Sleeping With the Enemy (16 page)

She turned to look at him, but she didn’t speak.  “Your arguments were strong,” he said.   “Well thought out.  Eloquent.  You’d probably make a good lawyer.  You’d do well at keeping your clients out of the electric chair.”

“Who says I want to be a lawyer?”

Aha!
he thought. 
She speaks
.  “Nobody,” he said offhandedly.  “I just thought you might want to consider it.”

She remained silent. 

“I did have one quibble with your arguments, though.  If we abolish capital punishment, who’ll foot the bill to support all those guys who are in for life?”

She looked at him as though he were an idiot.  “The taxpayers,” she said.  “Who else?”

“Do you think that’s really fair?” He stopped for a red light.

“Society helped to cause the problem.  Shouldn’t it also help to pay the price? Besides,” she added, “we’re paying anyway.  Most of those guys are on death row for years because the appeals process moves so slowly.”

“What about personal responsibility? You don’t think people should be made to pay for their wrongdoing?”

She stared at him through those opaque glasses.  “You don’t think life in prison is payment enough?”

“What if it became personal? What if this guy had brutally killed someone you loved? Your husband or your child? How would you feel then? Wouldn’t you want him punished? Wouldn’t you want revenge?”

“Of course I would.  But—”  He was silent while she pondered the issue.  He wanted her to come up with her own answer.  “I guess I hope I’d have a strong enough belief in my values that I’d let society handle it, instead of taking it into my own hands.” She looked at him suspiciously.  “Am I being graded on this?”

This time, he didn’t hold back the smile.  “Nope.”

She nibbled at her lower lip.  “How’d I do?”

“You did just fine.  It’s a moral question.  There’s no right or wrong answer.  Just like you pointed out, it all boils down to personal values.”

She thought about it for a while before saying tentatively, almost timidly, “Do you really think I’d make a good lawyer?”

“There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

***

While he took care of his business with Eleanor Springer, Devon thumbed through a magazine in the reception area.  He was finished in twenty minutes; it was a simple matter of reading through a few contracts and signing them.  When he and Devon hit the street again, Jesse zipped his jacket against the autumn chill that was scuttling dried leaves and paper along the sidewalk.  Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he said, “Let’s get lunch.  You can pick the restaurant.”

So they got back in the truck and drove around until they found a restaurant called Jade Pagoda, where his stepdaughter introduced him to the joys of Oriental cuisine.  He let Devon order for both of them, enjoying her glee when a single sniff of hot mustard set his nasal passages afire and brought tears to his eyes.  It was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh.

The food was a delight:  Cantonese lo mein with tiny shrimp, lightly fried sweet and sour pork, and some superb dish made of broccoli, chicken, and delicate snow peas.  Afterward, they cracked open fortune cookies.  “The small steps you take,” he read, “will ultimately bring you great fortune.” He looked at her.  “What does yours say?”

“Never underestimate your own abilities.” Devon rolled her eyes and toyed with one of the numerous gold studs in her earlobe. 

Jesse dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and checked his watch.  “I’ve been thinking about buying a new car,” he said casually.  “Want to help me pick it out?”

Devon’s martyr act slipped just a little.  “Now?” she said.  “Today?”

“Now.  Today.”

The martyr act vanished altogether.  “Cool,” she said, the highest accolade a teenager could bestow upon a mere adult mortal.  “When my friend Sasha’s dad turned forty, he went through a midlife crisis.  He bought himself a bright red Corvette.  Sasha’s mother almost threw him out of the house.”

“When I turn forty,” Jesse said, “we’ll see about the Corvette.  In the meantime, I’m looking for something a little bigger.  A family vehicle, something we can all fit in.  Got any suggestions?”

Devon spent a minute or two considering his question.  “How about a Jeep Cherokee? They’re pretty cool.  And they’re supposed to be great in the snow.”

They took their time prowling the sales lot, looking at colors and options, finally deciding on a glossy black Gran Cherokee with gold trim.  While the paperwork was being processed, he and Devon drove his pickup truck to the nearest car wash, where they scrubbed the outside and vacuumed the inside, cleaned out the glove compartment and checked behind the seat.  When they returned, the new Jeep was waiting out front, freshly washed and sporting a temporary plate.  Jesse signed a few papers and exchanged keys with the salesman, and the new Jeep was his.

