A Cold Christmas (4 page)

The house was empty.

With a huge sigh, she lay on the bed and buried herself in blankets. She dozed, she dreamed, she heard gunshots, she thought of Adam watching television. She slept. She roused to silence, then remembered the kids were with Mat and sank back into oblivion.

4

Roy Dandermadden walked just short of a trot. The cold air bit into his lungs, and he breathed like a steam engine, partly from moving so fast, partly from anticipation. With this weather nobody would wonder why his collar was turned up and his hat pulled down over his face, or why he was practically jogging. They'd think he was just trying to get out of the damn cold like any reasonable man. He'd parked four blocks away and now he was sorry. Not only was he freezing his nuts off, but nobody comes to a motel without a car, for God's sake. Not if they're traveling and want a place to stay overnight. Walking just called attention to himself and shouted out loud what was going on. He should have thought this through a little more before calling Cindy. That was his problem these days; he didn't think.

He never did think good on his feet. If he'd had time, he'd have worked it out better, but Lillian sprung it on him right after church. She was taking Jo and Mandy and they were going to Kansas City for Christmas shopping. They took off without even inviting him, not that he would have gone, but it would be nice to be asked once in a while.

He had plenty to do at home. Get a head start on grading term projects and get them out of the way. But the thing was, he'd wanted to spend some time with Jo today. Maybe take her to a movie or something. She was eleven and growing up so fast it took his breath away. Mandy, already seventeen, was into her own things.

Lillian hadn't said squat as they got in the car, and when he'd mumbled something about grading papers she'd looked at him like he was sprouting corn on his head and closed her lips in a thin line. He barely had time to say drive carefully before they were gone.

And there it was, a God-given opportunity. When they had backed out the driveway, he waited a few minutes to be sure they weren't coming back for forgotten purses or lost gloves and then called Cindy, doing some figuring as he waited for the phone to be answered. An hour there, an hour for return, plus at least three hours for shopping—and with Mandy along, probably longer—that gave him a minimum of five hours.

“Hi,” he said when Cindy answered. “Okay to talk?”

“Yes.” Her husband, assistant manager of a supermarket, was working today.

With the clock ticking, the only place he could come up with was Oskaloosa. Small enough that any unknown car coming into town would have a cop checking the license number. How stupid could he be? They should have met in Topeka.

Seeing each other at the high school had been agony, her teaching English and him teaching geography, and pretending nothing was going on, but after school let out for Christmas break, it was even worse. Now he didn't see her at all unless he ran into her at the drugstore or somewhere, and they didn't dare say more than hello.

One disastrous time he'd gone to her house. He felt like a louse after, but it just happened. By chance they were both at the library. Her husband was working and she was supposed to be at her sister's in Baldwin City. At the last minute, her sister was called in to work.

Roy worked hard all the time. Didn't he deserve some happiness in his life? All he ever did was work to pay bills, work to pay bills. Was that all there was to life? He loved Lillian; she was a good wife and a good mother. He didn't want to hurt her. He hated himself for what he was doing, and he told himself again this was the last time.

He ducked under the elm branches hanging over the narrow walkway and counted numbers as he went past doors. At number nine, he raised his fist to knock and a horrifying thought flashed through his mind. What if the door opened and Lillian was inside? What if this was a trap: telling him she was going shopping, then doubling back to catch him. Paranoia. He wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Besides, if that were the case she wouldn't take Jo and Mandy.

This had to stop. Then the thought of never holding Cindy again was more than he could bear. It would be different if Lillian was a terrible wife, but she wasn't. She didn't nag, she didn't cheat, she kept the house in order. She kept herself looking nice. He still loved her.

But there was Cindy. He couldn't help himself. That time at her house they were just going to be together a while, have a cup of coffee. In the kitchen he'd put his arms around her. She felt so right, lips soft, body good. Holding her tight against him, he buried his face in her hair and kissed the back of her neck. When he heard a noise and looked up, he saw the furnace repairman watching them through the glass pane in the kitchen door.

