Because she demanded it, he always wore a condom, and when he was done, he removed it carefully so her silk sheets wouldn’t get soiled. While he was doing so tonight, he watched Sarah Jo fold down the hem of her nightgown, rebutton the buttons, and straighten the covers.
Angus got back in bed, kissed her cheek, and put his arms around her. He loved holding her tiny body against his, loved touching her smooth, fragrant skin. He wanted to cherish her. To his disappointment, she removed his arm and said, “Go on to sleep now, Angus. I want to finish this chapter.”
She reopened her novel, which was no doubt as dry and lifeless as her lovemaking. Angus was ashamed of the disloyal thought as he rolled to his other side, away from the light of her reading lamp.
It never occurred to him to be ashamed of making the thirty-mile trip to his mistress’s house, which he planned to do tomorrow night.
Stacey dropped the ceramic mug. It crashed and broke on the tile kitchen floor. “Good Lord,” she breathed, clutching together the lapels of her velour robe.
“Stacey, it’s me.”
The first knock on the back door had startled her so badly the mug had slipped from her hand. The voice speaking her name did nothing to restore her heart to its proper beat. For several moments she stood staring at the door, then rushed across the kitchen and pushed back the stiff, starched curtain.
“Junior?!”
She didn’t have sufficient air to say his name aloud. Her lips formed it soundlessly. Fumbling with the lock, she hastily unlatched the door and pulled it open, as though afraid he would vanish before she could do it.
“Hi.” His smile was uncomplicated and open, as if he knocked on her back door every night about this time. “Did I hear something break?”
She reached up to touch his face and reassure herself he was really there, then shyly dropped her hand. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
She glanced past him, searching her backyard for a plausible reason for her ex-husband to be standing on the steps.
He laughed. “I’ve come alone. I just didn’t want to ring the bell, in case the judge had already gone to bed.”
“He has. He… uh, come in.” Remembering her manners, she moved aside. Junior stepped in. They stood facing each other in the harsh kitchen light, which wasn’t very flattering to Stacey, who had already cleaned her face and prepared for bed.
She had fantasized about him coming to her one night, but now that it had happened, she was immobilized and rendered mute by disbelief. Myriad professions of love and devotion rushed through her mind, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome hearing them. She resorted to safe subjects.
“Dad went to bed early. His stomach was upset. I made him some warm milk. I decided to make cocoa out of what I had left over.” Unable to take her eyes off him, she gestured nervously toward the stove, where the milk was about to scorch in the pan.
Junior went to the range and turned off the burner. “Cocoa, huh? Your cocoa? There’s none better. Got enough for two cups?”
“Of… of course. You mean you’re staying?”
“For a while. If you’ll have me.”
“Yes,” she said with a rush of air. “Yes.”
Usually adept in the kitchen, Stacey clumsily prepared two cups of cocoa. She couldn’t imagine why he’d chosen tonight to come see her. She didn’t care. It was enough that he was here.
When she handed him his cocoa, he smiled disarmingly and asked, “Do you have any spirits in the house?”
He followed her into the living room, where several bottles of liquor were stored in a cabinet, to be taken out only on the most special occasions.
“This isn’t your first drink of the night, is it?” she asked as she tilted the spout of the brandy bottle against his mug of chocolate.
“No, it isn’t.” Lowering his voice, he whispered, “I smoked a joint, too.”
Her lips pursed with stern disapproval. “You know how I feel about dope, Junior.”
“Marijuana isn’t dope.”
“It is so.”
“Ah, Stacey,” he whined, bending down to kiss her ear. “An ex-wife has no right to scold.”