Page 13 of Such a Good Wife

“Well, let me give you a ride.” He sees the look on my face that says I’m about to protest, and adds, “I insist.” I nod, gratefully, and follow him out.

The humid air is rich with the hum of crickets as we walk the couple blocks to his car. We are chatting away so it takes me a few minutes to realize how far we’ve walked.

“Parked kind of far away, huh?”

“I walked. Actually—” he points ahead “—I’m just there, around the corner.”

“Oh my gosh, now I feel terrible. You live this close. You’re already home, I can just get a cab.”

Then I see his place. A gorgeous house. It’s one I’ve always seen in passing—a stunning two-story French Creole mansion, with a broad roofline and a stately wrought iron fence around the property. It’s been empty forever. I stare at the beautiful columns.

“This is where you’re staying?”

“Believe it or not, I rented it for a steal because it sat empty so long.”

“Probably since no one in this town can afford it.”

“Well, the price was right. I certainly don’t need all this space, but I really wanted a pool.”

“Wow. I’ve always wanted to see what it looks like. Is it updated? Does it still have the original molding and hardwood?”

“Well, come on,” he says, and he’s walking ahead before I can really say no.

I follow, admiring the manicured lawn. In this town, one block off the main street can feel like a rural ghost town. Even though we’re just a ten-minute walk from the main strip the property is private, butted up against a huge ravine and wooded area. The sprinklers hiss on and we duck in the front door, laughing, dodging them.

“Sorry.” He turns a handle near the front door and the water stops. He walks me through and I point out the original French doors and wraparound mantels. The drinks are buzzing between my ears, and I feel like I’m in someone else’s life right now. I don’t even feel like I’m in my own hometown. I feel like a character in a book.

“It’s just beautiful,” I say.

“It is. It’s nice to find someone who really appreciates the old character and history it has to offer.”

“What a life you live,” I say, and look at him as we stand at the bottom of a grand staircase. I eye the door, and I should say that we should probably go, but when I feel that he hasn’t taken his gaze away from me, I look back and we just let ourselves stare a moment, each deciding what we should do. If this is happening.

He steps closer. I let him. In one move, he runs his fingers through my hair and pulls my face close, and he kisses me. Again, I let him. In moments, we’re fumbling with buttons and I land on top of him as we let ourselves fall to the stairs. I pull his shirt off of his shoulders and he takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs. We don’t take our hands or mouths off of each other the whole way. It happens so fast. I don’t think about how late it is, the great sin I’m committing, my children, my future regret, none of it.

I don’t stop myself; there is somehow not even a moment of hesitation. I squeeze him between my thighs, I push him into me. I hold the slats on the iron bed frame behind me as we make the ancient floorboards creak and moan. I wrap my legs around him as he picks me up, shoving everything off the nearby dresser, and sits me down on it. I’m not self-conscious about my nakedness, my breasts in his face. I hold him closer and kiss every part of him that I can reach, sweating, as we make love in every inch of this room, and I feel nothing but exhilaration. I don’t care about anything else in this moment.

When the Uber drops me off in front of my house, it’s dark and silent. I take off my shoes and hold them in my hand as I quietly slip in the side door. I click the door shut behind me, trying not to make any noise and then I hear myself let out a bloodcurdling scream when I see what’s in front of me.

There is a gun and a figure. I hold my hands up, gasping for air. Then I see that it’s Collin, standing across the kitchen with a handgun pointed at me. I breathe in short panicky bursts, my hands in the air.

“What are you doing?” I scream hysterically.

“Mel?” He flips on the light. “What the fuck?” He puts down the gun and rushes to me, but I pull away, shaking frantically. In that flash of horror, I thought he knew.

“I thought you were a goddamn prowler or something!”

“I said I’d be late.”

“Well, Jesus, Mel. Babe, I’m so sorry.” He tries to hold me, but I don’t want him to smell the sex on my clothes or another man’s cologne, so I turn the attention to the footsteps we hear coming down the stairs.

“Mom?” Rachel calls, clearly too scared to come down. Collin hides the gun and stands at the bottom, looking up at her.

“It’s okay, hon, your mom saw that possum. Must have gotten in the back door tonight.” He looks to me for approval for the lie. I nod.

“Oh my God, eeew.”

“We got him out. Go back to bed before Ben wakes up, okay?”

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