Chapter 1

“Forever in My Heart” (One of Four Parts)

By way of introduction...

A Fathers and Daughters Trilogy

I’ve read lots and lots of Loving Wives stories, but I can’t think of one, except, damn it, D.Q. Steele’s “Separate Vacations”, that targeted what might be ‘the major factor’ in a wife’s misbehavior. If you haven’t read Steele’s little masterpiece you might not know what that infernal feminine trigger mechanism be? Shame on you if you don’t go back and read it.

You don’t know do you; well who plants the seed, who fertilizes the soil? Think about it; who for a girl just might be her first fantasy hero?

I’m finishing up a trilogy of troubled wives stories. Each I like to think focusses on some things from a girl’s parental training that brought on whatever might happen to her, and those around her, when she’s an adult.

To be sure, these aren’t stories offering excuses for feminine misbehavior, but in each case we might see some reasons, inexplicable as they might seem to the more logical male mind, for what they do. For sure, who knows, women being who they are, anything’s possible. Don’t believe me? I bet Lizzie Borden’s mom and dad would’ve appreciated a clue or two.

One thing I’m kind of confident of though. I have four daughters; if they find out I’m writing this trilogy, and they will, one’s going to ask why three and not four stories. It’s creepy...

Here goes story one: “Forever in My Heart”

It was a Thursday in April 5, 2010

It was late in the evening; maybe 11:00-11:30, the bar was slowly clearing out. It wasn’t that crowded to begin with; Friday was a work day after all. Three guys, lifelong friends were finishing the last of their beverages, two were harassing the third

“Colt,” Rick started, “when you going to go back to school and make something of yourself?”

The guys had been dicking over their friend Colton almost all night when Brian chimed in, “Yeah asshole, you can’t keep up the stupid shit up you’ve been doing the rest of your life.”

Colt, tired of the badgering smirked, “Why not? Long as I’ve got fools like you to buy the beer...”

“That’s the point,” Brian flipped back, “My wife’s sick of me being out with you almost every night. Besides she’s got a bun in the oven. She wants me home more.”

Colt guffawed, “Your wife’s a whore, and you’re a cuck.”

Brian bristled, but before he could retort Colton Stewart, one time honor student, top scorer on the SATs back in high school, but currently voted least likely to ever make anything of his life, retreated and apologized, “Come on Bri; you know I’m bullshitting. Your girl Louisa’s the best. Every guy wanted her, but she chose you. And smart thing too; you’re the best.”

The third in the trio Rick, looked askance at his two best friends. Louisa had always been a bone of contention between the two of them, and he had to agree, Colt was right Louisa had chosen the better man; not that Colt never had potential, because he did. Maybe it was Colt’s home life, his shitty family that’d ruined him. Who knew about those things? But Rick knew, like Brian, and everyone was tired of Colton’s lazy life style. His own wife had warned him it was time to stop catering to Colt’s slothful, often self-destructive and occasionally illegal ways.

Rick scowled, “Brian’s got a right to be angry Colt. Sometimes you go too far.”

Exasperated and a little too defensive he replied, “Look I’m sorry, OK?” then he checked his watch, “It’s late, and you guys have to go to work tomorrow. Let me buy one more round, and we’ll call it a night.” Then he lied, “I have an interview tomorrow anyway.”

Surprised, Brian asked, “You have an interview?”

Just as Colt was about to reply the young men got a glimpse of three gorgeous women who’d just sauntered in the front door.

Jenny, the girl last in line begged, “Jesus it’s past 11:00. Come on I want to go home.”

Dorothy, ready to agree, slowed her pace.

First in line, Madeline, the leader, turned, “Come on. I’ve heard this place isn’t that bad.”

A skeptical Dorothy grimaced, “Looks like a shithole to me.”

Jenny agreed, “Yeah, Come on Madeline let’s get out of here. Let’s go home. Besides. You’ve got court tomorrow morning.”

Madeline scoffed, “Court, I’m ready, you know that, but...” Almost ready to agree and leave she briefly scanned the barroom and empty dance floor ... and then, “Hey wait a minute. Look over there.”

Jenny squinted to see, “Look at what?”

Madeline discreetly pointed to the three scruffy men at the far end of the bar, “Over there, see.”

Bored, Dorothy said, “Yeah, three bums, so what.”

Madeline closed in on her friend and colleague, “Remember our conversation yesterday?”

