“Anything interesting?” she asked.
He grunted something she couldn’t make out.
With a frustrated sound, she returned to the stove. Moments later, Lee came in. He was dressed for work in a sports shirt and khaki slacks, which still made him more dressy than most of his employees. His hair, though, reflected his need to be a part of the group. It was newly lightened, so that it was more blond than sandy. He had gelled it, finger-combed it, left it.
“Morning, morning . . . morning, morning,” he said, passing the children en route to his own seat. Once there, he tugged the sports section from Jordie, who promptly picked up his plate, put it in the sink, and left.
Karen poured Lee’s coffee and, with a thud, set it down behind the paper. “Are you guys gonna want more pancakes?” she asked the twins, who mumbled what sounded enough like a “no,” meaning that everything left in the pan was for Lee. She filled a plate and, with another thud, set it down behind the paper.
“Jon, Jared, wash those hands before you leave this room. Hair time, Julie.” She gestured toward the bathroom.
She brushed the child’s hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and tied on a blue ribbon to match the blue dog on her shirt. From the foot of the stairs, she called up to remind the twins to put the permission slips for the class trip in their backpacks. “All set?” she asked Jordie when he ran down and past her. “Have a good day.” The only answer she got was a nod on his way out the door.
“Thanks, Mom,” she murmured under her breath. “Good breakfast, Mom. Have a nice day yourself, Mom.” Feeling a wave of despair, she returned to the kitchen.
Lee was engrossed in the paper. She stared at him for a minute of pure annoyance, thinking that if something was amiss with Jordan it was his fault, given the example he set. Lee thought about Lee. When he wanted a section of the paper, he took it, whether or not someone else had it first. He might be warm and fun with the children, but he did it at his own convenience. When he wanted silence, he got it. When he wanted out, he went. Jordie was taking after him, all right.
She took the batter bowl from the stove to the sink and glopped what was left down the drain. Setting the bowl down none too gently, she ran water into it. It was full by the time she was back with the pan and spatula. She thrust them under the water and began to scrub.
“Something wrong?” Lee asked.
“No.” She poured elbow grease into the work.
“What are your plans for the day?”
She had no intention of telling him her plans. Some were on the calendar. If he was planning mischief, let him worry about the others.
“Karen?”
“The usual.” She rinsed the pan. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“Yes.”
She’d heard that before, with every bit as much conviction, but he had no compunction about changing his plans. Her efforts to provide a family dinner weren’t high priority for him. Dropping the rinsed pan on the draining board, she glanced over her shoulder at his plate. It was still half full. “Are you done?”
He pushed shreds of pancake around with his fork. “I wish you’d left blueberries out of mine. You know I hate them.”
Before he could say another thing, she whisked the plate out from under him and dropped it in the sink.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked, and for an instant, she wanted to deny that anything was. She was a peacemaker by nature. Rocking the boat wasn’t her way.
But lately she had noticed things about Lee that were all too familiar—such as wearing a new cologne to cover up the scent of a woman, and working out at the gym to have an excuse for coming home newly shampooed. He was missing dinner at least once a week, and had shown up at the twins’ Little League game late with no excuse at all. Worse, he was both happier lately and less demanding sexually. Those two things didn’t fit, unless he was having an affair.
That thought alone was bad enough. But if he was having an affair with Gretchen—their neighbor—it would be one indignity too many for Karen.
Holding the dish towel tightly, she turned to face him. “Gretchen’s pregnant. Do you know anything about that?”
“Gretchen? Gretchen next door?”
Karen held her temper. Gretchen wasn’t a common name. They didn’t know any other Gretchens. At least, Karen didn’t.
“Gretchen’s pregnant?” Lee asked.
He did look genuinely surprised, though that didn’t give her any comfort. Gretchen had said that the father didn’t know. She had said that he had other obligations. Lee certainly fit that bill.
He frowned. “Since when is she pregnant?”
“Since October.”
“Wow. No kidding.” He was frowning at Karen now. “Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry. I’m worried. Tell me the truth. Did you touch her?”
“Me? She’s Ben’s wife.”
“Susan was Arthur’s wife. Annette was Don’s wife. Besides, Ben’s dead. That makes Gretchen fair game.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Are you accusing me, Karen?”
“No. I’m just asking.”
“Well, the answer is no. I didn’t touch Gretchen. What in the world would make you think that I did?”
She would have apologized and shrugged off the suspicion if she hadn’t smelled that new cologne even now. But even aside from that, there were other hints. “You’re always talking about her. You’re always running over there to see what she needs.”
“She’s alone. And we’re neighbors. You ladies have treated her like a pariah, when her only crime was marrying someone whose first wife died. I don’t think that’s a crime. I feel bad for her. So I help her out. There are certain things women can’t do by themselves.”
“Like making babies.”
He raised his voice. “Like fixing leaks under sinks. Or unstopping toilets. Come on, Karen. I do those things for you. Do you think she ought to struggle to do them herself?”
