Chapter 2
The next morning the damn crates hadn’t miraculously unpacked themselves. I was staring at them with antipathy when I heard a car pull up.
Donna Vorstadt stepped out of her new Chevy and waved when she saw me.
“Hello, Caroline, dear, I thought I’d just come and see how you’re settling in. Goodness, I think you’ve got your work cut out there.”
She smiled, commiserating, and I warmed to her a little more.
“Have you got time for a cup of coffee, Donna?”
I didn’t usually feel the need to socialize with the wives of my husband’s fellow officers, but she seemed genuine, and I still knew how to follow some of the niceties of Base behavior.
“Sure, that would be great.”
I realized too late that the breakfast dishes were still scattered across the counter. Oh well, I’d blown my chance of pretending I was perfect.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just the cream. Do you have skim milk?”
I cleared a space, and we sat down to drink our coffees.
“So, how are you settling in? It’s a pain moving, isn’t it?”
“I don’t mind the physical aspects of moving…it’s just…I had a job I really liked back in North Carolina.” Oh, too personal. “Mind you, those crates won’t unpack themselves.”
I sighed and she looked sympathetic.
“I have to run to the shops now, but I could come by this afternoon and help if you like.”
Before I could reply, there was a knock at the front door. I hoped to hell it wasn’t another wife come to help by drinking my coffee.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”
Smiling hugely, Sebastian stood there, dressed in torn jeans and a plain, white t-shirt.
“Oh, hello! It’s nice to see you again, Sebastian. What can I do for you?”
“You said you had to unpack crates; I thought I could help.”
I was taken aback by his offer.
“That’s very sweet of you, Sebastian, but I don’t think your parents would be happy if they knew you were here instead of studying.”
“I’m taking a break,” he said, his lovely smile slipping at the mention of his parents.
“I’m sure they won’t object to Sebastian helping a neighbor,” said Donna, appearing behind me. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sebastian,” she continued, kindly.
Sebastian reddened when he saw her, and he looked down.
“Well, I could certainly use some help,” I said, feeling flustered.
“Great!” said Sebastian, his smile returning. “I’ll go get started.”
“Thank you,” I muttered to his back.
Donna winked at me. “I think you’ve got an admirer there,” she whispered. “Thanks for the coffee. Call me if you need anything.”
I watched her drive away, and then headed for the garage. Sebastian had already made inroads into the second half of crate number one.
“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” I said, shaking my head in bewilderment.
“I want to,” he said simply.
I decided I’d let him help for half an hour, then kick him out and send him back to his parents before I caused any more trouble for him.
It was darned useful having him there—he heaved tables and chests and boxes full of who knows what, and before I knew it, two hours had flown by.
“Oh crap! It’s nearly lunchtime.” I said, looking at my watch, horrified.
“Did you have to be somewhere?” Sebastian asked, looking concerned.
“No, no, I’m worried about you. Your parents…your studying.”
He shrugged. “No sweat.”
“Look, I’m not going to be responsible for you flunking out. I’ll fix you some lunch and then you must go study. Deal?”
“Okay, deal!” he said happily.
He followed me into the house and I showed him where he could wash his hands. I was stretching up to get some of the tall glasses when I heard him come into the kitchen.
“I’ll get those for you,” he said.
His sudden proximity behind me made me jump as if an electric shock had jolted through me. It was the strangest feeling; I suddenly felt almost nervous as he reached past my shoulder, lightly brushing against my back. I took a step away and turned to find him staring at me, a glass in each hand.
“Thank you,” I said, awkwardly.
He didn’t reply and I had to look away first. The intensity of his gaze made me feel uncomfortable—and in my own home, too, damn it! Yes, and annoyed. I took refuge, hunting through the refrigerator, trying to restore some equilibrium.
“I’ve got soda or a lemon pressé,” my voice was half swallowed by the fridge.
“I’ve never had a lemon pressé. What’s that?”
“Oh well, just lemon juice and sparkling mineral water.”
“I’ll try that, please, Mrs. Wilson.”
The tension left my body and I smiled at him.
“Sebastian, you can call me Caroline. Mrs. Wilson is so formal…and it makes me feel ancient.”
“Okay, Caroline,” he grinned at me.
