The Mistress (6 page)

“I asked a question. Why are you here? You should be in school. The last time I checked, school wasn’t out until 3 o’clock,” he continued, his eyes wide and brows set. His stance was a threatening one – the intimidating one she always knew existed. Lucas stood up immediately, and his body stiffened, almost as if he was about to address a military officer.

“I had a lot of bad stuff happen today, and I really had to just go,” he said with a tone that she hadn’t quite ever heard from Lucas before. She knew this was serious. Preston nodded towards the hallway at the opposite end of the living room.

Lucas half smiled before turning around, his body slumped over. He walked across the living room to the hallway dividing the master bedroom and Preston’s office from the living quarters. Both rooms were defiled now, she thought. She felt the guilt rising again – that dreadful pressing feeling in the pit of her stomach was almost too much to bear. She wanted to vomit.

Here Lucas was about to enter one of the rooms which symbolized her wrong-doings to the family. She felt like a horrible person. He walked down the hall and turned to the door on the right, the office, the spot where the affair began – at least on a physical level. She gulped, and felt a presence gaining on her as she sat. She looked behind her, towards the foyer where Preston had been standing – only to find him much closer. “We’re going to talk about this later,” he said in a suspiciously malicious whisper. She had never heard him sound angry, and anger was definitely dripping from his discourse.

She watched him too disappear when rounding the corner to the right and into the office. She assumed she had witnessed a special father/son code, considering Lucas knew just where to go. This was likely a growing occurrence now that Lucas had decided to become a little more rogue than normal.

Wishing more than anything that she could just go home and go to sleep, she sighed
. Time to get back to work
. She walked slowly – in no physical hurry – to the kitchen and started cleaning up from the family’s breakfast.

Lucas’s sandwich atop the bar stood out to her as soon as her feet felt the cooling sensation of the hard tile beneath her when she crossed the kitchen’s doorway. She shrugged it off, deciding that he was likely to finish it later and that her energy was better focused on the kitchen table first.

The Lancers had an eat-in kitchen as well as a formal dining room – which they never used. Its location was only accessible through the kitchen, adjacent to the mudroom/garage entrance, but she only bothered entering once a week to do some light dusting. The kitchen’s small round table, however, was always a messy disaster zone after the breakfast chaos.

It was as if a family of monkeys resided at the table and feasted every morning. Spilled cereal littered the white stained wooden surface, with glasses of milk – numerically much more than the number of family members living under the roof – sitting out, half-full and beginning to stink from their warmth. Two coffee mugs were also left, both nearly empty, one with a lipstick print and one without. She scrunched up her nose when she saw the final item of trash: a plate with soggy waffles, browned bananas, and some sort of mixture of eggs, ranch dressing, and what looked to be socks – but she could never be sure. Not with these kids.

Let the cleaning begin
.

She couldn’t recall how long it had been, nor did she really care, but her trance was only broken by the sound of Lucas entering the room. “Can I have my sandwich now?” he asked sincerely and with a light-hearted manner. She wondered what the deal with his school attendance was, but decided not to ask. It wasn’t her business.

“Dad’s letting me stay home,” he announced excitedly, as if reading her mind. He jumped gleefully up onto the grey granite countertop of the kitchen island. She rolled her eyes. There were two bar stools there, and he chose to sit on the countertop. Yes, the boy had jumped well over the pushed-in bar stools to sit on the countertops that she had just cleaned.

“You know, those were shining perfectly before, and now they’re pretty likely to have boy-stains mucked all over the top of ‘em,” she decided to reiterate, trying to clue him into getting down.

“The only things that have boy-stains are my sheets,” he joked as he took another bite of his sandwich.

“Crass and disgusting, Lucas. Seriously... get down,” she shooed as her arms flailed about. He laughed. She knew that she was grinning ear-to-ear. She loved that boy’s laugh. She always had. Even when he was a baby, his laugh was something that she reveled in thoroughly.

