeping the plastic bottle hidden behind my leg.
Karen heard the door and opened her eyes. "Oh." She offered that same infuriating smile. "You’re home." "I am." "I didn’t see your truck." "It’s in the garage."
Karen simply shrugged, unbothered. "Hope you don’t mind." I stared down at her. "You know I mind, Karen." She smiled again. "It’s just a pool."
There it was. The magic words.
I walked purposefully toward the pump return jets, exactly where I had planned to pour the harmless color dye. Karen mumbled something about the oppressive heat, but the blood was rushing in my ears, and I barely heard her.
I popped the cap off the bottle. I dumped a heavy dose of what I thought was the temporary dye directly into the current.
Then, I waited.
The water began changing almost instantly. Karen noticed the chemical cloud blooming in the water.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice hitching.
The murky, aggressive chemical spread rapidly around her legs and torso. Suddenly, the smell hit the air—sharp, metallic, and overwhelming.
Karen screamed.
For about one microsecond, I almost smiled. Then, I looked down at my hand.
The label on the bottle was turned toward my palm. I slowly rotated the plastic container. My stomach completely dropped out of my body.
Wrong label. Wrong product.
I hadn't grabbed the dye. I had grabbed the industrial-strength concentrated maintenance chemical from the neighboring shelf.
My entire body went ice cold.