Sullivan's Justice (20 page)

“I am not,” he protested. “I really love you, Carolyn. The past year has been the happiest time in my life. Not only do I love you, Lucy loves you. She told me the other night that she wished you were her mother.”

“I adore Lucy,” she said, gazing into his pale eyes. She rolled over and kissed his stomach, then stuck her tongue inside his belly button.

“We’re having a serious conversation here, young lady. Is that all you want me for, sex?”

“Sometimes,” Carolyn told him, then fell serious. “I love you, too, Paul.”

He bent down and kissed her, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

Paul clasped her hands and pulled her upright. He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, then pushed it off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She lifted her hips and placed the shirt on the floor next to the blanket. Running her hands over the fabric, she found it incredibly soft, almost like velvet.

“Why don’t you rub your hands over me instead of the blanket,” he said, playfully pinching one of her nipples. “It’s cashmere, by the way. One of my students gave it to me. I liked it so much, I gave her an A.”

“Liar.” Carolyn stretched out on her side, then patted a spot beside her. “Did that student do anything else for you on this blanket?”

“Of course not,” Paul told her. “Stay here, I have to freshen up. I’ll only be a minute.”

She knew he would never accept a gift from a student. His ethics were impeccable. But as their relationship became more serious, she had to ask herself if she could live with him. He drove her crazy sometimes over inane things. When they went to the movies, they had to get to the theater at least an hour early. To make certain they got the best seats, he’d ask her to buy the tickets while he drove around trying to find the perfect parking space. If another car was behind them, he made her jump out. Rather than inconvenience the person behind him, one time he’d almost driven off with her hanging onto the doorknob. His quirkiness was one of the things she loved about him. He was maddening, but somehow wonderful.

She rolled around on the blanket, smiling as she played back scenes from their relationship. Carolyn had a bad habit of holding on to the rubber seal where the car window closed. The previous week, Paul had hit the button for the electric windows and almost cut her fingers off, then lectured her for thirty minutes. She gritted her teeth rather than tell him that he should have checked before he rolled up the window.

Everything had to be spotlessly clean. He was constantly searching for particles of food or dirt in her kitchen, and he was fanatical when it came to his clothing. He wore his pants too high on his waist, which made him look like a nerd. When she suggested he might wear a casual shirt loosely outside, instead of tucked in, he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. No matter how much he weighed, he bought the same size. Every item in his drawers was folded precisely. She was certain he measured each piece to make certain the dimensions were accurate, and he absolutely never wore anything twice. He had stacks of gray socks, folded once, white Jockey underwear, also folded once, and a specific style of jeans and slacks. They spent hours at the department store and usually left with nothing. He could take months and go to ten different stores before he finally decided on a fifty-dollar purchase. She wondered if all physicists were as persnickety.

Personally, she doubted if he would ever finish his book. Her ex-husband, Frank, had been a writer. Paul didn’t have the type of mind to write books, even about physics. His head was crammed full of numbers. Most of what she’d learned in the area of math, she’d long forgotten, burying it under mountains of legalities. She suspected his mind churned out equations even when he slept.

He came back into the room and lay down beside her. She held up her arm, staring at the Cartier watch he’d given her for Christmas. “The watch is great, Paul, but it must have cost a fortune. I can’t show up at the jail in a watch like this. People will think I’m dealing drugs or having one of my probationers rob banks for me.”

“For what I paid for the watch,” he said, “I could have bought you an engagement ring. Seriously, when are you going to marry me?”

At first, she thought he was joking, then she saw he was serious. “Are you proposing to me?”

“I hadn’t planned on asking you tonight,” he told her. “I bought you the watch instead of a ring. It feels so right when we’re together, like we’re already married. Would you marry me under the right circumstances?”

“I don’t know,” she said, tossing her arms around his neck and kissing him. “You’re not the easiest guy to get along with, you know. I might do something terrible . . . like put the pineapple rinds in the disposal or spray the house with air freshener.”

“That’s it,” he said, holding her in a bear hug. “You’re mine. We’ll set the date later.”

She whispered in his ear, “Are we going to look at The Book tonight?”

“We don’t need The Book. I think I can improvise.”

When they’d first started sleeping together, Carolyn had been amazed at how proficient Paul was in bed. Several months later, she’d found a book on sex in his bedroom, tucked in between
A Tour of the Calculus
and Stephen Hawking’s
Black Holes and Baby Universes
. Paul told her he hadn’t been with a woman in years and decided to study sex to make certain he could please her. Instead of flipping through the pages like most men, he’d studied the book like a physics text. “Wow” was the only word for it. Carolyn thought every man should do the same.

Each time they made love, they tried a different technique and position. Their secret code for sex became “The Book.” The other day at dinner, John had asked them what book it was they were always talking about and they’d both cracked up.

“Hurry,” Carolyn told him. “If you don’t, it’s going to be morning and we’ll have to go home. I need more than a few hours. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, so I guess I’ll have to pay for the full treatment.”

“I thought you were broke.”

“I wasn’t going to pay you with money, dummy. How about a trade?”

Paul threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a case. That’s probably why I love you so much.”

He refilled their glasses and they brought them to their mouths at the same time, drinking deeply. Afterward, he dipped his fingers in the wine and began to stroke her between her legs, touching just the right spots. She started breathing heavy when she felt his fingers slide inside her. “God, that feels so good.” Within minutes, she had her first orgasm.