“Can’t she hire someone?”
“Why should she if she’s in a neighborhood with men who can help? Russ and Graham have helped her out, too. Are you asking them?”
“No. You’re the one I’m married to. You’re the one whose kids I worry about.”
“The kids have nothing to do with this.”
She thought about that. With measured words, she said, “They sit here listening, while you rave about that painting on her wall.”
“It happens to be beautiful.”
“To hear you tell, it’s also erotic and seductive.”
“So’s half of what’s on TV,” he argued. “Isn’t it good to talk about it? Get it out in the open? Let the kids know they can tell us anything? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do nowadays?”
It was. But Lee went too far with that picture—so far that the line blurred between the picture and Gretchen herself. At least, it did in Karen’s mind.
“Hell,” Lee scoffed, looking like an angry teenager with his spiked hair, “our kids need to learn from one of us that there’s passion in life.”
Karen recoiled. “I’m passionate.”
“About causes. Not about men. You’re never the initiator.”
It was true. She felt a moment’s guilt about that, then caught herself. Lee always managed to paint her as the problem, but she wasn’t letting him off the hook this time. “No,” she said quietly, “I don’t initiate. I don’t have to. You always get there first. Not lately though. That makes me wonder.”
“I’m waiting for a sign from you.”
“You never did before. You came home from work with two things on your mind—sex and the Mets. I wish I could be as carefree as you at the end of a day, but my day doesn’t end that neatly. I have a million things to do around here.”
“Be grateful you don’t work.”
She bristled. “I do work.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. I wish that for once you’d give me credit for something. You ha
ve a good life here, Lee. I do for you in ways that not many women do for their husbands. If I ‘worked,’ as you say, you’d get less. And still you risk it all by fooling around on the side.”
“That’s over,” he said, standing straighter. “I made a promise to you, and I’ve kept it. Have I given you cause to doubt?”
“Not lately,” she lied, because she didn’t want to lose the focus. “Not until Gretchen.”
“I haven’t touched Gretchen.”
She stared at him, desperate to believe him but not daring to. She had been let down so many times before.
Lee threw a hand in the air and thundered, “You’re amazing! No matter what I do, no matter what I say, I can’t please you. I could take vows of chastity, and you wouldn’t be happy.”
“Shhh,” she said with a pointed glance at the door.
“God damn it, I’ll yell if I want to. Kids should know that their parents argue. They should know that mothers make accusations that they have to take back, and you will take this one back, Karen. Mark my words. You’ll take it back. That’s a promise.”
He went out the door, just as a crestfallen Julie came in. “Where’s Daddy going?”
“He had to go to work.”
“He didn’t kiss me goodbye,” the child said in a hurt voice.
Nor me, Karen thought, wishing she could feel the hurt. After years of disappointment, though, she was numbed to that. It was a sad state.
***
Amanda knew the minute she arrived at school that rumors were flying. Students were talking in huddled groups, shooting glances her way as she came from the parking lot. In the minute it took for her to leave home issues behind, she imagined they knew her every foible.
Can’t have a baby.
Works with kids because she can’t have her own. Those who can’t do, teach.
Of course, that wasn’t what they were saying. “Okay guys,” she said, approaching one group. “What did you hear?”
There were five boys in the group, all freshmen. “Did Mr. Edlin really call the police?” one asked.
“No. The police know nothing about this.”
“Same difference, if he’s being kicked out of school,” said another. “It’ll be on his record forever.”
“He’s not being kicked out,” Amanda corrected. “He’s being suspended from the team. If he completes next year without an incident, his file will be clean.”
“His parents are suing the school,” a third said.
“I haven’t heard anything about that. Mr. Edlin will be talking about this during first-period assembly. He’ll tell you what’s true and what isn’t.”
“What about what’s fair and what isn’t?”
“He’ll talk about that, too. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Continuing on into the building, she dropped her things in her office. She had to call the fertility clinic with the bad news. She also had to call Graham, but the thought of either conversation opened a gaping pit in her stomach.
Those calls would wait. She had others to make—namely to Maggie Dodd, to make sure that nothing about Quinn’s situation had changed, then to counselors at the district’s two middle schools, whose students might also be aware of what had happened. She wanted to attend the first-period assembly, then had to be back for a second-period meeting with a student, and that was all before ten. The rest of the day promised to be as busy, which would be a blessing.
***
While Amanda finished up with her first student, and used the few minutes before the next showed up to check her computer for a message from Quinn, Georgia wrapped up her breakfast meeting at her Texas hotel, collected her bags, and climbed into a cab. It had barely gone two blocks when it came to a standstill behind a long line of traffic. Within minutes, the traffic had piled up behind as well, and drivers and passengers alike were standing by open doors, looking off down the street. An accident, one said. Construction, said another. Georgia didn’t care what it was, as long as she didn’t miss her plane.