“Now, I can make you a chicken salad sub or…tricolored salad.”
“Insalata tricolore, per favore.”
I turned to him in surprise.
“I’ve been learning Italian,” he announced proudly. “A correspondence course. My high school only offered Spanish.”
“Really? Molto bene!”
“And I’ve been listening to opera, too. I like Verdi.”
“The fallen woman.”
“Excuse me?” he gasped.
“La Traviata: I presume that’s what you mean when you say you like Verdi. Or maybe Aïda? Rigoletto?”
He let his breath out in a gust. “Yeah, all of those.”
“I thought teenage boys only listened to heavy rock music,” I teased him.
He looked wounded and I regretted my comment. He was obviously trying to impress me.
“I’m glad you like opera; my father loved it.”
“I remember. I remember you and him singing opera in your kitchen.”
“Really, you remember that?”
He nodded, serious. “I remember everything.”
I sighed. “That was a great visit when Papa came to stay.”
Sebastian smiled. “Yeah, he was fun. We blew up a lot of things.”
I rolled my eyes at the memory. “Yes, David wasn’t very happy about it.”
Why I mentioned David at that moment, I couldn’t say.
Sebastian frowned. “How is your dad?”
And the painful memory lanced through me. My dear father, lying shrunken and in pain, tiny and helpless in a hospital bed; the morphine failing to tame the pain of cancer that devoured him whole.
“He passed away—two years ago.”
I could barely speak the words, taken by surprise at the crushing force of the memory. I felt tears hot in my eyes. Ridiculous, I scolded myself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Sebastian whispered.
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but now I was craving his absence. I heartily wished I hadn’t offered him lunch.
“Thank you for your help this morning, Sebastian. It was really very thoughtful of you, but I’m going to have to insist that you go and do some studying as soon as we’ve eaten. I don’t want to get you into any more trouble.”
He pouted, suddenly looking his age. It made me want to laugh, but I truly didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Especially not when he’d been so helpful. I changed the subject.
“Will you go surfing with your friends again soon?”
He sighed. “Maybe. I’ll have to borrow a board.”
“Oh, what happened to the blue one?”
“Dad trashed it—snapped it in half. Said I wasn’t to waste any more time surfing.”
He said the words casually, but I could hear the anger and hurt beneath them; I remembered his father’s threat at the barbecue.
“That’s awful. And it’s all my fault. I should never have said…”
He interrupted me, speaking softly. “It’s not your fault that my father is a sadistic bastard, Caroline.”
My hand fled to my mouth as he spoke, my eyes fixed on his.
“I’m so sorry.” My words were whispered and faint.
He shrugged. “No big deal. I’m used to it.”
“I must buy you a new board, Sebastian. That’s all there is to it.”
I tried to lighten the mood.
“Thanks, Caroline, but it’s cool. I can always borrow one of Ches’s. His dad surfs, too.”
“Well, let me give you a ride home after we’ve eaten. It’s the least I can do.”
He grinned at me, and the tense moment had dissolved.
I sliced some mozzarella and tomatoes, diced the avocado, drizzled virgin olive oil, and ground some black pepper. I was irritated that I hadn’t had time to buy any fresh basil to shred over it. It would have to do.
I found some bread I was going to use for bruschetta, and put a plate in the middle of the table; I imagined a teenage boy would eat a lot more than me.
He tucked in with gusto, swallowing everything in sight.
“Boy, you really can cook, Caroline.”
I laughed at his enthusiasm. “This isn’t cooking, Sebastian.”
“Mom never cooks anything,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me. “Dad thinks she does, but it’s all store bought.”
“Hmm…well, anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law.”
He looked horrified. “Don’t tell her I told you!”
“What’s it worth?” I teased him.
“My ass!” he said, forcefully.
The expression on his face made me laugh out loud.
“Oh, Sebastian, you’ve left yourself open to blackmail now.”
“You can blackmail me anytime, Caroline,” he said huskily.
His eyes were suddenly intense, and I blinked at him in surprise.
“Time to go,” I said blandly, and began to stack the dishes.
He stood and watched me uncertainly for a moment, then helped me clear the kitchen table.
“That insalata was good,” he said, shyly.
“Thanks. Glad you liked it.”
