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“Beth.”
“Oh, well,” Adam manages. He leans against the brick, a signal he’s settling in. “That’s great news for you. Beth is terrific at compliance.”
The music changes. “Let’s hope.”
“Say, should she be dancing? In her condition?”
I scan the large yard. A conga line has formed. My wife isn’t merely dancing. She’s leading the pack. When the line makes its way past Adam and I, Melanie sticks her hand out and beckons me to join her. As a general rule, I don’t dance. But it’s hard to say no to Mel and further I want to get away from Adam. So when her fingers brush mine, I let her pull me in.
“Just close your eyes,” she calls over her shoulder. “Relax. Feel the music.”
I go around three times, and I never do relax, and I never do feel the music. But I do blend, and I do avoid Adam, and that’s the point.
Although, nothing good lasts forever. This is evidenced as I’m waiting for Melanie by the front door. We’d already said our goodbyes and were halfway out the front door when she realized she’d left her handbag in the guest room upstairs. When I turn, Adam is there. Melanie calls for me from across the room. She mouths something I can’t read. His eyes follow mine. A smile lights up her face. “Man, I swear I know her from somewhere,” he sighs. “I can’t place it… can’t quite put my finger on it.” Adam’s jaw lengthens which is made more apparent by the way he rubs at it. “But don’t you worry.” He moves in closer, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll come to me. I have a memory like an elephant.”
Chapter Seven
Melanie
When I come downstairs, Tom has fixed breakfast. Same as every morning: two eggs over easy, two pieces of bacon, one slice of toast. Butter, strawberry jam, thinly spread.
I join him at the bar, taking the high-backed stool to his right, even though I know he prefers me to his left. It’s the gentlemen’s way, he explained once. Something about defending a woman’s honor. Swords and stuff. I forget the rest.
Right now, I couldn’t care less about honor. I care about breakfast.
I stab my fork into the eggs and shove them into my mouth.
Tom glares at me. “Something wrong with the eggs darling?”
It’s safe to say, I’m not a morning person.
I smile and swallow. That’s what got me into this mess. “They’re perfect,” I assure him. He senses I’m lying, but he can’t prove it because I take another bite and then another. The best kind of lie. If they’re going to suspect you, might as well go the extra mile to ensure they can’t prove it.
The truth is, he isn’t as good a cook as the chef I had at mom and dad’s. The truth is, I hate it when he’s condescending. I hate it when he calls me darling. But what can you do? I guess something is better than nothing. Plus, I’m confident I can talk Tom into a chef of our own if I play my cards right. Shouldn’t be too hard. I already managed a maid. Still, I’m so sick of casseroles. I don’t know what I might do if I’m forced to eat another. Just the thought makes me want to pick up my plate and hurl it across the room. The rage is building like a pressure cooker. I don’t know what I have to do before it’s too late.
“This visit,” I say, reaching for my o.j. but then opting for the toast instead. “With Beth—” I take a bite and chew. “It isn’t about our sex life again, is it?”
Tom looks at me crossly. It annoys him when I talk with food in my mouth. Regardless, he knows what I mean. I’ve already been reprimanded once by Josie for breaking some rule in that regard. Bless her. Even I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Did I think it was a bit weird that ‘the church’ was involved in our sex life? Well, weird is subjective. Especially these days. But, okay, yeah, maybe a little. However, Tom is pretty inept at social stuff, so I didn’t for a minute put it past him to have someone else do his bidding.
“No,” he says. “It’s about the dancing.”
I shove the rest of the toast in my mouth and roll my eyes. Tom shifts my glass away from me slightly, so that once again it’s at the perfect angle. He’s explained why this is important before, but I forgot to listen. Before I know it, he has shifted his position. He is facing me full on. “With Josie gone, Beth needs someone she can rely on.”
I realize he’s just parroting what he’s heard. His recycled ideas annoy me on account of it being so early in the day.
“I bet she does.”
“Please, Melanie. This is important to me,” he says, and it soothes my anger. It’s my favorite aphrodisiac to hear people beg. It’s nice that he cuts right to the heart of the matter. I understand what Beth wants. Tom doesn’t have to tell me. She wants someone who won’t quit on her. She needs someone who is compliant. She wants to believe that someone is me. All I have to do is let her think she’s right. Thanks to Tom and his explaining everything, I understand how to play my role thoroughly. Nothing is more effective in seduction than letting the seduced think they are the ones doing the seducing.
“What’s wrong with dancing, anyway?” I ask adjusting the juice to my liking, handle facing me. I watch my husband’s jaw twitch. He hates it when I’m testy. “Is it against the rules, too?”
“You were supposed to mingle. You were supposed to be welcoming.”
“What does that mean exactly, Tom—to be welcoming?”
His brow furrows. I can see he doesn’t know what to say.
I scoot to the edge of the barstool. “Does it mean to have sex whenever you want?”
