Dead Write Ch. 09

* A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *

Sam's truck turned the corner and disappeared.

Hidden behind the curtain, wrapped in the silk kimono, Sherry stared at the distant stop sign. Selfishly, she’d asked Sam to bring Chris back for a late dinner. But he had other obligations, and she understood -- mostly. To the outside world they were just friends. Maybe that's how it would always be. But the chance to have a family of her own felt so close; the thought of failure knotted her stomach.

With a heavy sigh, she wandered back toward the bedroom, dragging her fingers along the wall. The damp towels still lay on the bathroom floor, and it made her smile. Rubbing her tummy through the slick fabric, she remembered the hardness of his shoulder pressed there as he carried her to the bedroom. Today would be one of the best memories ever.

The doorbell rang.

"Sam!" she chirped. He must've forgotten something.

Sherry ran to the door and opened it just a smidgen. Before she saw anyone, the door slammed inward, struck her head and hurled her back onto the hardwood floor. A loud buzz and white flashes fogged her brain. She fought to stay conscious. The bang of a closed door and the squeak of footsteps filtered through the cotton haze. Dirty sneakers stopped in front of her face.

After a long, wolf whistle, a familiar voice said, "Sharon, have you been working out? You’re looking very sexy!" Her ex-husband Bob squatted down for a closer look. His eyes slithered over her.

A nauseous waved rolled up, as she struggled to regain motor control.

"I stopped by to talk about Monday's court hearing, but I didn't expect such a warm welcome." He ran a finger along her hip, and threw open the loose robe. "Are you okay? Let me check your pulse”, he said, and squeezed her right breast. “Have you and Sammy been bumpin’ uglies? I wouldn’t mind sloppy seconds. How ‘bout it? For old-time’s sake?"

The hated touch created an adrenaline rush. With concentrated effort, she said, "Don’t touch me," pushed his hand away and closed the robe. Her head throbbed, but she could sit up.

"You’re still the ice queen, I see. But Sammy probably likes you that way -- still and chilled." Bob stood and leaned against the door. "So, how is old Sam-the-sham? Does he ever get naked? Can the old fart even get it up? I wonder what your Preacher would say about this illicit sex between a Sunday school teacher and a recently widowed father. I don't think the congregation would elect Sam an Elder if they found out, do you?"

"Get out, Bob. Leave us alone."

"I will, Sweetheart, as long as I don't see your face in court on Monday. Otherwise, consider your future thoroughly fucked. And I mean that in a bad way." Bob knelt on one knee and grabbed her chin. "Maybe I should call Sam, and tell him how sorry I am about Jan. It’s too bad she’s dead. She was a great lay. I would’ve liked a lot more of that hot twat."

Sherry jerked her chin free, and felt dizzy from the sudden motion. "You're a liar!"

He had an evil, confident laugh. "I’m sure I can convince Sam that I banged her. Jan was a wild woman under that self-righteous veneer. She liked it rough, and knew a good fuck when she got it." Standing up, he sneered, "Unlike you!"

In a calm voice, he added, "I really should tell Sam about our little fling. Tell him how I gave Jan the feral fuck she needed, and couldn’t get from him. Then he'll have another fond memory of the dearly departed. Maybe he'd like to swap stories about you."

Shock engulfed Sherry, and she felt sickened by the possible truth. "Get out now, and I won't call the police!"

"I'll go. Just remember what I said. And decide if showing up on Monday is worth ruining your life, and Sam's."

***

"Dad, Where're we goin'?" asked Chris, when he noticed they took a different route home from church.

"I want to stop at Ms. Walker's house, and make sure she's okay."

"Mega-cool!" he said, while coloring a picture of David and Goliath. "We had Mr. Backus for Sunday school, and he was Mega-boring."

Sam smiled at his son's Mega-comment. They shared a mutual affection for Ms. Walker, Chris had an innocent crush, and Sam had a Mega-passion.