A tear almost glistened in her eyes as she reminisced. Haley wished often that she had her own children, but then realized that the Lancer children were her children. They may not have been biologically hers, and they may have had great parents – but they were still hers. She loved them.

He hopped down, shoved the remaining half of his sandwich into his mouth, and gulped it down, hardly masticating it as he finished. Definitely a boy. Definitely disgusting. And definitely made her job all the more difficult. But, all the while, he also made it much more entertaining and fulfilling. If it hadn’t been for her love for Lucas, she would have quit ages ago – before Sophie had even been born.

With a burp, he disappeared from the kitchen, and footsteps barreled up the stairs. With a likely excited slam, he was gone. She sprayed the spot that Lucas had just smudged with his rear and wiped it clean. Cleaning was a great pastime for her. It always had been. It was structured, there was a rhythm to it, and it gave her time to think and not be bothered by onlookers.

When you’re sitting by your lonesome, staring off into space – people notice. They ask a string of questions – all pertaining to one similar theme: are you depressed? When you’re cleaning, though, no one notices. You’re up and doing things. You’re – as far as everyone knows – normal.

The audacity of some people astounded her, but she knew that it was all well-placed, generally. Some folks were generally just concerned for her wellbeing. Part of her was grateful, but part of her couldn’t stand the attention. Sometimes we, as human beings, really just need to think through our emotions rather than broadcast them to the world.

What was she going to do, though? This was a real fucking pickle. She knew that she was developing feelings for him over the years, but for fuck’s sake! She never – in a million years – thought that she would give in to her desire and make a mockery of this family! This family was the one thing she had held dear!

Why was she so fucked up? One man and two lustful encounters were not grounds to abandon the love that she had received from the other three members of the family for so many years. Nothing was worth that.

In all honesty, she was not only remorseful and guilt-ridden; she was also immeasurably disgusted with herself. How in the hell did this happen twice? Moreover, she was humiliated that she allowed him to persuade her in that matter, and that she was so easily persuaded. Haley had always had a level head, but knowing who she had been the last two days, no one would ever believe that. They would proclaim “Bullshit!” loudly as if involved in the competitive card game.

Despite all of the negativities that came with it, though, she could not deny that she held a passionate feeling for him still; it was one so deep that surpassed any emotion that she had ever had the pleasure of knowing previously. She had to admit to herself that she really was in love with him.

She gasped, slamming down her sponge. She wanted to cry from all the conflicting feelings swirling about within her soul. Why – why did she find the compulsion to love him? He was married to a wonderful woman, whom she admired and respected.
Respected
.

“BULLSHIT!”

She wanted to call that glorious accusation out to herself just to make herself throw down the metaphorical cards she held up denoting said respect. If she truly respected her, would she have slept with her husband? Would she still want to sleep with her husband? Would she want to be with him, hold him, and let him love her back? Because in all honesty, that was what killed Haley the most. It was the fact that more than anything, despite nothing being worth losing those she held most dear, she still wanted to be with him. Despite her guilt, her remorse, her disgust, her swirling and conflicting emotions, and her love for the rest of the family – she still wanted him. She wanted to feel his touch forever and be
his
. Forever.

Mistress. You’re a fucking mistress.
She had to continually remind herself of the word.
You’re the bad guy. You’re the one we all hate. You’re the bad one. You’re the filthy slut that wreaks havoc in good peoples’ lives. You’re a disgrace.

“Are you done?” she heard a voice call out from behind her. Jumping with fear, she flung her cleanser and sponge. With a soft bang (perhaps, more of a “boing” sound, actually), they hit the tile below. Scowling, she turned around. “Ex-fucking-‘scuse me?” she slithered out, sounding possessed. He had the nerve to ask if she was finished cleaning
his
disgusting kitchen? He really wanted to ask that after all that transpired between the two of them? It may have been her job, but there was no way she would take this sort of utter disrespe-

“You were in here talking to yourself and putting yourself down. I asked if you were finished,” he finished, his hands extended, trying to ease her demeanor and calm her.

