How to Kill Your Husband (21 page)

“That's incredible,” Claire said.

“I know. My mom died three years ago. Just one year after Michelle.”

Claire knew it must have been hard to lose two loved ones so close to each other, and it showed. Trevor was immediately downcast. Claire felt her own heart sinking.

“Was Michelle your wife?”

He nodded. “She was a teacher. She worked at Sam Houston in Arlington. You should have seen her funeral. There were so many kids. I think almost the whole school was there. She was a good woman. One in a million.”

Trevor looked up at his date and smiled weakly. “Look at me carrying on. I know you don't want to hear about that.”

“It's okay,” Claire said, feeling a little misty-eyed herself. “I don't mind.”

He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. “It's stuff like
that
that gives me the misconception of me being sensitive.”

“All men can't be cavemen,” Claire said with a smile. “Who would open the doors for pretty ladies?”

* * *

They talked about his family a little more, and Claire was obliged to tell him about her little ones. Trevor was a good listener. Some of that may have come with his profession, but he wasn't the type to say whatever he thought a woman wanted to hear. He was honest and frank. His interest in Claire was genuine.

They drank more wine and eventually returned to the inevitable topic of
George
, but Trevor didn't consistently down her husband. They talked about her case more than anything, and Claire felt very comfortable with him by the end of the evening.

* * *

She didn't think she was comfortable enough to go home with him, but that's where she found herself at exactly 10:42 p.m. She knew what time it was because Trevor had a bronze clock mounted over his fireplace. Claire looked up at it and thought to herself,
You know, I should probably be at home—or at the very least I should call to make sure Nikki's got her brother in bed
.

But Nikki had her mom's cell number, and Claire's phone hadn't rung all night. Plus Trevor had his tongue in her mouth, and it was kind of hard to think about anything past that.

They sat on the leather sofa in his living room. It was money green, a color Claire generally disdained when it came to furniture, but Trevor's layout was nice. His shag carpet had shades of green and brown, and his plants served to further coordinate things. Two large ivies hung from the bar, and a ficus tree posted in one corner reached for the ceiling fan with strong, thin branches and shiny leaves.

He had a huge plasma television on the wall opposite the couch, but it wasn't on right now. The only light in the house illuminated from the kitchen where Trevor went to take their doggy bag from Mille Fleurs.

The only sounds were Claire's ragged heartbeats and the barely audible music emanating from a stereo somewhere to their left. Trevor set up the tunes with a remote, but he kept the volume low because they were going to
talk
.

They conversed for a full eight minutes before he reached and brushed the hair from her eyes. His hand lingered on her cheek for a second, and then it moved to the back of her neck. He urged her forward ever so gently, and Claire easily succumbed to his will.

When their mouths touched for the first time, it felt like a jolt from a defibrillator. Trevor's lips were warm and soft, and a bit moist. He placed a hand on her side, tentatively at first, but Claire was receptive and his confidence grew.

Now he had her left breast fully in hand. He wasn't squeezing or groping, but his hand was there, and it was intentional. In the background the infamous Pied Piper of R&B crooned, and R Kelly was somehow on the same, exact page. It was odd. Claire closed her eyes again, and darted her tongue, and listened to the music while feeling this man in so many ways.

It seems like you're ready.

I could've sworn you were ready.

And maybe it was that song, more than anything, which caused her to back away from the pleasure, at least for a moment, and look at things logically.

Was she ready?

She could answer that with a resounding,
Hell yes
! This man was strong and hard, yet sympathetic and compassionate. He treated her like a lady and made her feel like a woman; a beautiful woman, a confident woman, a sexy woman.

Claire didn't think she could ever reach this level of emotion and sensuality with anyone but George, but here they were. And this wasn't some fluke encounter. This was divine. This man was sent to heal her, to soothe her, to make her
feel good
. And for all of those reasons and more Claire was willing and eager to accept him
.

But at the same time, she knew she couldn't.

And it wasn't because she was such a
good person
. She had flaws just like everyone else. It wasn't because she was married and feared adultery, either.

Claire knew she couldn't go any further with Trevor because this was too much like something
George
would do. She would be a hypocrite and a cheater, just as low-down as him. She felt she totally deserved this
guilt-free
affair, but on a deeper level she knew that no such thing was possible.

She backed away and put a hand on his chest. “I can't.”

The hand was not needed, because Trevor backed away as well.

“I know.”

His chest rose and fell, and his lips glistened with her lipstick. Claire wasn't sure she heard him right.

“What?”

“I said ‘
I know
'. I know you can't do this.”

With so many emotions raging within her, Claire didn't think she had room to register confusion, but she did. Trevor watched her expression and chuckled softly.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You,” he said. “Why do you look so perplexed?”

“You
knew
I would stop you?”

He nodded. “I was pretty sure.”

“So why'd you let it go on?”

He smiled. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Claire said, feeling a little embarrassed.

“I might have been wrong,” he said. “
I
wasn't going to stop you, but if you stopped yourself, I was okay with it.”

She frowned. “You're not mad?”

“Why should I be mad?” Trevor asked. “I just got to, like,
second base
with the woman of my dreams. I don't regret that at all.”

Claire smiled too. “Why do you say stuff like that?”

“Like what?”

“
Woman of my dreams
…”

“Everybody's got to have dreams,” he said. “If you don't have a dream, then your life's meaningless.”

“But why me?”

It was Trevor's turn to frown then. “I don't get it. You're the best, Claire. Don't you know that? Has no one told you that lately?”

She shook her head and searched her memory bank. “I can't remember the last time someone told me that.”

“Well let me make it clear,” he said. “You are an outstanding woman. You're the best at what you do. You're the best I could have hoped to find. George is a fool, and I'm darned lucky, and I'm not upset at all about anything that happened tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you regret anything?”