I looked at my watch, a not very subtle gesture. “I’ll get my car keys.”
I played the same CD that I’d listened to yesterday, but I didn’t feel like singing now; the atmosphere in the car was uncomfortable again. I was having trouble keeping up with Sebastian’s mood swings. It must be a nightmare living with a teenager, I reasoned, even one as seemingly mature as Sebastian. Or maybe it was just men in general—David’s mood swings could almost be set by a metronome. The thought made me grimace.
“Can you drop me here?” he said suddenly.
“But we’re not at your place yet?” I said, confused by the request.
He twisted his mouth in the semblance of a smile. “There’ll be fewer questions this way,” he said.
I felt guilty again—he’d spent the whole morning helping me when he should have been studying. And it was obvious his mother had no idea what he’d been doing. I hoped Donna didn’t mention anything to her.
I pulled the car to the curb and waited for him to get out.
He sat for a moment, fiddling with his seatbelt.
“Will I see you again?” he said.
I frowned, puzzled by his odd question. “I expect so. Everyone bumps into everyone on the Base. Now, promise me you’ll study this afternoon.”
He forced a muted smile. “Okay, Caroline. See you later.”
“Bye, Sebastian.”
I drove away. I couldn’t help glancing in the rear-view mirror; he was still watching.
Donna’s words came back to me: You’ve got an admirer there.
Oh hell. Just what I didn’t need—a teenager with a crush on me.
Irritated, I returned to my duties in the garage. By the time everything was put away and each assorted oddment had been found a home, I was bone weary. I was grateful to Sebastian—I would never have finished so soon without his help. I didn’t have much experience of boys his age even when I was his age, but in my opinion he seemed different…more mature than I would have expected. I wondered if he really did like opera, or whether that was just for my benefit.
God, what it must have been like growing up with those parents. Although Estelle was disturbingly like my own mother, at least I had one parent who’d loved me unconditionally.
I poured myself a glass of water, and took it to the yard to sit in the sun for a few moments of peace. I felt curiously adrift, as if the ties to my life were unraveling one by one. My mother, long absent by mutual choice, my father dead, my job gone; even David was AWOL in spirit.
And I was a shadow.
Oh, stop being so melodramatic.
I blamed my father: the Italian genes.
I needed to get out of the house, off the Base, and do something.
I threw myself in the shower, washing off the grime, and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. That was deliberate—David hated seeing me in jeans, but today, right now, I wanted to feel like me—just for a few, precious hours.
I pulled out of the driveway and drove, too fast, down the road and past the hospital. From the corner of my eye, I recognized the figure walking away from me. I almost drove on, but something made me stop.
I leaned over and rolled down the passenger window.
“Hi. You need a ride somewhere?”
Sebastian’s face lit up.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He climbed in, folding his long legs into my compact Pinto, and grinned. I waited for him to give me directions, but he just leaned back in his seat and smiled.
“So, where can I take you?”
He shrugged. “Anywhere.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just needed to get out of the house—you know, get some space. Mom is…well, Mom.”
“Oh, okay.”
I felt awkward. I wouldn’t have offered him a ride if I’d imagined he was just out for a walk.
“Did you finish your work?”
I really didn’t want to be responsible for him neglecting his studies twice in one day.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I was going to go downtown. You want to come?”
Part of me hoped he wouldn’t; things were already awkward enough.
“Sure, that’d be great, Caroline.”
There was a short pause while I thought of something to say. We’d chatted so easily this morning in the garage, but now I felt awkward. Maybe it was the memory of his intense gaze, the way his body had pressed against mine as he’d reached for the drinking glasses. I shook my head to clear it.
“How is the studying going?”
He shrugged, as if bored of that topic.
“Not a problem. On practice tests, I’ve scored high. It’s all good.”
“What AP classes are you doing?”
He glanced sideways at me. “Math, English Lit…and Italian.”
“Oh, well…that’s good.”
I knew I ought to ask why those particular subjects—except I could guess, one of them at least.
“I want to do an Associate of Arts degree. It’s only two years.”
“So I understand,” I said, briskly.
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead turned to gaze out of the window.
“Why don’t you put the radio on?” I said, hoping it would provide a suitable diversion.
