Authors: Bonnie Wheeler
Maybe she does have Perry’s spirit.
Angela wished her daughter did need her. Perhaps then, she would not have taken off to God knows where, just to put distance between them.
As she pulled onto Oak Street, Angela questioned if she could blame Rachel for running away. It was an easy answer.
After all she must have heard…
Then there was the way Angela’s own self-pity drove her to put Rachel’s needs on hold, she couldn’t blame her daughter for leaving. Perry left for the Gulf. Brian was around physically, but he checked out of their marriage years ago. The teen was doing what they all had to – find an escape.
Stopping in front of her house, Angela was surprised to spot Brian’s Cadillac in their driveway. Confused, she glanced at her watch. The time was just after three; much too soon for husband to be home from work.
He must have heard from Rachel.
Hope sprang up in Angela’s chest as she scurried from the car to the front of the white Victorian. Fumbling for her keys, she hoped to find Brian and Rachel sitting together at the table, making reparations for last night. She would not yell at her daughter, she knew that. In fact, she would apologize for being so impatient and tell her the boarding school idea was stupid and nothing had to change. They could keep things the way they were. Rachel would be allowed more freedom as long as she didn’t leave again.
Not like that again.… I couldn’t take it.
Opening the door, groaning noises from the flat screen’s surround sound speakers was all she could hear. Angela’s legs suddenly felt heavy as she forced herself to move through the foyer. The smell of Jack Daniels was assaulting. Its familiar scent permeated the air. A discouraging whimper passed her lips as she peered into the living room.
With one quick scan, her eyes gravitated to where her husband had sprawled out across the leather Lay-z-boy. With his shirt unbuttoned and his pants down around his knees, Brian had one hand on a bottle of whiskey and the other tending to his erection. Without even acknowledging her presence, the preacher stared above the mantle where in high
definition, their thirty-six inch TV stood blasting pornography.
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33
BRIAN
Friday 3:05 PM
“What the hell,” Angela blurted.
“God damn it,” Brian lurched forward, grabbing at his pants. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Dropping the bottle of Jack Daniels, he fumbled to straighten his clothing. Even with the slight swirl of booze coloring his system, his cheeks reddened at being caught.
Stepping in the living room, his wife avoided his glare. Swatting at the cable box, she silenced the actors.
Great timing, as always…
“You’re a pig,” she spit. “What ever happened to Ephesians, Chapter 5,
verse
3?”
“What ever happened to privacy?” he countered. “Don’t throw Bible lingo at me.”
Angela turned, her eyes pierced like daggers.
“Privacy?
What about our daughter? You should be out looking for her, not…doing this filth.” Her arms flailed, pointing at the TV and back at him, disgusted.
“Oh yeah, well maybe if you weren’t so damn frigid, I would not need too.” He bit on his lower lip, wanting to shame her. She was quick to accuse – quick to be perfect.
“And I suppose it’s my fault you’ve been sleeping with that whore?” Angela’s voice cracked. “Don’t blame me for what you do.”
“I do plenty.
Plenty for you and for Rachel.
I work my ass off for this family.”
“Right, you go to church on Sundays and stand up in front of everyone, instructing them not to do the things you do every damn day. You call that work?” Marching towards the kitchen, Angela shook her head. “You do
nothing
. You give us
nothing
.”
“How can you say that?” Brian stayed on her heels, refusing to back down. His voice was slurred, but arguing with her aroused him. After years of barely getting a rise out of her, it thrilled him to see her unsettled.
“Why aren’t you looking for her? You’re pretending she’s at a damn sleepover.” Angela’s face crumpled. “I’m calling George Barry. I want her found tonight.”
So everyone in the Northwest Corner can talk more? I don’t think so.
Brian blocked her hand from reaching the phone. Weaving his fingers into hers, he forced her eyes to meet his. “I’m going to find her. We don’t need this town knowing our business.” Wanting to persuade her, he relaxed his hold, but refused to pull away.
Leaning in, his nostrils breathed in her scent. She had been wearing Jessica McClintock perfume for years. With his free hand, he traced her jawline with his thumb, stopping at her ear. Pulling at her delicate lobe, he felt a familiar heat flow through him.
Turning her head, Angela shuttered at his caress. After twenty years of marriage, they were strangers.
I need her to stand by me.