Jenny thought, “You mean the Liza Doolittle thing?”

Madeline grinned mischievously, “Yes that, she turned and looked back at the three red necks, “Yeah, the Liza Doolittle thing.”

Dorothy disclaimed, “Madeline. No. Jesus no! For Christ’s sake. Them?”

Madeline absently let her fingers slide down the collar of her partially opened V-necked blouse in thought. Wearing the lowest of low cut demi-bras she felt her nipples press against the blouse’s silken material, “Let’s go over. We’ll pick one.”

Jenny was ill at ease, “You’re not serious. They’re probably all married, or drunks, or drugged out deadbeats.”

Madeline wasn’t listening; she’d already started across the floor.

Dorothy looked at Jenny, “We can’t leave her.”

Jenny shrugged, “Let’s go see what stupid thing she gets into.”

So Madeline’s two associates, Jenny her paralegal and Dorothy a fellow lawyer followed their wanton leader across the old beaten hardwood of the Wagon Wheel Restaurant and Bar. Both were certain that this time their friend was going to be in way over her head.

Madeline reached the three degenerates just as they were about to quaff the last of what they presumed would be their final beer. She wasn’t as stupid or as foolish as her friends might have thought. Already she’d eyed the three men and noted the absence of any black inked tattoos or other tell-tale signs prison. All three were short sleeved and she noted the distinct absence of any ‘track marks’, scars, piercings, or anything else, other than dirt that might’ve been a put off. She thought they didn’t look gay; she also noticed wedding rings on two of them, the two slightly better dressed and more presentable.

She eyed the third; he looked to be about the type, probably never held a job longer than a few months, under-educated, not real bright, but reasonably clean. Of course this was a risk and she still had one more front end concern, “Any of you guys got anything?”

One of the better dressed ones grinned, “What like you want some new exotic STD?”

“No,” said Madeline, already glad he wouldn’t be her target, not a drug user herself and not sure of the current street names she guessed, “Any drugs; weed, white girl, maybe some crack?”

The other cleaner one asked, “You a cop?”

Madeline, now braced by her two comrades, looked from side to side and smiled. Studying the three imbeciles in front of her she thought, ‘If they only knew’. She answered, “No, just wondered if we could score.”

It was the really scruffy one who answered, “No, and get lost. We don’t need that,” he turned back toward the last of his beer and his friends, “well is it a night?”

Both Rick and Brian nodded. Colt tossed a ‘Hamilton’ on the bar for Myra the bartender, “Let’s call it a night.” All three men started to get up to go.

Madeline, seeing she was being dismissed, something that never happened, held up her left hand daintily, “No wait, I’m sorry. As partial reparation for my crudity let me buy you each one more round.

Rick stretched, “No, not for me. Got a lady at home.”

Brian started to step away, “Me neither ... maybe Colt here would...”

Colt eyed the mouthy woman up and down. ‘Not bad, ‘ he thought, ‘a little overdressed, on the tall side, liked her look though, nice tits, she had a sexy way about her, a little on the Anne Hathaway side, much too smug to be a princess though. He smiled, “OK, one more.”

As Rick and Brian stepped away Brian leaned back in, “You coming Sunday?”

Colton replied, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Brian grimaced, “If you do, try to bring a real date and not the squirrel.”

“Brian,” Colt stammered, “ ... you know...”

“OK,” answered Brian, “Bring her if you must,” he gave Madeline a bemused look, “and anybody else ... that’s if you can get anyone.”

Colton had no come back. Caught naked, he shrugged it out, “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile, Jenny groaned, “Madeline.”

The two married men nodded at the women and started for the door. They had wives and homes to attend to. In fact both had wives who’d probably been to church.

Madeline looked at her target, her prey, the one they’d called Colt. He was well built, maybe a little too thin but he was muscular. He looked grisly, but she bet he was pretty not so long ago; a pretty boy turned gritty young man who’d one day be just another grimy old smoke. She glanced back at her friends, “It’s all right. You girls go on. I’ll get a ride with Colt here.”

Dorothy, not so sure, asked, “You know what you’re doing?”

Jenny added her reminder, “Don’t forget, court tomorrow.”

Madeline remained placid; she didn’t want the boy across from her to start thinking, “I won’t.”

Colt caught the interchange; he realized she had something to do with the law, a lawyer maybe, something else, perhaps a clerk, no lawyer would come in here, and if she was she was definitely where she didn’t belong and definitely out of his league. Then, as if to confirm his suspicions he checked the cut of her skirt, the thin near transparency of her blouse, definitely not Walmart. He grinned sarcastically, “You think you can trust me?”

