1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook Page 13
“Oh? I’ll just bet you have.” Is it my tone of voice that has him backing toward the door, or the way in which I slam the chicken down onto the cutting board and rip into it with the boning knife?
I’m guessing a bit of both. “I’m sure you and your—your friend—had quite a night. Well, while you were away—”
“Save it. I’ve already gotten the memo. You go, girl!”
His patronizing smile earns him a flick of raw chicken skin, catapulted from my paring knife.
Despite my anger, I’m somewhat impressed that he’s able to keep his cool, what with that sliver of free-range carcass clinging to his forehead. He closes his eyes for a moment before murmuring, “Okay Donna, I get the hint. You’re upset. Now can you tell me why, for God’s sake?”
“No—yes!…I mean—”
What I really mean is that I don’t like the fact that I don’t know where he goes when he disappears—
And why he’s got to disappear with Nola, of all people.
But I can’t really say that, now can I?
“The kids were worried about you.”
His forced smile disappears. Good, he’s taken that at face value—the idiot.
“How about you? Did you miss me, too?”
Instead of answering him, with one quick yank, I rip the skin off the chicken. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I toss it in Lassie’s direction.
She catches it in mid-air. We make a great tag team.
And to think I once thought that could be true about Jack and me.
His eyes open wide. “Okay, well, that says it all.”
“Glad you’re taking the hint. I suppose you’ll pack up and leave now.”
He shrugs. “I wish. Nope, turns out the yellowcake was just part of the Quorum’s overall scheme. Chatter indicates that their mission is still in play. Bigger than ever, in fact.” He moves toward the sink, where he grabs a towel to wipe his face of any clinging chicken gristle. “Listen Donna, maybe you should take the kids out of town until this blows over.”
“What? . . . You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“No, I’m not. I’m completely serious.” He turns to face me. “Look, I know you’ve got that pretty little head of yours set on snagging the Quorum, but trust me, it won’t be worth it if—if you have to give up something more important to you.”
“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”
“How about Mary and Jeff and Trisha? Don’t our kids mean anything to you?”
“Our kids? How dare you!” I pick up an even larger cleaver and gouge the romaine to shreds. My salad is quickly turning into coleslaw. I wonder if I have any cabbage in the house.
Does he truly believe he can just waltz into our lives and own us, body and soul?
Of course he does. And he’s right. I know by the way the kids rush into his arms when they see him, and how they pat his arm, just to reassure themselves that he’s really there.
For them. For me.
But he’s not. And I rue the day they find this out, when this mission is finally over and he just saunters off into the sunset without even a backward glance. Will he care that he’s broken their hearts? Not a bit. Because he doesn’t really care about them at all.
Or about me.
“Damn it, Jack! To you, playing ‘father knows best’ is just a game. Well, here’s a news bulletin: real dads don’t just walk away from their families.”
“Oh no? Isn’t that what Carl did?”
Forget the piddly nutcracker. I’ve decided to open the walnuts’ shells with a hammer.
Noting this, Jack positions one of my polished silver trays below his waist. The coward.
“Don’t you dare compare yourself to my Carl!” Unconsciously I raise the hammer over my head—
But only because I’d planned on smashing the nut next to his hand.
Not that he’d know this, which is why he grabs the hammer in mid-air.
For just a moment we struggle, but he’s too strong for me. Wrenching it out of my hand, he tosses it onto the window seat.
Lassie, who is curled up under it and gnawing at something, yelps with surprise.
“Nobody will ever measure up to Carl, will they, Donna? Then it’s a good thing you enjoy sleeping with a gun under your pillow.”
Jack’s face is so close to mine now that I can feel his breath on my cheeks. But I don’t flinch. Instead, I lick my lips slowly and smile. “Cold steel beats a cold heart any day.”
His wince lets me know I’ve hit my mark.