She knew that mechanism. It was as if he were an officer talking down a jumper. In this situation, she was the fucking jumper. What was she doing with herself? She was falling apart.

“You aren’t a mistress. Dammit, Haley – I didn’t want this to happen either. We were friends. I wanted to keep it at that – but I also can’t help how I’ve been feeling. The way you’re acting now, I wonder if my feelings are misplaced. This isn’t you. Today hasn’t been you. You’re always emotionally steady, and that’s what I need in my life. I need something steady and I need something real – and that’s you. At least, that’s what I thought was you...” He walked to her, exasperated, desperate.

As he got closer, she noticed a glistening film spread over his eyes. She had never seen his eyes do that before. What did it mean? She didn’t know what to say or how to act. How could she be herself when she felt so awful about what she had done? But why was the one thing she had wanted more than anything in the world so completely unobtainable? She had so many questions, and no answers. She just knew that she was confused. Confused about what to do, confused about who to be and how to react, confused about what was more important – him or the family as a whole.

“So your wife, who has worked for years to develop a successful business isn’t ‘steady’ enough for you?” she blurted.

“I am not talking about financial stability – obviously,” he responded condescendingly. “I can provide financially for an entire family by myself, and still have money left over. I want something steady sexually, emotionally. I want a steady
companion
,” he finished, his tone softening and brows unfurrowing.

She wanted to know what was happening between him and his wife, but she feared asking. She feared the truth, but more than anything she feared delving too deeply and hoping for the hopeless. But she did. She hoped for the hopeless; she wanted him; she wanted to be a “
them”
. This was a fucking pickle, indeed.

M
arissa’s pent up sexual desire soon fizzled as she continued the rest of the day’s tasks. It was evening now, and her exhaustion was finally catching up to her as she went out the back of the bakery and locked the door behind her. At least her work day was finished.

The night’s air was calming and warm. It was the type of night that she used to revel in as she sat on the porch with her grandmother on those spring evenings. They would sit on that porch for hours with Grubby Bones – the elderly woman’s equally elderly dog. Marissa took a deep breath, wanting to inhale the crisp fresh air like she did in those evenings with her grandmother in Tennessee.

She coughed. City air was not the same. She missed the country. The air was not only fresh and clean, but it was also peaceful. Her ears were attuned to the notorious street sounds, but she thought and listened for a moment. Sirens, loud trucks, the backfires of a few cars – you could even hear conversations mumbling from far away.

In the country the only sounds were those of trees rustling their leaves together, crickets chirping into the open air, and if you were lucky – the small crackle of a campfire. She smiled with great fondness. S’mores. She missed those.

She had never even told Preston how badly she missed home. It wasn’t necessary, really. They had their yearly visit on Christmas, but that was the only time she saw her family. His parents – alternatively – were located conveniently in the city, and would see them every other holiday and some weekends. It was the arrangement which seemed to bode well for everyone. It was what worked. It was what they knew. There was no point in suggesting they visit more often, or even – dare she think it – move there one day.

After all, they met in the city, they fell in love in the city, married in the city, had their first house in the city, had their children in the city; and then got their dream careers and dream home in the city. It just stood to reason that they would remain in said city for the rest of their days.

~~~~

S
ophie and Lucas piled themselves onto the kitchen’s bar stools; their elbows propped against the granite countertop, they stared. “What are you guys looking at?” Haley questioned as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“You’re different today,” Sophie said, glaring at her.

“How so?” she asked, chugging the glass of red.

She hoped that she could fool the kids at least. Marissa would be home soon, and if she couldn’t fool pre-teens then she may as well stab herself with the dirty chef’s knife that lay in front of her atop the wooden cutting board. It’d be easier that way.

“Well for one, you’re drinking like a fish,” Lucas began, as he extended his arm and reached over the bar. “Slow down, killer.”