Devon played with the pushbutton windows, ran a hand along the shiny new dash.  “Mom is going to flip when she sees this.”

They were mostly silent for the ride home, the silence of two people who had discovered an unexpected comfort level in each other’s presence.  As he turned from Main Street onto Mountain Road, the last leg of the journey, she spoke at last.  “I hope you realize that this hasn’t changed a thing.”

She was her mother’s daughter, all right.

A
strange car was parked in his driveway, a maroon Taurus wagon.  A rangy, dark-haired man he didn’t recognize leaned against it, talking to Luke.

“Daddy!” Devon cried, releasing her seat belt and flinging herself from the car while it was still moving.  She threw herself at the stranger, who grinned widely as he picked her up off her feet and swung her in a wide arc.

And Jesse told himself the pang he felt wasn’t jealousy.

***

When she got home, Eddie’s car was sitting in the driveway next to a brand-new Jeep with temporary plates
. 
Rose cussed under her breath and slammed the Honda’s squeaky door behind her.  After six hours of working on a Saturday, the last thing she needed was Eddie Kenneally.  He was sprawled in Jesse’s favorite easy chair, a drink in his hand, as comfy as though he owned the place, regaling the kids with his trumped-up stories of high adventure in the electronics business.  When she came in, he patted Devon on the knee.  “Why don’t you and Luke run along for a few minutes,” he said, “so I can talk with your mother.”

He always treated them as though they were still eight years old.  Devon and Luke exchanged glances, came to some unspoken understanding, and discreetly disappeared.  Giving in to the inevitable, Rose kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch to rub her aching toes.  “You’re looking good, babe,” Eddie said.

The look she gave him would have frozen a less brazen man in his tracks.  One thing she had to give Eddie credit for:  he’d always had brass balls.  “I’m not your babe,” she reminded him.  “Speaking of which—” She looked around.  “Where’s Lolita?”

“Her name,” he said with wounded dignity, “is Heidi.”

“How is it that I always manage to forget that? So, what’s up, chumley? She leave you yet?”

“Jesus, Rose, you sure know how to take the wind out of a man’s sails.”

With a humorless smile, she said, “I do my best.”

His eyes made a slow perusal of the house, and she could almost see his mental calculator in action.  “Looks like you really fell into it.”

She knew what was coming.  She’d lived with him for too long not to know.  “Oh, yeah,” she said.  “I’m really rolling in clover.”

“I know what this kind of property goes for.” He rattled his glass and watched the ice swirl around.  “So,” he added casually, “maybe you won’t be needing my monthly checks any longer.”

Eddie Kenneally was a snake.  A dirty, slimy, low-down reptile.  She knew better than to expect him to exhibit human traits.  So why was it that he still had the power to disappoint her? “Don’t even go there, Eddie,” she said, and got up from the couch.

“Hey, I’m just saying that this guy’s obviously not hurting for money.  How much does he make, anyway?”

She couldn’t believe his audacity.  “The kids are your responsibility.  Or have you conveniently forgotten that?”

“Come on, babe,” he said, with a joviality that set her teeth on edge.  “There’s nothing wrong with asking.  Nothing wrong with sharing the wealth.”

The kitchen door opened and shut, and behind her, she heard Jesse’s measured footsteps.  He slipped an arm around her waist and stood so close that his breath feathered the hair at her cheek.  She knew his show of territorialism was for Eddie’s benefit, but it felt real just the same.  His body heat wrapped itself around her in a surprisingly intimate act.  “Is there a problem?” he said.

“No problem.  Eddie was just remarking that since I’m married now, I shouldn’t be needing his pissant little child support checks any longer.”

Eddie held up both hands and flashed a smarmy smile that was long in the tooth but never quite reached his eyes.  “Rosie, baby, you’re reading me all wrong.  I just thought—”

“Keep your damn money,” Jesse snapped.  “We don’t want it.”

Aghast, she said, “Jesse!”

Ignoring her, he said to Eddie, “It’s only because of your kids that I’m tolerating your presence in my house.” He drew Rose hard against his chest, sending a shiver down her spine.  “But stay the hell away from my wife.  Are we clear on that?”