“Admit it, Jack. You’ve wanted me off this mission since Day One, so that you’d get the scalp for the Quorum. You could care less that you’ve put my kids in danger —”
“ ‘All I care about’? Damn it, Donna, speak for yourself! Well, you’re right about one thing, my dear Mrs. Stone: They are your kids, not mine.” He hurls the tray onto the kitchen island.
This has Lassie scurrying deep into her cubby for cover.
“So, what’s it going to be, Donna? Are you going to stick it out so that you can complete your life mission and bring down the Quorum in Carl’s memory, or are you going to protect your kids from—from . . . ”
He stops cold. Whatever he wants to say, whatever pain and fear and anger I detect lurking in his eyes, isn’t something he feels safe to say to me—
So instead he flashes that lazy smile of his, as if it’s all that is needed to placate me. “Let’s just say that I’m doing you a big favor here.”
I’m so angry that the chicken breast is being pulverized beyond use. “And in what form will you take your ‘thank you’? Oh, wait! Let me guess! I’m supposed strip naked on a pole, invite you into my bed, and perform all kinds of naughty acts while you regale me with all your spy stories. Tell the truth, Jack: aren’t you tired of that routine?”
This stops him cold. “You’re absolutely right, Donna. I am tired of it. Bone tired. That’s why I’m here, with you. Now. Tonight. Or haven’t you noticed?”
I stop the cleaver in mid-air. Is that really why you’re home, to be ‘with me?’ Or did your girlfriend make other plans?”
“She’s not my girlfriend! She’s—” For once he looks more exasperated than I feel. Not that he wants to let me know that I’ve gotten to him.
Instead he says: “But yeah, sweetheart, if you’ve got a pole somewhere in that bedroom—not that I saw one anywhere, but my experience is that you suburban types are sometimes kinkier than you look—then bring it on.”
Turning to leave, he takes one last gulp of orange juice before tossing the empty carton into the sink behind him—
Bullseye.
Well, almost. The cleaver misses his ear by a mere inch.
He stops short, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead he squares his shoulders then resumes his stroll out the door.
But he and I both know that the only reason I don’t finish the job is because Acme could never forgive me for taking out such an important asset.
It’s then that I notice what Lassie has been chewing on: one of Jack’s $3,800 shoes.
“That a girl!” I hand her a dog biscuit, knowing that she’ll find it a poor second next to the much tenderer loafer.
That’s the point.
Chapter 12
Can She Make a Cherry Pie?
Pies are so much fun to make—and so simple! All it takes to make a tender, flaky crust is the right amount of vegetable shortening, cut into flour with a sprinkle of cold water and just a pinch of salt.
Cherries have the right sweet-to-tart taste—and are also a good source of poison! Just crush the pits or stems. There you’ll find prussic acid, also known as hydrogen cyanide: easy to sprinkle in both the filling and the crust. How sweet it is!
We have less than three weeks to figure out what the Quorum is planning. Needless to say, the stress has turned a
ll the adults in the Stone household into the “Grumpensteins,” to use a phrase coined by Trisha.
The only good bit of news: Jeff keeps winning games for his team. They have advanced to the California World League finals.
True to his word, Jack hasn’t missed a game, but he still refuses Whitey’s entreaties to coach Jeff and the team’s other two pitchers.
I wish he’d keep his word to me and clean up his room. Or at least do his laundry.
Oh yeah: and he could be honest about the fact that he’s slipping out of the house at least three nights a week. Seriously, is Nola that great of a lay?
Not that I give a crap.
Just to prove the point, I’ve tossed his laundry in with ours. Oops, my red thong went into the wash with his Oxford shirts! Tsk, tsk, they’ve turned a pretty pink hue.
It’s dinnertime. Jack, Mary, and Trisha have gone to pick up Jeff from practice. I’m in the pantry when they walk back in through the kitchen door. My kids are giggling and shushing each other. When I see their guilty faces, I know why: their mouths have turned blue.