The happy thoughts faded into concern, as he wondered why Sherry hadn't attended church. Yesterday, they made love with seamless perfection, and he'd looked forward to sitting beside her in church to fuel the gossipmongers for weeks.

As Sam turned into her driveway, he said, "Chris, you wait here. I won’t be long.”

"Aww, why?"

"If she's sick I don't want you catching it," which was true, but what he really wanted was the freedom to speak candidly.

After three doorbell rings and four minutes of escalating anxiety, Sam was ready to kick the door down. Her car was in the garage, so she must be home. Finally, the living room curtain fluttered. Someone peeked out.

Sherry’s voice was barely audible through the oak door. "What do you want?"

"I’m worried about you," said Sam, not pleased with how this conversation started. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, don't worry. We'll talk soon."

"I want to talk now!” he yelled, annoyed by the brush off. "Open the door so I don't have to shout. The neighbors are wondering what's going on." The man next-door did wave hello. He might get nosy.

"Where's Chris?"

Sam's concern increased exponentially. She obviously had something on her mind not fit for little ears. "He's in the car. I told him to wait there."

The deadbolt clicked and the door opened a foot.

Hiding behind it, she said, "I told you I'm fine. Now go away."

"Go away? Yesterday we had to pry our bodies apart with a spatula, and now you won't even let me see you. You're teasing me, right?" Sam tried to push the door open but she pushed back, shouting, "No, stay out! I don't want you in here."

"Now I’m really scared." Taking his hand off the door, he said, "At least stand where I can see you." Sam glanced at the car. Chris’s head was still down, engrossed in his artistic endeavor. When he turned back, Sherry had positioned herself so only her profile was visible.

"See, I'm fine," she said, with eyes focused somewhere on an inside wall.

"Bullshit," he snapped, frustrated by her evasiveness. "Do you think I'm stupid? Look at me!”

With an angry huff, she complied, giving him a good look at the swollen and bruised left side of her face. "There, are you satisfied? Now go home,” she said, and walked away, leaving the door ajar like an invitation.

Sam followed and wrapped her in his arms. "What happened?" he asked, halting her retreat to inspect the damage. "I hope you went to the emergency room."

Twisting to get loose, she said, "Why? I didn't die in my sleep and I don't see two of you, so I must not have a blood clot or a concussion." She stopped fighting, and allowed him to move around front.

In a syrupy voice intended to irritate, he said, "What happened to that sweet woman that said she loved me? Did aliens leave a pod in your backyard last night?"

Sherry looked away. "No, I slipped cleaning up in the bathroom."

"I should have stayed and helped. I'm sorry."

Briefly she met his gaze with a pained expression, and said, "This isn't your fault. I was just careless.” Sam tried to kiss her forehead but she pulled away. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

The words didn’t register. "Get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said I don't want to see you. That means not tomorrow." She met his confused look with an icy glare, and stated flatly, "Maybe you are stupid."

Stunned, he stared at her in disbelief.

As she vanished down the hall, Sherry yelled, "Now get out!"

His chest felt as if it were clamped in a vise. ***

Sam checked his reflection in the truck’s rearview mirror. "You look like shit.”

He dropped Chris off at Grandma’s and then parked in Sherry’s driveway, prepared to wait her out. Unpacking a large coffee and an egg McMuffin, he prayed for guidance. The clock on the dashboard glowed 8:17 a.m.

After one bite of rubbery bacon and egg, the front door opened. Sherry stood with her arms folded and glared at the truck blocking the driveway. He smiled and waved. Uncrossing her arms, she gave him the beckoning finger curl. It was not an inviting signal. He felt far from optimistic.

When he'd crossed the threshold into no man's land, Sherry slammed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Having breakfast." Holding out the nearly intact sandwich, he asked, "Wanna bite?"

"I told you I don't want to see you."

"Then why did you invite me in?"