***
While Georgia was sweating it out in the Texas heat, Karen did a little sweating of her own. She knew the drill—knew to look through pants pockets, through papers on the desk, through file folders, under socks. She pulled out recent credit card bills and searched for suspicious charges, pulled out recent phone bills and singled out unfamiliar repeat numbers. There were plenty of both—truth be told, more strange charges and calls than ones she knew. Where to begin?
***
He paid in cash and reached the room early, but he didn’t mind the wait. Anticipation was foreplay He grew more aroused as the minutes passed.
The room was one of the new ones hidden way at the end of a primrose path, but it was as quaint as those closer to the Inn, built nearly a century before. This one was done in lilacs and blues, with large wicker chairs whose cushions matched the draperies and quilt, a king-size four-poster with the trademark stuffed frogs squatting near the pillow, and an oversized, glassed-in Jacuzzi standing in clear sight.
It was the perfect setting for a tryst, replete with a check-in desk in its own separate space. Anyone noticing his car at the end of the lot behind the Inn would think that he was simply eating in one of the many small rooms that served lunch. That gave him a neat alibi.
It was the perfect setting for a tryst, all right—though he didn’t think of what they were doing as that. They had been at it for too many months for that to apply. An affair, then? Yes. But it was more. It was a relationship. He cared for her. She was vital to his peace of mind.
A soft knock came at the door. He was off the bed in an instant, pulling it open, feeling something inside him speed up when she slipped inside. He took her mouth before the door was fully closed and, with its click, pressed her to the paneled wood. She tasted of mint. He delved deeper, wanting to get to the essence of her, but her mouth alone couldn’t offer that. Needing to be inside, he unzipped himself and pulled her short dress to her waist. She wore no panties.
Grinning against her mouth, he murmured, “That’s my girl,” and entered her with a long thrust. He put his head back then, closed his eyes, and held still, concentrating on the pleasure in his groin. She was tight. He liked that about her. She hadn’t had many men in her life. He liked that about her, too. She began the tremulous little sighs that said she was totally aroused, and he liked that, too. Wanting to hear more, he slipped his hand between them and finger-stroked her until he simply couldn’t hold himself still any longer. All it took then was a single, slow thrust. She cried out with her release, seconds before he did.
Moments later, he undressed her. With his eyes on her body, he undressed himself and the bed, then drew her down to the lilac sheets. When she was properly spread, he touched her. Her breasts were full, her belly gently rounded—and he liked her this way. He liked voluptuousness in a woman. It spoke of an age-old femininity.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against one swollen breast. He drew in her scent, then her nipple, suckling strongly until her hips came up seeking his. Sitting back, he fitted her to him, watching her this time, thinking that he had never been with a woman even half as alluring. She climaxed with another cry, and still he watched. There was sensuality in the way she arched her back, turned her face to the sheets, put a hand on her breast.
His climax was every bit as intense this time. Heart pounding in its aftermath, he grinned. He stretched out on his side and pulled her around to face him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Is the doctor satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t the one here in town, is it?”
“God, no. I’m not dumb.”
He smiled and ran his thumb over her mouth. “No. You’re not.” He traced the straight line of her nose and the gentle curve of her brow. She was a blonde. He had always been partial to blondes. “How much time’ve you got?”
“Not long. Someone’ll notice if I don’t ge
t back soon. They assume I’m at the market.”
“You are. This is nourishment.”
She smiled at that, but he saw the question coming, deep in her eyes even before she had it out. “Did you talk with her?”
“What did I tell you last time you asked?”
“That it was a delicate situation. But so is this.”
“She’s my wife. She came first chronologically. But it isn’t just her and me. There’s family involved. I’ll talk with her when the time is right.”
“That could take a while.”
“It won’t. Things are heating up. Come on, cookie. Don’t pressure me. I get enough of that at home. I need you to be my escape.”
She searched his eyes. “But you do love me?”
“You know I do.”
She studied him for a minute, then smiled.
Chapter Seven
Shortly before the school bus was due that afternoon, Amanda rounded the curve and approached the cul-de-sac. Her workday wasn’t done; she had to be back at school later that afternoon for two parent meetings. But the students had left, and she was tired. She was hoping that a break would revive her.
Actually, she was hoping that Graham would be home. They hadn’t talked since he had walked out early that morning. Each time she thought of him, she felt a gaping hole in her middle.
But his truck wasn’t in the driveway. She could see that from down the street.
The sky was overcast, but clouds couldn’t hide the fact that the trees were a bit fuller, the grass a bit greener, the tulips a bit taller than they had been the day before. The world was blooming, even if she wasn’t—and, Lord, she did feel static. She hadn’t seen movement in any of three forty-minute sessions with students, six other shorter meetings, and as many e-mails.
Not one e-mail had come from Quinn. She had talked with his mother, though—had initiated the call herself—but Marjorie Davis wasn’t any more receptive to her today than she had been the night before. Every boy experiments with liquor, she claimed. It’s part of being a teenager. The school has overreacted terribly. I want you to stay out of it.
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