“What the heck have you been eating?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing,” they say in unison.
I glare at Jack. “Dinner is almost on the table, and you took the kids to get popsicles?”
“Mommy, it’s not a popsicle,” laughs Trisha. “It’s cotton candy!”
Her brother pokes her.
I close my eyes to shield my frustration. “Go get cleaned up. NOW.”
The children know better than to argue. Instead, they scamper out of the room. I grab a potholder and toss the now overcooked spaghetti noodles into the sink. “Great, just great!”
“Aw, don’t be so grumpy,” Jack says cheerily. “They’ll have their appetites back in no time.”
“They won’t be hungry for at least an hour, if they don’t have a stomachache first. You knew I was making dinner when I sent you to pick up Jeff.”
“And you know that pink isn’t my best color.”
Ah, so that’s what this is all about . . .
Well, touché Mr. Craig.
He pulls my red thong from his pocket. “Considering you only wear them—as you put it—‘on special occasions’, I was surprised that this was the culprit.”
“My bad. I guess if you were doing your own laundry, it wouldn’t have happened.” I grab for them, but he’s too quick for me.
“A memento. Finders keepers, right?”
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls. And, by the way, where’s Mary?”
“I gave her permission to sleep over at Bab’s.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me. What’s the harm in it, anyway? So they stay up all night making crank calls to Scotty and his posse—”
“No, you idiot! They won’t have to call Scotty, because Scotty and his posse will be over there, playing Spin-the-Bottle, or—or—much worse! Bab’s parents are out of town. They think she’s staying over with Wendy.” I grab the car keys from the hook. “I’d already told Mary no, and you knew it.”
He takes the keys from me. “I’ll go get her.”
I snatch them back. “Why? What will you do next, let her drive home or something stupid like that? Quit playing the cool parent. It doesn’t suit you.”
He grabs my arm and twists it behind my back, but I won’t let go of them. Instead I grab the pot holding the spaghetti sauce and smack him on the side of the head with it.
“Damn it, Donna—” He twists my wrist until I drop the pot—
On his foot. What doesn’t scald him has him hopping and cursing as it spills all over the floor.
Lassie’s tongue can’t move fast enough as she laps it all up.
“Mom! Dad! What’s happening?”
Both Jack and I look up to see Jeff and Trisha standing in the doorway. He’s scowling, and her lower lip is trembling.
As he takes Trisha’s hand and nudges her back upstairs, Jeff hisses, “For your kids’ sake, go see a marriage counselor! Promise me, please!”
The sidelong glance Jack gives me is filled with shame, but his face can’t be any redder than my own.
“Okay,” we mutter in unison.
As the kids walk back upstairs, Jack murmurs, “You don’t have the guts to go.”
“Me? Ha! You’ll back out first—”
His look is a dare.
Then he wrenches the keys out of my hand and heads for the back door.
If either Jack or I thought that Ryan would veto the idea, we are sadly mistaken. “I think it’s a great idea,” he says too enthusiastically. “Look, in order for this to work, the two of you have to trust each other. In fact, I insist that you go.”
Neither Jack’s frown—nor mine, for that matter—can change his mind.
The appointment is for the next day, while the kids are in school.
Ramona Locke, PhD LMFT was chosen by throwing a dart at the phone book because Jack would only go to a man, and I would only consider a woman.
Too bad there isn’t a third sex.
Darn it, he has beaten me to her office. The door is open, and I can hear them laughing.
Why that son-of-a-bitch! He’s trying to charm her! He’s going to wrap her around his little finger, and make me out to be the bad guy—
Well, two can play that game.
It’s why I come bearing gifts: in this case, a hot cherry pie.
To Jack’s chagrin, Dr. Locke honors me with a welcoming smile. “Mmmm, that smells delicious. Set it down, please.” She motions toward the coffee service that is set out on a sideboard. “Would either of you like a bite, with a cup of something hot?”