“Okay,” he said evenly.
It’s ridiculous that this 18-year-old boy is more at ease than I am. Come on, Venzi, pull yourself together. Even after 11 years of marriage, there were times when Caroline Wilson was still Carolina, feisty daughter of the immigrant Marco Venzi.
The radio hissed and crackled until Sebastian found a reasonably clear signal—Blue Grass. His choice surprised me—from Verdi to this? It made me smile.
“You like Doc Watson?”
“I like all kinds of music.”
I parked in a lot on Harbor Drive and we wandered up the hill to Little Italy, talking about music and food. I remembered this area from when I’d lived here before. There was a Mercarto every Saturday, and I looked forward to being able to buy Italian specialty oils and vegetables that weren’t stocked in regular stores.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Sebastian said, sounding hopeful.
Mmm. Good Italian coffee. “Oh, a real espresso. Yes, that would be lovely.”
Too much enthusiasm. Don’t encourage him—no mixed signals.
But the day was too beautiful to be half-hearted, and I found myself delighted with all the pretty cafés, gelateria, and ristorantes.
We stopped at a tiny coffee shop just off India Street. The owner’s wife came out to serve us and was ecstatic when I spoke to her in Italian. She kissed me on both cheeks and summoned the rest of her family to come out and meet me. Sebastian looked overwhelmed, then offered a few careful Italian phrases and was engulfed in the bosom of the family. I couldn’t help laughing—their exuberance reminded me so much of my father.
They rattled out Italian like peanuts, with such speed and vigor, each talking over one another, that I struggled to catch everything they said. Sebastian probably only caught one word in fifty, but he sat there grinning, only wincing when the owner’s mother, a little, round nonna of about eighty, grabbed him with both hands and kissed him repeatedly.
Then they all pulled up chairs and surrounded our small table, which soon overflowed with affection. Someone fetched half-a-dozen espresso cups and I sipped happily at the thick, bitter coffee. I was amused to see that Sebastian added several spoonfuls of sugar before he found the rich brew palatable.
Eventually some more patrons arrived and the family scattered, returning to their various roles of cook, cleaner, chef and bottle-washer.
“Whoa! That was something else,” said Sebastian, as we were left to our own devices.
“Wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“They kind of reminded me of your dad.”
I sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.
“Yes, crazy—just like Papa.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Then he laid his hand on mine and I felt his gentle touch. My eyes flew open in surprise and I jerked my hand away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his cheeks heating.
“No, that was rude of me. I was just…”
Tension returned and to my horror, I found my hands were shaking. I fumbled in my wallet for some money and placed the bills on the table under an abandoned coffee cup.
“I’ve got money,” he said, awkwardly.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” I muttered. “I have to get back now.”
Sebastian stood in silence, then followed me back onto the main street.
“Aspetti, signore!”
The coffee shop owner had followed us and was waving the notes I’d left on the table.
I stared, bewildered as he forced the bills into Sebastian’s hand.
“No, please. You and your beautiful wife must come again. You are like family. Please!”
Refusing to keep the money, he kissed us both and trotted away smiling.
Sebastian’s bemusement turned into a broad grin as he passed the money to me. “For you, signora. Beautiful wife, huh? Well, he was half right.”
It was my turn to flush, but I tried to laugh it off. “Free coffee always tastes the best.”
“Yeah! We should definitely do this again.”
I couldn’t return his puppyish enthusiasm; I simply smiled weakly.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I only got about one word in every sentence. I thought my Italian was better than that. Hell, I’ve been studying it for four years. Maybe you could teach me; I mean, just some Italian conversation practice. That would be awesome!”
My automatic response was a big NO, but I didn’t get the chance.
“Hey, Seb. What’s up?”
Sebastian’s face froze.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Who’s your cute friend?”
A look of anger and deep dislike crossed Sebastian’s face.
“Ah, come on, dude! I’m just saying.”
I was pretty certain Jack was one of the surf rats that I’d seen with Sebastian the day before. He was slightly older than Sebastian and his friends, with dark hair and dark, feral eyes; I disliked him from the first sentence he spoke.
“Caroline Wilson,” I said, hoping to defuse the sudden tension.