Madeline saw his not too discreet appraisal. The moisture between her legs was betraying her more sadistic impulses. She laid a twenty on the bar, “What’re you drinking?”

Colt backed down, “Heineken. You?”

Madeline made a note, ‘Heineken, a good beer, not really redneck quality.’ She said, “Yes I’ll have one.”

Myra, the bartender had been standing nearby. Though it was a Thursday and they often had a good crowd; it was Maundy Thursday and most people in this part of the country would be home or at church. No, it wasn’t the ‘Bible Belt’; and no, the area wasn’t flooded with ‘Evangelicals’ or Bible thumping Baptists, it was western Pennsylvania, a place where people still took God seriously enough to show a little respect. She chuckled to herself, ‘Yeah a place where even squares could still have a ball.’ She reached around, found two long necked Heinekens, popped off the caps, and handed them across the bar.

Colton took a sip, “So why’re you in here?”

Madeline replied, “Mainly to pick up guys.”

“This is sort of out of the way for someone like you isn’t it,” he asked?

She responded, “Slim pickings tonight. This place was our last gasp.”

With some resignation he replied, “Well, nothing here, looks like you struck out.”

Madeline looked in his face. She thought, ‘He’s not exactly handsome, more pretty than handsome, a pretty boy. He’d have made a great girl, long eye lashes, soft eyes, sort of hazel, delicate looking mouth, high cheek bones nice to look at. Bet he had trouble growing up. Then again; those weren’t a girl’s shoulders or arms, calloused hands, though they’d been washed they still looked dirty. He was thin, but not skinny. He looked pretty robust, could’ve been gay but she knew he wasn’t. She said, “You’re not nothing.”

He looked down at his beer, “I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for,” was her questioning reply?

Colton felt a little foolish, a little down, like he’d been missing something, “No, I know what I am.” He put his unfinished beer on the bar, “Come on. Where do you live?”

She put hers down too, “Not far from here. Chambersburg actually, near the college, just off Norland Avenue.

Colt mentally plotted his course, Wilson College, maybe thirty-forty minutes, good area, nice homes, “OK.” He proffered his hand. She politely refused. He wasn’t surprised.

He walked her out to his late model Chevy pick-up. As they walked he apologized, “I have a dog. Truck’s clean, but it smells.”

As they walked across the gravel lot Madeline recalled as an undergraduate at Delaware Valley her time with ‘Animal Rescue’. She liked dogs, “Really? What kind?”

“An old Lab, she’s eleven, kind of crippled, can’t get in the truck without help.”

She asked, “Dog got a name?”

“Heidi.”

“Color?”

Colton opened the door and offered to help her in, but she ignored the proffered hand, “Black,” he said.

As he climbed in on his side Madeline commented, “Black labs are the best. They have the fewest allergies and overall the fewest ailments.”

Colton, a little surprised, “You know this?”

“Sure,” she said, “I did some animal rescue while in college.”

He started the truck, “Hope you don’t mind the noise, muffler’s going up.” He shot her a sidewise glance. He’d been surreptitiously looking her over anyway. He didn’t think she was especially pretty, but still the Anne Hathaway thing, and the tits, “You’re a lawyer aren’t you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe, a little.”

They drove on in silence for a while, then she asked, “You lived here long?”

“Yeah, off and on all my life I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I wandered a little. Not much. Been to Grand Cayman; fishing, swimming, drinking. You know the Hemingway thing. Went out west, San Fran; didn’t stay long, a few days, had to get home.”

Curious she asked, “What do you do for a living?”

He avoided that one as best he could, “Not much. Riding teacher some. I muck out my brother’s stables. Do a lot of babysitting.”

Surprised, she said, “Babysitting. You?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “maybe you heard Brian mention something about a squirrel, cousin really. She’s not exactly a real cousin. Well she is, and she isn’t. I’m not exactly sure how it works. She’s young, just eighteen, not very healthy. We’re surprised she’s lived as long as she has.”

Madeline found herself interested. She thought, ‘was he for real, or was he tossing some stupid line?’ She asked, “Why the babysitting? What’s wrong with her?”

He replied, “Nothing and a lot. I don’t know. She’s diabetic. Was in a pretty bad car wreck when she was little, never got over it,” feeling testy he asked. “What do you care?”