Jack shakes his head. “It’s one of the many ways in which she spoils me, Ramona.”
So they’re already on first name basis! The nerve of this guy—
Her smile disappears. “Don’t you mean Dr. Ramona, Jack?”
Yes! Yes!
She turns to me. I smile up at her sweetly. “Thank you, doctor, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just have some coffee. Black, please.”
As she gets up to pour me a cup, I stick out my tongue at Jack.
Unfortunately for him, his scowl is caught by the good doctor as she glances back at us in the mirror over the sideboard.
She waits until I’ve sipped my coffee to address us both. “Carl was just telling me that he’s felt somewhat distant from you lately.”
I put my cup down in its saucer a bit too quickly. The rattle sounds like an earthquake to my ears. I curl my lips into a smile. “Yes, well, I’ve been feeling the same way about Carl. He doesn’t really open up—”
“But honey, every time I try, you shoot me down with some accusation.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Just the other day, you accused me of flirting with a neighbor.”
“Flirting?” Dr. Ramona’s brow furrows. She is intrigued by his supposed observation.
On the other hand, I am incensed by his lie. The last thing I am is jealous! I’m . . . I’m . . .
What am I, exactly?
Dangerous. My eyes narrow as I imagine how I might use my teaspoon as a lethal weapon. I guess if I stab him between his third and fourth rib—
“You know, Carl, whether Donna’s jealousy merits consideration has a lot to do—”
Could Dr. Ramona’s raised brow indicate that his flirting with her hasn’t fooled her in the least? If so, then nana-nana-booboo, Jack Craig, because you can’t fool all the women all the time—
“—with any unconscious concerns she has that you haven’t been paying enough attention to her.” Dr. Ramona’s eyes sweep from him to me. “If you don’t mind me asking: how often do you have sex?”
Jack’s mouth falls open, whereas I’m biting my lip so hard that I think I’m drawing blood.
Both of us are afraid to answer.
“I see.” Her brow furrows. “Well, there you have it.”
Jack’s eyes narrow. “There you have what?”
“Everything.” She faces me. “Your feelings are grounded in fears that you aren’t attractive to him.” She turns to Jack. “And if you show interest in a neighbor, it’s because you’re desperate that some woman—any woman—will find you attractive.”
“I am attractive,” Jack snarls.
“But of course you are!” Dr. Ramona’s patronizing tone has Jack half out of his chair. As I lay my hand on his arm to calm him, she adds, “Isn’t that why she married you?”
Why I married him.
Lady, if only you knew. I didn’t marry him; I’m stuck with him until we save the world.
Then we can go our separate ways. It’s what we both want . . .
Isn’t it?
Jack’s poker face is proof that he’s finally gotten control of his emotions.
Or that he’s vain enough to think she’s right.
Or maybe he realizes that I’d never have chosen him, if I’d had a chance.
But I have it, now, if that’s what I want . . .
Well, is it?
“Don’t you both see? Well, I do: there is a wonderful animal attraction between you. Whatever the reason, you’ve quit acting on it—maybe job stress or the kids, whatever—but you can’t just let it die. It’s why you’re together in the first place, am I right?”
Dr. Ramona is right about one thing. If I’m to be honest with myself, I am attracted to Jack.
Which begs the question: is he also attracted to me, or am I just conveniently close by?
I’m still mulling this over when she stands up and moves toward the door. “Unfortunately our time is up. But there is something I need you to do before I see you next.”
Jack winces. Like, me, he’s afraid to ask.
Okay, I’ll give. “What’s that, Dr. Ramona?”
“Sex. Not just once this week, either. I mean daily. . . . From the look on your faces, I see that you haven’t considered it before. Truth is, if you don’t use it, you lose it. Try something new and different! Roleplay. Get kinky. For goodness sake, get a copy of the Kama Sutra and use it as a manual! Sex is a habit, just like brushing your teeth—and as we all know, a heck of a lot more fun!”