They sprang apart like guilty teenagers. The bastard never said a word, but his knowing eyes put two and two together quicker than a calculator, and amused malice crossed his face. Later Roy found out the son of a bitch's name was Tim Holiday. He waited for Holiday to make some kind of blackmail overture. Sure enough, a few days later the guy called. He wanted to come and see him. Roy said no way. Holiday said Roy's wife might like to know what was going on while she was working. Finally, Roy said okay. What else could he do?

Roy was prepared to blow the guy's head off. That was all he could think of. He had no money; what little there was, Lillian knew all about. She took care of the budget and paid the bills. She kept track of every penny. If their savings account suddenly turned up missing funds, she'd spot it immediately. There was piss-all in it anyway.

And then the guy only wanted to ask questions about Mat James. Come right down to it, Holiday was weird. Swear to God, the bastard gave Roy the creeps.

He tapped lightly on number nine and Cindy was in his arms as soon as the door shut behind them. He inhaled a deep breath of her sweet scent. They kissed long and hard. God, he'd missed her. She kept his life going; without her—

“Any more trouble from Holiday?” he asked when they drew apart.

“Not a word,” she said. “Oh, Roy, I've missed you so much. I love you.” Her eyes glistened. “If you ever left me, I don't know what I'd do. I'd die, that's what. I'd just die.”

“Cindy, listen, maybe we—”

She clung to him. “Don't tell me this is wrong. I know it's wrong. I know we have to stop. It's just that you are the only good thing in my life. I don't know what I'd do if—” She kissed him fiercely.

He'd been going to tell her this was the end, he couldn't see her again. It was going to break his heart, but he couldn't continue cheating on Lillian. If she ever found out, she'd poison Jo against him, tell the girl her father was a no-good bastard. He'd go to any length to see that didn't happen.

Since he was here. One last time. He slipped his hands under Cindy's soft yellow sweater and cupped her round sweet breasts, teased her nipples with his thumbs. She gasped. For a moment, he saw his younger daughter's shocked face, then he was lost in Cindy's sweet passion. If Lillian responded to him like this, if she even gave him a hint she liked the feel of his body— She liked to cuddle, but she never said sexy things like Cindy, or that she appreciated him. She never reached out for him. If she had, maybe he wouldn't be here.

*   *   *

When his heart stopped slamming against his ribs, he lay on his back, shoved another pillow under his head, and stared at the water stain on the ceiling shaped like the state of Alaska. He had one arm around Cindy, and her head rested against his sweaty shoulder. Cindy, beautiful Cindy. What the hell was he going to do?

“Roy?” She leaned up on one elbow to look at him.

He grunted.

“Tell me what you're thinking.”

He growled, hugged her, and playfully bit the tip of her nose. “You, you gorgeous thing.”

She giggled, jabbed his ribs, and planted a quick kiss on his chin. “It's Lillian, isn't it? You were thinking of her.”

“I don't want to hurt her.”

Cindy sighed. He stroked her back.

“It gets me too,” she said. “All the sneaking around, meeting in motels, having to leave separately.”

“You want us to forget it? Never see each other again? Except at school in the hallways and the parking lot?”

“No! I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't be with you. It's just— Life is such a mess. And I have to go home to Harley. If he ever knew I was seeing you, he'd kill me.”

Roy gently rubbed her bare shoulder and slid his hand up and down her arm. He didn't know what Lillian would do. Probably take Jo and Mandy and move to the ends of the earth, make it as hard as she could for him to see them. He couldn't allow that.

“Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“What if Tim Holiday tells people about us?”

“We'll just have to see that doesn't happen.”

*   *   *

“Hey, Harley, if you can take off to go screw your wife, why can't I? I just got married. You've been married since God created the earth. Aren't you supposed to be tired of it by now?” Jimmy hung his coat on a hook and slid his time card into the machine.

“What are you talking about?”