Sensing she’d hit a nerve she switched gears, “We’re nearly there. Go to Commerce Street, then turn left on...”

Colton interrupted, “I know where Norland Avenue is. You got a number?”

Madeline told him the number.

Neither said anything until he’d pulled in front of a rather stately older home in one of the better parts of town. He asked, “This yours or you just renting?”

She answered, “I’m buying. It’s a good investment till I find out where I’m settling.”

“You’re not from around here,” he commented.

She answered, “Philadelphia. Got a job at a law firm out here. Might stay on, might not.”

Now he was interested, “Law firm got a name?”

“Schilling, Prendergast, and Hanlon.”

He grinned, “Oh, Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe.”

Then she smiled, “We’re not that bad.”

He sighed, “Well this is where you get out,” he didn’t get out to open her door for her.

Madeline started fumbling around in her purse; he shot her a look, “No payment necessary.”

She gave him a glare, “No I wasn’t...” finding what she was looking for she handed him a card, “This is my card. I heard your friend say he was having people for a picnic Sunday. I’ll be home alone. My family’s in Europe.”

Colton thought, ‘She’s feisty and forward.’ He took the card and started to read it. He was starting to feel the after effects of the beer, the usual headache and ennui. He kept his eye on the card, then looked up, “Let me walk you to your door.”

She started to say that it wasn’t necessary, but Colton was already out of his truck. He walked around and got her door. He proffered his hand to help her down. This time she took it. They stepped from the truck to the street and walked the short distance to the gate that led to her front door. He got to her gate and opened it.

She stepped through, “Thank you.”

He stepped back, “Look maybe I’ll call. I like you, but Chelsea, she’s... , and besides you don’t really want to be seen out with me.”

Madeline ignored the self-deprecation, “Chelsea’s your cousin?”

“Yeah, she’s...”

She smiled, “I understand, but if you change your mind and need a date, even if it’s just to keep your friends off your back I’ll be home all day.”

He stammered, “You sure? It would have to be after church ... what Easter and all.”

“Sure,” she said.

For several seconds they both just stood there. Finally Colton murmured, “Well, I gotta go.”

Madeline smiled, “Call if you want. I mean it. Use the cell.”

He backed away, grinning, he thought, ‘this is so stupid, ‘ he answered, “OK, maybe.” Not taking his eyes off her he walked around to his side of the truck, hitting his knee on the bumper he got in, and still watching her, he pulled away.

As Colton Stewart drove off Madeline walked up to her door, unlocked it, and went in. Closing the door behind her she pulled out her cell phone, punched up Jenny’s number, waited through two unrecognizable noises until her colleague turned her phone on.

On the other end Jenny said, “Well, what now?”

Madeline replied, “I’m not sure, but the Liza Doolittle? Maybe?”

“Oh no, you didn’t, you haven’t.”

“I’m not sure. We’ll see. He’s to go to some party Sunday. He might invite me, he might not.”

“So you won’t be with us.”

“Not sure yet. If I’m there I’m there. If not, I’ll tell you about it Monday.”

“All right,” responded Jenny, but if you’re not there Sunday the gang will be disappointed. I know Brad will.”

Madeline snorted, “Oh Brad, Brad, Brad that’s all I hear. He’s had his chances. He can dip his wick someplace else. You want him?”

“No, no,” replied Jenny, “I’ve got mine.”

Madeline throatily responded, “Oh yeah, I forgot, Mr. Melancholy.”

Jenny was sick of Madeline’s retarded remarks about her new beau, “Look I’ll tell everybody you’re out with a ‘dirt ball’ if you don’t show up.”

Madeline went low grade ballistic, “No, oh God no. Don’t tell anybody anything. Only tell them I got caught up in something. Say a family matter or something. Got it?”

“OK Delilah, try not to hurt him too much,” and with that Jenny closed her phone.

Madeline closed her phone too. ‘Delilah’, she thought, ‘Femme Fatale’; was that who she was?” She dropped her purse on the end table by the stairs and started up the steps to her bedroom, slowly taking off her blazer as she went. Femme Fatale? Not tonight. She had a date with her real boyfriend. The man she really loved. His name was Errol. He was long. He was green. He was plastic. He never spoke or interrupted, but as long as she had batteries, he was ready. Tonight she thought she’d give him a new name, at least for tonight he’d be Colton, ‘Colton the loser’. She wondered, ‘Could she take that sow’s ear and turn him into a silk purse? Was he even a sow’s ear? Time would tell. He probably wouldn’t call. Hell, an asshole like that, he’d probably lose her card.’

