Charade Read Free Page A

sensuality is wimpy. He wasn't taught to be giving and tender in bed." "Machismo," he said bitterly. "Do you want to settle for that the rest of your life?" She looked at him with sorrow. "I love you more than my life, but he is my husband. We have children together. We have a heritage in common." "We could have children." She touched his cheek, feeling both affection and regret. Sometimes he was like a child, unreasonably demanding something he couldn't have. "Marriage is a holy sacrament. Before God, I pledged my life to him until death--and only death--parts us." Tears formed in her eyes. "I've broken the vow of faithfulness for you. I won't break the others." "Don't. Don't cry. The last thing I want to do is make you unhappy." "Hold me." She snuggled down next to him. He stroked her hair. "I know that being with me violates your religious convictions. But that gauges the depth of your love, doesn't it? Your sense of morality wouldn't allow you to sleep with me unless you loved me with all your heart." "I do." "I know." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Please don't cry, Judy. We'll work it out. We will. Just lie with me for the time we have left today." They clung to each other, their misery over the situation as absolute as their joy in their love, their naked bodies joined seamlessly. That's the way her husband found them a few minutes later. She was the first to notice him standing in the doorway of the bedroom, quivering with righteous indignation. She sprang up and groped for the sheet, to cover herself. She tried to speak his name, but her mouth was arid with fear and shame. Muttering vicious deprecations, lavishing them with lewd epithets, he lurched across the room toward the bed, raised a baseball bat above his head, and swung it down in a deadly arc.
    Later, even the paramedics, who were accustomed to seeing gory crime scenes, had difficulty keeping down their lunches. There was an unspeakable mess splattered on the floral wallpaper behind the bed. Meaning no disrespect to the blood-spattered crucifix on the wall, one whispered, "Jesus Christ." His partner knelt down. "I'll be damned, I feel a pulse!" The other gazed doubtfully at the lumpy matter oozing from the split cranium. "You think there's a chance?" "No, but let's haul anyway. We might have an organ donor here."
    Chapter three
    October 10, 1990
    "Is there something wrong with the pancakes?" He raised his head and gave her a blank look. "What?" "The batter mix promises lighter than air pancakes every time. I must've done something wrong." He'd been toying with his breakfast for five minutes without taking a bite. He poked his fork into the syrupy mush on his plate and smiled apologetically. "There's nothing wrong with your cooking." He was being kind. Amanda was a terrible cook. "How's my coffee?" "Great. I'll take another cup, please." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "Do you have time?" "I'll make time." He rarely allowed himself the luxury of being late for work. Whatever had been preoccupying him for the last several days must be vitally important, she thought. Awkwardly, she rose and moved to the Mr. Coffee on the counter. Bringing the carafe with her, she returned to the table and refilled his cup.
    "We need to talk." "Conversation will be a welcome change," she said, resettling into her chair. "You've been in another world." "I know. I'm sorry." A frown formed between his brows as he stared at the steaming mug of coffee, which she knew he really didn't want. He'd been stalling. "You're scaring me," she said gently. "Whatever it is that's troubling you, why don't you just tell me and get it over with? What is it?" she probed. "Another woman?" He shot her a retiring glance, clearly conveying that she knew better than even to suggest such a thing. "That's it," she said, slapping the tabletop. "You're disgusted with me because I look like Dumbo's mother. My water-retentive ankles are a turn-off, right? You miss the small, pert tits you used to tease