Mean Streak

“I prefer having it,” she said.

Apparently what she preferred was immaterial. He returned the screen to its place against the wall. “I need to be able to see you.”

“I’ll tell you if I need anything.”

“You didn’t tell me that you had to throw up, and we almost had a big mess on our hands.” He bent at the waist and pulled a small metal wastebasket from beneath the table beside the bed. “If I don’t get here in time.” He placed the trash can where she couldn’t miss it if she hung her head over the side of the bed.

“I think I’m over the nausea.”

“If not, don’t be prissy about it, okay?”

She gave one terse bob of her head.

“Anything else you need now?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Looking doubtful, his eyes scanned down her form beneath the covers, making her extremely self-aware. To avoid looking at him, she closed her eyes. Eventually he took her at her word and moved away.

His stocking feet were mere whispers against the floor, but something as large as he couldn’t pass through air without creating a disturbance. She mentally followed his movements, heard the thunks as he added two logs to the low-burning fire, then the squeak of leather as he again settled into the recliner.

A few minutes elapsed. The new logs made popping sounds as they caught. She watched the flickering patterns of firelight and shadow cast onto the ceiling. She noticed something she hadn’t before. A metal rod about two inches in diameter extended horizontally between two of the exposed rafters, each end fitting into a borehole. She couldn’t imagine what the rod was for. As for the rafters, they looked as roughly hewn as he.

Roughly hewn perhaps, but thoughtful.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t thank you before.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m thanking you now.”

“Okay.”

Another while passed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. “I’d like to know your name.”

The fire crackled. One of the rafters groaned under the weight of the roof.

He didn’t make a sound.

Chapter 4

You’re not worried?”

Jeff Surrey stretched and yawned and then turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Not in the slightest. This is a ploy to get attention. Emory wants me to be worried about her.”

“It’s not like her not to call.”

He frowned. “And at the most inopportune times. Like last night.”

His cell phone had vibrated across the bathroom vanity just as he and Alice were climbing into the shower after a round of strenuous sexual activity. Talking to his wife had actually added a bit more excitement to the soapy afterplay. Even so, he’d resented Emory’s interruption, which had almost seemed deliberately timed.

Lately, she’d been calling him often throughout the day, more likely than not for something mundane. Did he want to eat in or out? Was she supposed to pick up the dry cleaning, or had he volunteered to run that errand? Had he called the gutter company to schedule a cleanout, or should she?

The ruses were laughably transparent. She thought she was being oh-so-subtle, when it was clear that she was keeping track of his schedule. For the past few months he’d had to account for everywhere he went and how long he’d been there. Her constant monitoring had become increasingly tedious, and he was running low on plausible excuses for the time he spent with Alice.