At the top of the steps she stopped and reached under her skirt. She was so wet! She pressed her legs together and squeezed her vulva tightly with her thumb and fingers. She shuddered.

Colton headed back toward home. He lived only a few miles west of Chambersburg... , and that Madeline person. He lived in a small, poorly maintained rented bungalow in an equally small but well maintained town. He shared the place with his mother, his drug addicted aunt, and Chelsea his cousin.

There wasn’t too much to do. He’d do his brother’s horses early and then certainly later in the afternoon he’d see to Chelsea. Emit, his brother was still heavily into shavings and saw dust and such. Straw would be cheaper, but Emit had his ways. Yeah, up with the birds, muck the stalls, drop in a flake of hay and he’d be done for the day, except for Chelsea.

Later, after Easter, maybe Tuesday, he’d thoroughly clean the stalls including areas outside. He’d wipe things down with a little chlorinated water, and spread a little lime on the damp spots. He did that daily anyway.

Maybe Monday he’d take the back hoe and haul off the manure. He’d dump it someplace for a little nitrogen later on. Then it was off to one of the pastures. Currying and other concerns weren’t his concern, though checking hooves and the sides of the stalls were. A couple of the horses weren’t very fastidious and they’d lie down in their own shit; those he’d clean up. Overall not a lot of work, but Emit paid him well.

Colton pulled his truck in the small driveway beside his mother’s house. He thought about the lawyer. What was her name? Madeline? Madeline what? He pulled her card from his pocket, Madeline, Ms. Madeline V. Westerbrook, Esq. - Esquire! That was something; not just, Ms. Madeline V. Westerbrook, it had to be Madeline Esquire, Madeline the lawyer. She didn’t think too much of herself did she? Wonder what the V stood for? Vixen, or maybe veloci-raptor? Probably venereal disease.

He changed his mind; she was pretty, very pretty actually. He looked at himself as he passed by the hall mirror. He looked pretty good too. He wondered, if he took her out a few times, ‘How long would it take before she figured him out, before she realized what a loser he was. Smart girl like her; maybe two, three dates?’

Colton heard shallow breathing from the living room. It had to be Chelsea. He walked in and took a peak. She was fast asleep on the old sofa, mouth open, thin line of drool hanging from her lips, glasses had fallen off her face. Poor girl, could barely see.

She was dressed in her best outfit, a plane brown jumper, beige blouse, and brown shoes. It all looked a little frayed. ‘Damn’, he recalled, ‘it was Maundy Thursday. Chelsea had said something about church. He bet neither of their moms remembered. Chelsea didn’t get out much; being diabetic and prone to all the side effects of Hypoglycemia, worse than many in her situation, she didn’t have her license so she couldn’t legally drive. That dependency weighed heavily on her, and on him. Then there was the heart thing, always something.

He gave her a closer look, ‘If only she were healthy. If only she wasn’t such a damn bitch. If only she wasn’t his ... well she was.’

He wondered if his mom had given Chelsea her meds. Should he carry her upstairs or just leave her where she was? That was a ‘no brainer’; couldn’t leave her downstairs.

Dropping his jacket on the floor he leaned down and whispered, “Hey Chelsea. You awake?”

Chelsea lifted one heavy lid, “Colt?”

“Yeah, did mom give you your meds?”

Chelsea half yawned and looked around, “Church...”

“You missed it, you fell asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Did you get your meds?”

She squinted up at her cousin, she wiped her eyes, “Don’t know, I think so. Where are my...”

“They’re here on the floor,” He handed her the glasses she wore, “Where’s mom?”

Chelsea managed to sit up, “Oh your mom, I think she went out. Mine’s upstairs.”

Colton thought, ‘That figures. He bet his mom was out with one of her truck driver friends. Chelsea’s mom was most likely upstairs passed out from whatever it was she was taking these days.’ He leaned down, got his arms under his cousin’s frail little frame, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Will you stay and sleep with me tonight?”

She looked frazzled, agitated, he asked, “Feel a nightmare coming on?”

She nodded.

He pulled her up as he stood up. Her request wasn’t sexual; it was just her, “I don’t know. We’ll see,” the look on her face betrayed her fear, he whispered “I guess so, at least until I’m sure you’ll be OK. You are OK?”

