Chapter 43 - Percy’s Wife II

Chapter 43: Chapter 43 - Percy’s Wife II

For the first few blocks, neither of them said much.

Angela sat with her clutch in her lap, gazing out the window at the dark storefronts sliding by. Jesse kept his eyes on the road, mostly. The car was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and the faint rustle of her dress whenever she shifted in her seat.

"This is a beautiful car," she said finally, running her fingertips along the leather armrest. "I saw it outside your building this morning, when I was dragging Percy back to the house."

"I remember."

"Percy hasn’t stopped talking about it, you know." She glanced at him sideways, a faint smile playing on her red lips. "He called me from work at lunch just to rant about it. Jamie Byrne’s son, driving a Porsche. He wouldn’t shut up. And then he brought it up again at dinner tonight, before he..." She trailed off and waved a hand. "Anyway."

Jesse smiled. "I’m glad I could ruin his day."

Angela laughed. A real laugh, surprised out of her, warm and a little husky.

"You’re bad," she said.

"Am I?"

"Mm-hmm." She turned in her seat to face him a little more. "You know, you’ve lived three blocks from us for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say more than five words at a time. You always kept your head down. Now look at you." Her eyes moved over his loosened tie and rolled-up sleeves. "What happened?"

"I’m a late bloomer, Mrs. Bonham."

"Oh, please." She waved her hand. "Call me Angie. Mrs. Bonham makes me sound like somebody’s grandmother."

"Angie, then."

She smiled at that. It reached her eyes this time.

Jesse let a moment pass. Then he glanced over at her.

"So, Angie. Can I ask why you were standing alone at a bus stop at nine o’clock at night, dressed so gorgeously?"

The smile faded.

She looked down at the clutch in her lap. She turned it over in her hands, running her thumb along the beading.

"Percy and I were supposed to be celebrating our ten-year anniversary of being together tonight," she said quietly.

Jesse said nothing. He just waited.

"It wasn’t actually the anniversary. That was two months ago." She let out a humorless laugh. "But he kept pushing it. ’Next weekend, babe. Work’s crazy right now, babe. Just let me get through this week.’ Over and over. Finally I put my foot down. I told him, tonight. No excuses. Tonight, or don’t bother coming home."

She shook her head.

"So I planned everything. I got a babysitter for Annabelle. I made a reservation at this little French place in the city that we went to on our first date. I spent the whole afternoon getting my hair done." She touched her glossy curls absently. "I bought this dress. I bought new shoes. I did my makeup three times because I wanted it to be perfect."

Her voice trembled.

"He didn’t even notice. He walked into the restaurant twenty minutes late, sat down, looked at his phone and said, ’You look nice.’ Didn’t even look up. Just ’you look nice,’ like he was talking to a coworker." She pressed her lips together. "And then halfway through the appetizers, his phone rings. He steps outside. Comes back five minutes later and says something came up at work. Some lead. An emergency. He has to go."

"He just left?"

"He kissed me on the forehead, put two hundred dollars on the table and told me to take an Uber home." She laughed again, bitter and broken. "On our anniversary."

Jesse’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel.

A lead. An emergency at work. He wondered, for just a second, whether that lead had anything to do with a man in a hat and sunglasses who’d been spotted two blocks from a cemetery.

He pushed the thought away.

"It’s always like this," Angie went on. She was looking out the window now, her reflection pale and sad in the dark glass. "Always. Work comes first. Work always comes first. Before me. Before Annabelle. He missed her school play last month. He missed her birthday party in June. She stood at the window for an hour waiting for Daddy’s car." She swallowed hard. "Ten years, and I can count on one hand the times he chose us over that job."

Jesse let her talk.

She kept going, and he listened. She told him about the late nights. The way Percy fell asleep on the couch with case files on his chest. How she’d stopped waiting up for him.

Jesse nodded in the right places. Said "that’s not fair" and "you deserve better" when it felt right.

But underneath, he was thinking one thing over and over.

Percy Bonham was a fucking idiot.

He glanced over at her again. He couldn’t help it. He’d been doing it the whole ride.

The streetlights rolled across her as they drove. Flashes of gold light, then shadow, then gold again. They caught the shine of her curls. The red of her lips. The smooth olive skin of her bare shoulders. And her chest.

God, her chest.

The black dress had a modest neckline, nothing scandalous, but it didn’t need to be. Angie’s breasts were enormous, full and heavy and round, pushing against the fabric so tightly that a deep, shadowed line of cleavage peeked out above the neckline every time she breathed. Every time she turned toward him to make a point, they shifted under the silk.

Jesse’s mouth went dry.

He could imagine exactly how they’d feel. Heavy. Soft. Warm. Spilling over his hands.

He dragged his eyes back to the road just in time to keep from drifting into the next lane.

How he’d managed to avoid getting into an accident tonight was a genuine mystery. He’d stolen so many glances at her that it was a miracle the Porsche was still in one piece.

How could Percy look at this woman every single day and choose case files instead?

"Jesse?"

He snapped back. "Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?" Angie’s voice had gone very quiet. "And you have to be honest with me."

"Sure."

She was looking down at her hands again. At the wedding ring on her finger.

"Am I..." She stopped. Started again. "Am I that undesirable? That my husband doesn’t want me anymore?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Jesse looked at her.

Then he turned the wheel and pulled the Porsche over to the curb on a quiet, tree-lined street, half a block from her house, under the dark branches of a big oak tree. Away from the streetlights. He put the car in park.

He turned in his seat to face her.

Angie looked up at him, startled. Her grey eyes were wide and shining in the dim light.

Jesse held her gaze. He didn’t look away. He didn’t smile. He just looked at her, steadily, letting her see that he meant every word.

"You’re so hot, Angie," he said quietly. "And anyone who doesn’t see that is both blind and foolish."

Angie stared at him.

For one long second, she didn’t move. Her lips parted slightly. Her breath caught in her throat.

Then something in her face broke open.

She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, pulled him across the console and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate, starving, like a woman who hadn’t been touched in years and had just realized how hungry she was. Her red lips crashed against his. Her fingers twisted into his collar. A low sound escaped her throat, half moan and half sob, and she kissed him harder, deeper, like she was trying to swallow him whole.

For a split second, Jesse was too stunned to move.

Then he kissed her back.