Examining her bruise, he asked, "How's your head feel? You look better.” After waiting long enough to realize she wouldn’t be chatty, he explained, "I already asked for the day off. So I have to do something. Whatever happened to you on Saturday has scrambled your brain. You need me in court with you, more than ever. So, as Chris would say, 'like it or lump it.' You're stuck with me.” He sat down to finish his meal, and stared out into the backyard.

She stood behind him, and pulled at his heart like gravity. "My brain’s scrambled, huh? I’ve never heard of that diagnosis."

"Well, I'm not board certified, but I think it’s valid."

Dragging a chair next to his, she sat down and rested the good side of her face against his shoulder. "I'm hungry."

He placed the sandwich against her lips, and said, "Eat." She took a bite, and chewed slowly. It was a small but sweet victory, like coaxing a wild bird to eat from your hand.

Sherry said, "I have to warn you, things could get ugly in court."

"As long as you're there, I’ll have something beautiful to look at."

Ignoring the compliment, Sherry added, "Bob's angry about me testifying."

"He was here, wasn't he?" The truth materialized in a rush. "He hit you!"

"No. He pushed the door open, and it hit me by accident."

He studied her face and she reddened. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Listen to me, Sam. I don't want my problems to be your problems. Please, don't come to court. Things will only get worse if you're there." Touching his face, she added, "I'll hate myself if Bob hurts you to get to me."

"What can he do? I hardly know him."

Her eyes were troubled. She stayed silent.

Sam put it bluntly. "I'm there, no matter what."

After folding her hands on the table, she said, "I need to tell you something else. I'm going away, to visit my sister. I'll be back in about a month, just before school starts."

Sam's blood drained to his feet. "A month?"

"It'll give Bob time to cool off. If I'm not around, maybe he won't cause trouble."

"What about... us?"

"Maybe it would be good for us to cool off a little, too." Sherry smiled unconvincingly.

He struggled for breath. The thought of losing her felt like a body blow. Then he remembered his promise not to pressure her. "Maybe you're right." They sat quietly, until an idea blossomed. "Will you leave me a house key? I'll rip out the old bathroom while your gone."

"Okay," she said, with relief in her voice. "Maybe Chris would water my flowers?"

"I think he'd like that. We can e-mail progress reports, if you want."

The ride to court was hearse quiet. It felt like everything romantic died and was about to be buried in the dirt of reality.

Court was behind schedule. All parties were forced to mill around the cavernous hallway and act civil. Sherry had never met Bob's second wife. The anxious face on the woman getting up from a bench labeled her as the plaintiff. She approached Sherry humbly, introduced herself as Beverly, and began to pour out remorse for having an affair with Bob seven years ago. And how grateful she was that Sherry would testify on her behalf. "I hope the Judge orders the DNA test," Beverly said, as her eyes began to tear up. "They just have to take away his parental rights. I don't want him near my daughter, ever again."

"Excuse me? You don't think Bob is the father?"

"I know he's not. I was pregnant before I slept with him. The bio-dad was a college kid I was... dating. When I found out I was pregnant I panicked. Bob had been hitting on me for months, so I slept with him, then told him he was the father. I thought I’d be better off. Instead, he gave us nothing but misery." Beverly's tear streaked face reflected her sorrow. "It was the stupidest thing I've ever done. But I'm through paying the price." She leaned in close, and added, "I'm so glad we never had anymore kids. Frankly, I think Bob shoots blanks."

Beverly went back to her seat. Sherry and Sam stared at one another, neither willing to speak their immediate thoughts.

Bob witnessed the exchange and wandered over. "Sharon, I'm sorry to see you here." He reached out to touch her arm, but she recoiled. "There's no reason to dredge up the past and open old wounds. This could all be settled amicably through mediation." Then he smiled at Sam, and said, "My condolences on the loss of your wife. She was a good friend to Sharon, and a wonderful person. I wish I'd known her better."

Sherry squeezed Sam's hand and trembled. He said, “Thanks, Bob.”

Bob looked at Sherry and nodded his good-bye with a sly smile.

Sam muttered, "What an asshole." He rubbed Sherry’s back. "Relax, he won't hurt you anymore."

