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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
JOHN WAS ANGRY. ITwas early afternoon and he’d arrived home to an empty house. He had planned to take Stella to bed the minute he walked in the door. His offhand remark the night before about her wanting a baby had stuck, and he was intent on making her pregnant. Not that he wore condoms when they had sex. She was on the pill, but he’d throw away the packets and tell her it was time to have a kid or two. Searching around the kitchen, he finally found a note by the coffee pot saying she needed to be at Stephanie’s to help with the preparations for the fashion show.
At least he knew where she was.
Sue Jackson had remained MIA.
Her silence was simultaneously nerve-racking and a relief.
Was it possible she’d found a bigger fish to fry?
The home line rang, startling him.
Immediately thinking it was her, he prepared himself for battle and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, John.”
“Stella! When are you coming home?”
“Sorry, there’s just so much to do. Stephanie and I are meeting Tia at the party around five. I’ll just see you there later.”
John bristled, but the mention of Tia’s name held him in check. If he gave Stella a hard time, and Stella told Tia, Tia would probably tell Jerry. Another lecture from his boss was the last thing he needed.
“Fine, I’ll see you then. But after the party we’ve got some important matters to talk about.”
“Okay, gotta run, bye.”
The phone went dead, and he slammed it down on its base.
He should arrive at the party with his wife on his arm, not meet her there.
Marching into his den, he poured a generous amount of bourbon into a glass and settled on his couch. It was only then he realized he’d neglected to get Stephanie’s phone number. Downing a large swallow, he let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck it,” he shouted. “The sooner you’re knocked up the better. That will fix everything.”
* * *