Still panting, she scooted down his body, licking his stomach all the way down to his genitals, then taking him into her mouth. He moaned with pleasure. When he was about to explode, he pulled her up and rolled her onto her back. “It’s my turn,” he said, his lids heavy with lust. He kissed her, then stared at her body in the firelight. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, fanning her hair out on the pillow. “You look like an angel.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in God or angels.”

“Now that I have you,” he said, “I may have to reassess my position. You’re the most exciting woman in the world. If I’d known angels were this sexy, I would have never become an agnostic. Now shut up and let me make love to you.”

Not only did Paul know what to do in bed, he knew what to say. Her ex-husband had never understood female anatomy, let alone female psychology. There was no such thing as fore-play. He’d never complimented her or told her he loved her. All that came out of his mouth were a few grunts. He demanded oral sex, but he never reciprocated.

Her muscles contracted. She cried out, “Oh, God . . . Oh, God . . .” The sound of the fire crackling combined with his mouth caused her to have another orgasm, this one more powerful than before. She felt as if she were swimming in warm liquid. She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, closing her eyes and imagining she was riding him into a brilliant white light. Slipping off him, she reached under his arms and pulled him on top of her.

“Take me . . . now. . . . Please, Paul . . . I can’t wait.” A few minutes later, she felt another wave of pleasure. The problems with Neil, her work, her kids—everything disappeared except the intensity of that moment. Not even Brad had made her feel this way.

Paul quickly entered her. Their bodies were slick with perspiration. She heard a smacking noise as they slid back and forth. Their rhythm matched his thrust.

When he cried out, she embraced him tightly, pressing his head down on her shoulder. Once he relaxed, she panted out, “How much do you love me?”

“More than the universe.”

“How can I top that?” she said, smiling in delight. How could a man be more romantic than a woman? When he said he was busy writing, he must be sneaking away to some kind of class, probably poetry or songwriting. She racked her brain trying to think of some kind of response. “I love you more than I love myself,” she announced proudly.

Carolyn was watching the shadows from the fireplace dance on the ceiling. She heard a sound and felt certain Paul had mumbled something else just as magnificent. When she turned her head, her jaw dropped. Mr. Wonderful was snoring, and he wasn’t snoring softly. He was flat on his back, his mouth open, sawing away loud enough to wake the neighbors. She tried to sleep, but the sound was too irritating. Taking the edges of her pillow, she pulled them up over her ears. A few hours later, she saw the sun streaking through the window.

 

 

 

 

 

W
hen Jeremy didn’t return from her parents’ bedroom, Jessica decided to search the house on the chance that her parents had bought them Christmas presents, after all. She checked most of the closets on the two lower floors. The first level had a modern kitchen, an enormous dining room, a formal living room, and a large circular area at the foot of the stairs. When her mom and dad had parties, the area near the stairs was used as a dance floor.

In addition to the theater room, seven of the fifteen bedrooms were located on the third floor. At one time during the house’s history, the rooms on the third floor were filled with servants. Jessica had nightmares about the third floor. The year before, her mother had made her go to a shrink, a crusty old man who did nothing but sit and stare at her. Then she started having nightmares about the psychiatrist. Now she tried her best to be brave.

Jessica headed to the garage. After looking around, she saw a box perched on top of one of the storage cabinets. Her father liked everything neat. Most of the garage’s contents were organized inside the white cabinets. Her eyes kept returning to the box. Not far away was an aluminum ladder. It was too heavy for her to lift, so she got behind it and pushed. It made a scraping noise as it moved across the cement floor. She positioned it beneath the area where the cardboard box was located. At the top of the ladder, she still couldn’t see inside. Standing on her tiptoes, she felt a long, narrow box, similar to the kind dolls were packaged in. Unable to lift it, she reached in and wrapped her fingers around the cold object inside.

“Cool,” Jessica exclaimed, staring at the long brown rifle in her hands as she tried to maintain her footing on the ladder. Jeremy had wanted a gun for a long time. Some of his friends went duck hunting with their fathers every year. Excited, she couldn’t wait to show him what she’d found.

Holding the rifle in her right hand, she scampered down the ladder. Finding their Christmas presents had been a game they’d played every year. Once they discovered where their gifts were stashed, she and Jeremy would secretly play with them, then return them on Christmas Eve. The servants always spent Christmas Eve wrapping presents and preparing the holiday meal. They didn’t care if something had been opened. This year, the servants were gone. Her daddy said they were going to have Christmas dinner at the country club.

Rushing down the hall on the second floor, Jessica saw her brother bending down over her mother. Her gaze shifted slightly to the left and she saw her father standing in the doorway of the bathroom. A stern look leaped into his eyes. “Give me that this minute!”

The only time Daddy had ever yelled at her was the time she found him on the third floor. He reached for the rifle as Jessica turned to run away. She recalled seeing her father’s twisted face and terrified eyes at the same time she heard the explosion.

Blood gushed out of her brother’s back. The smell of gun-powder filled the air. She saw her father lift Jeremy off her mother and place him on the floor. Blood was coming out of a hole in her mother’s forehead. Jessica crawled across the floor and huddled in a corner. When she saw her father cut her brother’s chest open, she screamed until she couldn’t breathe, then everything went black.

Melody bolted upright, her eyes roaming around the room as she tried to figure out where she was. She was drenched in sweat. Tossing the empty scotch bottle against the wall, she swore she would never drink again. They always said a child mimicked its parents. If she turned into her mother, she would kill herself.