Grim faced, she said, "I pray not."

The doors opened. All concerned entered and dispersed throughout the mahogany courtroom. Several police officers testified about domestic disputes at Bob and Beverly's home, along with doctors and a few neighbors.

Finally, Sherry was called as a witness.

The Judge noticed the purple bruise, and asked, “Are you all right, Ms. Walker?”

Despite her declaration under oath that it was caused by a door, he looked at Sam suspiciously. The questions the Judge asked were directed more toward Sherry and Bob’s inability to have children than about the physical abuse. After bravely answering them all, Sherry left the stand pale and shaken. They sat in the back, awaiting the outcome, only to learn the Judge needed time to think about the evidence. Everyone left the courtroom unhappy.

Bob and his lawyer stood at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator.

Sherry said, "Let's take the stairs."

The coffee in Sam's bladder petitioned for immediate release. "I need to make a pit stop."

She clutched his arm, and rushed him along. "Can't you wait until we're out of here? I hate this place. It's so depressing."

Sam untangled himself and patted her hand. "I'll be quick. Go outside if you want."

As he stood at the urinal, reading graffiti about jailhouse showers, Sam heard the door open and close. Hard soles tapped to the urinal next to him.

"Hiya Sam." Bob Walker unzipped and released a loud stream against the porcelain. "Ahhh, what a relief. There's not much that feels better than emptying a full bladder, is there." He turned and looked at Sam, breaking the male code of urinal privacy. "Unless it's emptying a full load of spunk into a hot pussy, right Sammy boy."

Ignoring him, Sam shook off and zipped up. As he turned toward the sink, his shoulder bumped into Bob's arm.

"Jesus!" said Bob, shaking the piss off his dislodged hand.

"Excuse me." Sam walked away, smiling.

The door cracked open and Sherry's anxious voice echoed off the walls, "Hurry up, Sam. I have an appointment."

"Almost done, I'll be out in a minute."

"Speaking of pussy," said Bob, coming over to wash at the sink next to him. "How is my old frigid Sharon treating you, Sammy boy?"

Ignoring the pig at the trough beside him, Sam moved to the hand dryer and hit the start button, hoping the noise would drown the swine out. But Bob followed.

"I mean... it must be a real drag, screwing one of the hottest women around and then settling for Sharon."

Sam's hands balled into fists.

"Jan was so hot. What a pair of tits... for an old broad. She was almost the best fuck I ever had."

Sam exploded. Grabbing two fistfuls of suit, he bounced Bob off the marble wall. ""Shut your damn mouth! Don't you ever talk about Jan."

"What's the matter, can't handle the truth?" He spat out. "She hated you for selling the boat, Sam. She’d walk along the docks at lunchtime every day, like a lost puppy. I asked her if she wanted to go for a ride." Bob stretched his neck to put his face close to Sam's. "She said yes."

Sam's grip weakened.

"God, she was hot. I took her out to the middle of the lake, and we fucked right on the cabin roof. She wanted it rough, too. I ripped a hole in her pantyhose and banged her like a bitch in heat."

Sam lost control. A fist in Bob’s stomach shut him up and doubled him over. Then Sam sent him flying backwards with a knee to the chin. A toilet flushed and a stall door creaked open. He stood paralyzed by hate and shame.

One of the police officers from the hearing walked around the corner and began to wash his hands. "Everything all right in here?" he asked, watching both men in the mirror.

Bob sat against the wall, blood running from his nose and mouth. "Arrest him. He assaulted me."

The officer walked over and started the dryer over Bob's head. He shook his hands, flicking water down onto his suit and tie. “I saw him strike you in self-defense, Mr. Walker. Now if this man wants to press charges against you, I'd be happy to testify."

Relief washed Sam's mind clear, and he released the breath he was holding in. "No, I won't press charges... this time." Squatting in front of Bob, he warned, "Don't ever bother Sherry again."

Walking out, Sam said, "Thank you, Officer."