“My wife saw your Jeep outside that motel in Oskaloosa.” Jim leered. “Or was it somebody else's wife you were boffing?”

Harley felt a hot rage start in the pit of his stomach. It spread through his chest, rose to his throat, nearly choking him, and filled his head with black tar. Taking deliberate steps, he left the store through the rear door.

*   *   *

Standing at the sink in his kitchen, he poured bourbon in a glass and tossed it off, poured another and downed that as quick. After pouring the third, he was calm enough to sit at the table and sip it.

An hour later he heard Cindy drive the car into the garage. She looked startled to see him. Setting her shopping bag on the table, she shrugged off her coat.

“Harley? What are you doing home so soon?”

He rose from the chair.

“You're shaking. Are you sick?” She came toward him, wifely concern on her face.

Drawing back his hand, he slapped her with an open palm, all the force of his body behind it. The sharp crack and the tingling in his hand brought joy.

She cried out, fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, a hand over the red splotch on her cheek. A thin line of blood trickled from her mouth.

He stood over her. “Where were you?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She smelled of fear. He breathed it in with a sense of fulfillment.

“Whore.” He slapped her other cheek. “Where were you?”

She cringed, tears dribbled down her face. When she tried to crawl away, he grabbed a shoulder, jerked her up, and threw her back. Her head bounced against the wall. “Answer me!”

“Shopping—” She scrabbled sideways, trying to get away. “Christmas shopping. There was a big sale at—”

“Liar!” Clutching a fistful of her sweater, he yanked her up and slammed her against the wall again.

She covered her face with her hands. “Harley, what's the matter with you? Stop. Please stop.”

“Who is he?” He smashed a fist into her ribs.

“Harley—”

“Who?” He hit her again. And again.

“Harley—” she whimpered.

“Who?”

He pried her hands from her face and hit her in the mouth. “Who?”

She cried. Her face was smeared with snot and tears and blood.

“Who?”

She struggled to get away.

He kept hitting, feeling the satisfaction of her fear and relishing the sound as his fists connected with her flesh. “Who?”

“Tim Holiday,” she whispered.

5

Caley woke to total darkness, gasping for breath. Confusion reigned as she groped through a mind so deprived of oxygen it wouldn't come through with data. She switched on the bedside lamp and immediately squeezed her eyes shut against the stabbing pain, leaving ghost images on her retinas. Her nasal passages were totally clogged, forcing her to breathe through her mouth, which was so dry her tongue stuck to her teeth. She felt run over by a truck. What time was it anyway? She squinted at the glowing red numbers on the radio. Six o'clock?

She'd slept all afternoon. No wonder she felt like road kill. Longest afternoon nap she'd had since God made her a mother. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't God. She seemed to remember blond curls and hot breath and eager hands. It wasn't like Mat to manage a stay with the kids this long. One two-hour stint was usually his limit. Stumbling to the kitchen, she flicked on the light and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with water and gulped, experimented with her tongue by running it across the inside of her upper teeth and then the outside. Ah, it slipped along as it should.

What had she been eating that left this taste residue? Refrigerator surprise? She drank another glass of water, then crept into the living room and gently lowered herself to the sofa. Too roughly and she might lose some valuable part of herself. Like her head.

Even though scratched like a road map, the hardwood floor, stained dark, showed every speck of dust, smear of mud, and crumb of whatever the kids had been eating. Dust curls huddled in corners and under the chairs, two wing chairs with frayed brown-and-yellow fabric. They were as shabby as was the Victorian sofa she sat on. Ragged lace curtains hung over windows smeared with sticky fingerprints. The walls had once been painted white, but she'd never gotten around to repainting. Or to adorning them with anything. Maybe she should put up a couple of those ghastly old paintings in the basement. If she cleaned them a little, maybe they wouldn't look too bad. The Christmas tree in the corner brought cheer to the room, colored lights and a lot of the ornaments made by the children, some saved from years back. She wrapped the sofa quilt around her shoulders and waited for Mat to bring back the kids.