“Howdy, Mrs. Wilson,” he said slyly, his eyes swiveling from my wedding rings to my cleavage.
We both looked at Sebastian, who seemed very ill at ease.
“Well, it was nice bumping into you again, Sebastian. Do you want a ride back to the Base or perhaps you’d prefer to stay with your friend.”
I waited less than a second before I fixed an insincere smile to my face.
“See you around then. Ciao.”
And I walked away.
I was furious with myself. Why had I pretended we’d just bumped into each other? It had all been perfectly innocent, so why lie?
And then I remembered the touch of his hand on mine and my ridiculous overreaction.
Oh, this was not good, not good at all.
My temper was free-wheeling by the time I got back to the car. I was angry with Sebastian, with myself, with the loathsome Jack: stupid, pathetic little shit. He’d made me feel…guilty, and I hadn’t done anything. I was used to David making me feel guilty, but this was insufferable.
I wound down the windows before I got in, to let the heat escape, feeling some release of pent-up energy in the trivial task.
When I heard footsteps behind me, I didn’t need to turn to see who it was.
“Caroline, I’m sorry, I…” his words trailed off.
“What? What!”
The words came out more forcefully than I’d meant. He stared at me, wounded. I badly wanted to kick something.
I took a deep breath, and reminded myself it wasn’t his fault.
“Do you want a ride back?”
He nodded, still looking hurt.
I drove in a quiet rage. After a few minutes, I felt calm enough to risk a glance at Sebastian; he was gazing out of the window.
Eventually, he broke the heavy silence.
“I’m sorry about Jack and what he said.” There was a brief pause, then he added, “The guy’s an asshole.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing some of the tension and irritation from my body in one long breath.
“Yes, he is, but don’t worry about it.”
He looked at me hopefully. “So, will you help me with my Italian? We could…”
“Sebastian, no. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t.”
We sat mutely for several more minutes before he said softly, “I had fun today.”
So did I.
But I didn’t reply.
I dropped Sebastian off near his house and drove home, feeling irritated and petulant.
I stomped around, finding places for the final pieces of detritus from our marriage; items that didn’t seem to fit were unceremoniously shoved into a closet in the guest room, metaphorically as well as literally.
Out of some guilty urge, I fixed David his favorite meal: lasagna and green salad, with a heavy dessert of apple pie and ice cream that he’d have to eat alone. I sat on the porch facing out into the yard and stared moodily at the yellowing grass. It needed watering; another chore. It was one of those days when I wished I’d taken up smoking years ago just to have something meaningful to do with my hands—and a purpose for being outside.
What was it about that boy? He really got under my skin. It had been simple when he was a child, and I’d enjoyed his uncomplicated company. Things had certainly changed. I’d enjoyed his company today, until Jack showed up. The thought was unwelcome.
When I heard David’s Camaro outside, I pushed all thoughts of Sebastian Hunter from my mind.
“Mmm…something smells good.”
“Lasagna and apple pie.”
David looked pleased. “It was the right decision coming out here again, Caroline.”
If you say so.
“So what did you do with your day?”
“Puttered, mostly. Finished putting things away. I thought I might see if I could get some work—maybe writing; I’d like to use my degree. There’s a cool, local newspaper, City Bea t… maybe I…”
“Good girl. Well done.”
And that was the end of the conversation about me. Instead, I listened to a blow-by-blow description of his day at the hospital. Despite his snide comment about making life and death decisions while I played the little woman, most of his work was with orthopedic medicine.
After the meal, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.
“I was talking to Donald Hunter today. Seems that son of his is running with a bad crowd.”
“Sebastian? Is that likely? He seems such a nice boy.”
David frowned. He didn’t like having his story interrupted. I stood up quickly to clear the dishes—I didn’t have the energy for either a fight or a lecture.
“He’s spending all his time at the beach, surfing.” He sneered the last word. “He’s wearing his hair long, and Donald thinks he’s probably smoking pot—he caught him with a lighter.”
I hid a smile. Didn’t most high-schoolers do things like that? It hardly seemed the crime of the century. But David’s mantra was that rules were to be obeyed. I preferred my Papa’s version: ‘Rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men’. A version which covered a multitude of small sins.