“Look at me, Angie,” he continued. “I didn’t mean for you to come home and see me like that. I’m under a lot of pressure. I was trying to unwind and drank on an empty stomach. I lost control. After I have something to eat – and this alcohol works out of my system, I’ll find her. But, I need you to keep it together. I need you to support me.”
Despite the influence of alcohol on his judgment, Brian could feel Angela weaken. Her posture relaxed as she stepped back, putting distance between them.
“Promise me,” he breathed.
Angela’s eyes met his. Her irises held tiny flecks of gold that always flashed when she was upset. If they were any judge, she was furious.
For just a moment, Brian felt the love he once held for her. “I’ll try,” her voice flattened to a whisper. “But you have to find her tonight. I’m not doing this with you anymore if you don’t.”
Stepping past him, Brian said nothing as Angela headed upstairs. Glancing into the living room, his eyes fell on the bottle of Jack. Rachel should be hungry enough to head home before he had to go looking for her. With his emotions stimulated, another shot would help calm his nerves.
34
MARGE
Friday 3:10 PM
Marge placed the metal box back under the counter. It was a tempting fantasy, imagining the look on Angela Jones’s face if Marge just happened to open her purse and a glimpse of steel from the pistol were to catch her eye.
It wouldn’t be a crime as long as she didn’t pull it out – more of a gentle convincing, a statement even, that Marge wasn’t to be taken for granted or written off as some town whore. Angela would know Marge was a fighter and deserved good things – like Brian’s house and his marital vows.
Angela had served her time and needed to move on. Marge knew that. Brian knew that. The tricky question was – how to make Angela know that? Picking at her cotton candy
pink nail polish, Marge searched her mind for ways to make her point.
The gun would work, but if Veronica discovered that Marge removed it from the shop, there would be hell to pay. The woman had been riding her ass all day. Even after Marge mentioned she was having relationship difficulties and didn’t feel like waiting on customers, the store owner told her to either work or go home. Veronica knew Marge couldn’t afford to miss a day’s wages.
I’ll remember that the next time she is bellyaching about something.
Marge was hurting. How could she focus on taking phone orders and cleaning if Brian wasn’t answering her calls? She needed him. From the moment they first kissed when he stopped by her apartment to drop off a free Bible and gift card to the fancy food store in town, she planned on becoming his bride. She even knew which flowers Veronica kept at the shop she would have her bouquet made from. If he was suddenly going to pull away because of Angela, then Marge would have to be persuasive.
Marge dug into her nails
harder,
chipping at the stubborn polish she had so carefully applied that morning when she thought she would see Brian. She didn’t waste all of her time
preparing Katie for a better life by having that woman snatch it all away.
The vibration of her phone grabbed Marge’s attention. Grinning, she put it to her ear hoping to hear her lover’s voice.
“Hello,” she crooned, while eyeing the backroom in hopes that Veronica would not poke her head out.
“We have to talk.”
“Williston,” she declared. A moment of confusion caused a pause in her reply. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“It really can’t wait.” Williston’s voice was stronger than usual and came across more masculine.
Ever since he admitted he was gay, Marge had noticed that he had a certain flamboyant tone when he spoke. But, not now, he sounded serious.
Maybe he’s heard I’ve found someone.
“I’m at work, but I can talk,” she spoke playfully. She liked the idea of her ex-husband being jealous – to feel what it is like to be replaced. Playing with her chandelier earing, she waited for Will to find the courage to ask her about Brian.
“I’m just down the street. I’ll stop in,” his words were crisp.
“Sure thing,” she replied, hanging up.
Marge couldn’t help but smile. She had been waiting for this moment, waiting to see the look of regret in Will’s eyes for leaving her.
Deep down she knew he wasn’t really gay. Why would he have married her to begin with?
I sure didn’t get pregnant by myself.
Marge may not have been educated, but she wasn’t born yesterday. It wasn’t hard for her to guess that no one could just turn into a homosexual overnight. Will was just exploring and thought he was in love with Thomas.
Checking her boobs in the mirror, Marge decided to unzip the smock Veronica forced her to put on earlier. A quick dash for her purse and she was able to apply a coat of lip gloss, too. Wanting to look hot when Williston came in to tell her he was sorry, she figured she should be from out behind the counter so her long legs could show. She was still in her stilettoes and miniskirt despite Veronica urging her to change into something more work appropriate.
Giggling, she anticipated seeing him crumble when she told him to eat his heart out because she found a better man.
A man who knows how lucky he is….