She pushed her head beneath his chin, “When I’m with you I am.”

He carried her up the narrow stairway to her bedroom. As he walked up she asked, “If I take a shower and wash my hair will you brush it for me?”

Colton sighed, “Yes, I guess so.”

Together, they trooped upstairs.

For the next several minutes Chelsea showered while Colton skimmed though his “Foreign Affairs” magazine. Coming out in her thread bare cotton nightie she knelt on the floor while Colton brushed and combed her hair.

Sure he loved her, but sometimes, a lot of times, she got on his nerves. There had been times when they were younger when he occasionally wished she’d just die. It wasn’t because he was mean. He figured everybody had a mean thought once in a while. It was just that no one spent any time with her except him. She depended on him for everything. When he was out he half jumped every time his cell phone sang; he just never knew. Their moms weren’t like him; they were indifferent, that wasn’t true; his mom was indifferent, her mom was downright hostile, she hated her daughter. He knew why too, and he knew it wasn’t fair.

After a while he leaned over and asked, “Ready for bed?”

“OK,” she looked up at him, “You said...”

“I did and I will,” he got up, pulled down her sheets, the sheets he’d changed that morning, “Now in you go.”

She flounced about a little, tiny breasts flip flopping as she did. She slid all the way across her twin bed. Patting the empty area she whispered, “Now you.”

Colton got out of his boots and socks, pulled off his shirt and Tee shirt, dropped his jeans and climbed in. Grime and all she snuggled in against him. He encircled her with his arms. How long had he been doing this? She was just eighteen; this had been going on since she was ... what four? Ever since she and her mom had come to live with them.

While Chelsea slowly drifted back to sleep Colton thought about the woman in Chambersburg again. She lived on Norland Avenue. He knew about Norland and the streets connecting. Shit, he’d been around there hundreds of times, but there was more to it than that. Emit had told him. Emit was a lot older than he was. Emit remembered things.

It seemed their mother Gloria, saint that she was, thought she could fool around and Emit’s dad wouldn’t find out. Emit said they’d lived in a nice home on one of the side streets off Norland Avenue, said he remembered primary school, said his dad found out their mom was pregnant again, but not from him, and that was that. That’s what Emit said.

No divorce, nothing; he just up and left, moved to Cincinnati Emit said. Emit said he got presents for a while, but then that stopped. Emit said he heard from someone who knew his dad. They said his dad had taken up with another woman, had another whole family. Emit guessed that was when the presents stopped. Emit showed him some things; a puzzle of the forty-eight contiguous states. Emit never took the seal off it. Emit said when he got it he thought he’d wait and when his dad came back he and his dad would open it, take it all apart, and put it back together. Emit had some baseball cards and a baseball mitt his dad had sent. Emit said he never opened the cards, and he never used the mitt. Emit said when he was younger he used to sit out in front of their house and wait for his dad to come home. Emit said maybe he and his dad would play catch then. Emit never talked about his dad much, not anymore anyway.

Colton had his own dad, but nobody knew who he was. Some said it was the Jewish man who owned a dry good store in Greencastle. Others said he was a man who drove one of the big milk trucks. Then there were those who said it was some rich man who’d lived across from where his mom and Emit originally lived in Chambersburg. Colton didn’t know who his father was; figured he never would. He did know one thing; when he got married, if he did, he’d marry someone who’d be faithful, someone he could trust. Never met anyone like that. All the women and girls he’d ever met turned out to be whores; that included Louisa, Brian’s wife. He’d fucked her, fucked her a lot, but that had been before she started dating Brian.

The lawyer, Madeline Winterstock? No Westbrook; maybe he’d give her a call, take her Brian’s party. Wouldn’t that make Brian and Rick eat the cake? He thought about the looks she gave him. She was hungry. He thought he could smell her when they were in his truck, that musky erotic woman’s smell, but it was most likely his imagination. He bet he could get inside her pants, but he’d have to work fast before she figured him out.

Friday morning came awful early. Colton had a headache. He’d slipped out of Chelsea’s bed earlier and gone downstairs around 4:00 a.m. He looked in his mom’s bedroom; she still wasn’t home. He fed Heidi and let her out; old as she was she never went far from the back door. On his second cup of coffee he heard Chelsea fumbling around upstairs. It was close to 6:00 a.m. He went to the bottom of the steps, “Chelsea you up?”