“He says he’ll have to put his foot down.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wants him to enlist—sooner rather than later. I think it’s a good idea. A young man out of control—he needs some discipline. It made a man out of me.”
I didn’t want to start an argument so I stayed quiet, for a moment, seething inside. “Oh, I got the impression Estelle wanted him to go to college first.”
David’s frown deepened. “Well, Donald’s the one paying the bills, so he’s the one calling the shots.”
And this was what it always came down to. I became even more determined to get some work—writing, if possible. I wouldn’t mind serving in a shop or a bar, but David would never allow that. Pursuing my writing was acceptable; a suitable hobby for an officer’s wife.
I loaded the dirty plates into the dishwasher and stacked the pans by the sink. I liked doing the dishes; it meant I could stay busy while David filled me in on more of the dull trivia that completed his day. I’d have washed the plates, too, except then he’d complain about me not using the household appliances properly.
I felt sorry for Sebastian; he’d seemed so happy and carefree as we’d wandered through Little Italy. It must be awful living with a controlling bastard like Donald Hunter—and Estelle, so cold and heartless. Well, I didn’t have to guess how it felt to have a mother like that: I knew exactly.
Perhaps it would be a good thing if he enlisted, if only to get away from his damn parents.
I realized I was spending way too much time thinking about Sebastian; and I had enough concerns of my own. I resolved to get my résumé up-to-date, and to contact City Beat in the morning. And then I had an idea—it was something that might help Sebastian—and it would definitely wind up his father at the same time. Undoubtedly it would irritate David, too; that was practically a given.
Pleased with my idea, I finished up in the kitchen and hunted down my notepad. I wanted to sketch out my thoughts while they were still fresh in my mind.
I sat cross-legged on the bed and began to make some notes. I really needed internet access, but we hadn’t yet got around to hooking up DSL. David expected me to take care of things like that; for once I was in agreement with him. In the meantime, I’d have to find a café with Wi-Fi, or head to the library.
“What are you doing?”
Sometimes I wondered if it would be simpler if I just gave David an itinerary of my day rather than answer his endless questions on how every hour had been spent, or was going to be spent.
“Just jotting down some notes; I had an idea for an article.”
“You look tan; it suits you.”
I looked up, recognizing the tone in David’s voice: he wanted sex.
He took the notepad and pencil out of my hands and tossed them on the floor.
“Come here.”
Dutifully, I stood up and went to him. He unzipped my dress and lifted it over my head, dropping it on top of my notepad.
I started to unbutton his shirt, but he brushed my hands away.
“Turn around.”
I followed his instruction and he unhooked my bra, then briskly yanked my panties down.
“Lie on the bed. No, face down. You really have gotten some nice color today; I can see your tan lines.”
I felt the bed shift as he lay down next to me.
“I’ve always liked you with a tan, Caroline.”
He ran his hand down my spine and stroked my ass several times. I heard him undo his zipper and I rolled onto my side as he stroked himself, steadily encouraging his erection.
“Do you want me to do that?”
“Okay.”
I carried on, watching his eyes close and his mouth slacken.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
Then he lay down on top of me, his weight forcing me into the bed, and entered me carefully. He thrust half a dozen times, shuddered, then stopped.
“Mmm!”
He lay back on the bed, smiling. I stared at the sheets. I’d have to wash those in the morning.
“What are your plans for tomorrow, Caroline?”
“I’m going to get my résumé together and then contact that newspaper I mentioned. Oh, and I’ll call the telephone company to get DSL hooked up.”
“Good idea. I’d like to throw a little party for the guys at the hospital—a week from this Saturday okay? About 7 PM.”
“Sure. Canapés and red wine?”
“Better get some beer, too. And that fancy pressé you like, for the wives. Maybe some of those little…what do you call them…cannelloni?”
“Oh, cannoli siciliani? Sure.” Damn it. It would take me all morning to make those tricky little fuckers.
“Great. Thanks, honey.”
He heaved himself off the bed and strolled into the bathroom. I heard him pissing into the toilet bowl and, a moment later, running the faucet to brush his teeth. He flushed the toilet afterwards—that had always irritated me.
I knew from experience that I’d find his uniform tossed onto the floor. I pulled my nightgown out from under the pillow, picked up my dress and notepad, waiting for him to finish.