Eddie stood up, drained his glass, and set it down on the coffee table.  “Crystal clear,” he said.  “Better hang onto this guy, Rose.  Looks like you’ve got him eating out of your hand.  Say good-bye to the kids for me.”

The instant he was out the door, she took a deep breath, pulled free of Jesse, and turned on him.  “Why the hell did you do that? You were like two tomcats in a pissing contest.  Did you really have to lower yourself to his level?  And how dare you tell him we don’t want his money? He’s responsible for those kids until they turn eighteen!”

“We don’t need the money.  I can afford to support your kids.”

And what happens when you’re gone?
she thought. 
Who’ll support them then?
But she didn’t say it.  Instead, she said, “You already have a son to support.  Luke and Devon are my responsibility.  And Eddie’s.”

“I don’t mind.  The house is paid for.  And I’m not exactly penniless.”

“You’re missing the point! I won’t be indebted to you!”

“You’re my wife, Rose.  How can you be indebted to me? Look, there are things I haven’t told you.  Everything happened so fast, we never really got a chance to sit down and talk about it.  But we should.”

“I don’t want to talk about it! I don’t want to be beholden to you! I don’t want to be tied down!”

She bit her lip, but she’d already said too much.  His eyes turned frigid, and his hands, clasping her folded arms, stiffened.  “Oh,” he said.  “Now I get it.  Just in case you feel a burning need to invoke our little legal agreement, you want to be able to make a clean getaway.”

She felt a flush coloring her cheeks.  “Don’t make it sound so cold-blooded.”

“Hell, no.  It’s not cold-blooded, just a simple business deal.  I’m sorry I interfered.  Next time, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Jesse!”

But he was already gone, the door of the den slamming behind him, and Rose was left to wonder, for the millionth time, why she always spoke first and thought second. 
Open mouth, insert foot
.  That was what her mother had always told her, that she needed to put more effort into thinking before she spoke.  It was her biggest fault, one she’d tried hard to overcome.  She started for the closed door, intent on apologizing, but stopped short when she reached that disarming expanse of solid wood.  Behind it, she could hear the faint tapping of computer keys.  Jesse had never invited her into his private domain, and she was reluctant to intrude in a place where she so obviously wasn’t welcome.

Marry in haste, repent at leisure
.  Another of her mother’s favorite sayings.  Rose hesitated, hand on the door knob.  And then she sighed, gave the closed door a final, mulish scowl, and headed upstairs to take a shower.  To hell with Jesse Lindstrom.  She had better things to do than grovel.

That night, for the first time in years, she dreamed of Alan, dreamed of that rich, resonant stage actor’s voice reading aloud from the works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
.  Once again, she was a dreamy fifteen-year-old, thoroughly infatuated with her English teacher, in love with those blue eyes, that dimpled chin, the smile that she just knew was aimed directly at her and nobody else.  When Alan recited poetry, the rest of the world ceased to exist.  The feelings he’d aroused in her had been magical, and she’d been absolutely certain that nobody else in the history of womankind had ever felt this way.  It was hers alone, this special, magical feeling.  Hers and Alan’s.

She awoke with a jolt, felt the hot rush of tears trickle down her face.  Her heart thudded as she lay in the darkened bedroom and listened to the rhythmic sound of her husband’s breathing
. 
She hardly ever thought about Alan any more, and when she did, it was with resentment and anger, not with the fierce teenage anguish that she’d felt in the dream.  It had all happened a long time ago, and she’d long since put it behind her.  She was a grown woman now, practical, independent, and responsible.  There was no place in her life for the memory of a young girl’s first love.

The house was drafty, and she drew the covers higher and moved closer to the lean male body whose warmth had already become familiar to her.  During the day, when logic ruled, Rose couldn’t fathom why she’d imagined, even for an instant, that a pairing as ill-conceived as theirs could possibly succeed.  But in the wee hours, when the darkness magnified fears, and emotion took precedence over logic, she was grateful to be sleeping next to Jesse, grateful that he was there, warm and comforting beside her.  It was a contradiction that she couldn’t explain, except to say that in the years since her divorce, it had been the warm male body in her bed that she’d missed the most.  More than she’d missed the companionship, more than she’d missed the sex, she’d missed the simple connection that came from sleeping with another human being.