Claire had to think about that one, too. “I guess I regret being such a
prude
,” she said. “I think it would have been nice.”

“Oh, yeah. I would have totally rocked your world.”

She laughed.

“Is that all you regret?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

He kissed her again, slowly and tenderly. They talked for a few minutes more, but at eleven p.m. Claire thought she should get home. Trevor was respectful of her decision. He walked her to the door and gave her a long, healing hug under his porch light.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DNA RESULTS

Claire's legs were still trembling when she got behind the wheel. By the time she made it home, it was her fingers that were shaking. She crept into her house like a burglar, knowing she wasn't going to pull this off without repercussions. Surely one of her kids would still be up, and they would see her, and they would know
intuitively
that Mama did something bad. They would smell Trevor's man scents on her, and they would see the whole sordid episode in her eyes.

But when Claire got up to the second floor, no one stirred. She went into her bedroom and changed into a robe quickly, and then she checked on her precious bundles one by one. All were asleep, nothing was awry, and at 12:30 Claire was finally calm enough to lie down and try to catch a few Z's herself.

But her guilt made slumber elusive. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, wondering why she didn't nip this in the bud in the beginning. She could have told Trevor she wanted another lawyer when he first came on to her. She wasn't a weak woman, and it wasn't like her to succumb to temptation.

Claire was on the verge of condemning her lawyer and all of their twisted encounters altogether, but good old George came home at 1:30 and put everything back into perspective. He snuck into bed as daintily as a mouse. Claire waited thirty minutes before she rolled over to sniff the back of his neck.

The bastard was fresh and clean again, and all of her guilt was transformed into a sudden fury. Her initial thought was that she should have cheated, but after a few minutes of soul searching Claire decided things were better the way they were. When they got to court, she wanted it to be a clear case of good versus
pure evil
.

George was making that job easier every day.

* * *

The rest of the weekend proceeded without much friction. George had no plans Saturday morning, so he slept late and ate breakfast with the family when he got up. The kids were very happy to have his company, but Claire was past the point of needing him. She saw the worst in him and expected the worst from him. If he grew horns and sprouted a forked tongue, she wouldn't be on bit surprised.

She still took care of him, but everything she did was out of habit. She picked up his discarded socks because that's what was supposed to happen. She fed him and washed the dishes afterwards because that, too, was expected of her. She even let him put his arm around her when the family gathered in the den for movie night.

On Sunday George left to ride his Harley, so Claire took the kids to Six Flags for the day. She thought about Trevor often when she was away from her husband, but she didn't call him. Even when the kids were stuck in ridiculous lines and she knew she had twenty minutes to herself, she didn't call him. Her feelings were already deeply involved, but they still had a task ahead, and she knew she had to stay focused on it. She didn't even allow herself to contemplate what life with Trevor might be like after George was out of the picture.

On Sunday night, things got a little hairy when George came home feeling amorous, but Claire took a page from the Book of Becky and told him it wasn't a good time of the month. He was known to insist anyway or request
other
things
as a substitute, but George accepted her lie this time and slept with his back to her.

Claire knew things were going to come to a head quickly, because his suspicions were on the rise. Pretty soon he was going to accuse
her
of having an affair.

* * *

On Monday Claire was glad to get to work and be away from her husband, but George could still ruin her day from miles away. Melanie called right after lunch with a highly predictable bombshell.

“Provincial Insurance.”

“Claire?”

“Melanie? What's going on?”

“My friend just got finished with your tests.”

Claire put a hand to her mouth as a sudden chill enveloped her. She already knew what her friend would say, but this was still the biggest news of her life. If those weren't George's twins, she would feel lower than a tick on a horned toad.

“Do you want to know what he found out?” Melanie asked.

“Girl I'm fixing to have a heart attack over here.
Hurry up and tell me
.” The phone was slick in her hands. The whole room tilted and swam around her slowly.

“We didn't get anything off the rubber bands. I told you that, right?”

Claire nodded as if her friend could see her.

“We got a sample off the milk carton and one of them Styrofoam cups,” Melanie went on. “They turned out to be from the same person, but that was cool. Nathan checked that sample against what we got from Nikki's toothbrush, and it was a match. Yo daughter is
definitely
related to somebody in that house.”

The air left Claire with a big whoosh, and it threatened not to come back. She literally had to force herself to make the next inhalation. When she looked up again Becky was standing at her desk looking very concerned.

“You hear me, Claire?” Melanie asked.

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“So that's it,” Melanie said. “I can bring you a copy of the paperwork. It's a done deal.”

It sounded pretty definite, but something still bothered Claire. “Wait,” she said. “George is over there all the time. He could have used that little milk carton.”

“That's not what Nathan says,” Melanie informed. “He says it's
brother-sister
related, not
father-daughter
related. Trust me, they can tell.”

“Can you bring the papers today?” Claire asked numbly.

“Yeah. We kicking it at your house tonight?”

“We can. I'm out of tequila, though.”

“I'll bring some of that bumpy face,” Melanie offered.

“Okay,” Claire said, not at all sure what she was talking about. They got off the phone, and Claire looked up at her doting coworker. “The DNA was a match,” she said weakly.

Becky stepped around the desk and stood next to her. She put a hand on Claire's shoulder and rubbed gently. “Are you okay?”

“Melanie's coming over tonight,” Claire said. “I think we're getting drunk.”

“Can I come?”

Claire looked up at her and grinned. “You know it's no fun getting drunk without you.”

* * *

Claire made it through the rest of her shift like a half-powered robot, but she couldn't understand why the DNA results bothered her so much. It was like when a terminally ill relative finally goes to be with Jesus: You know it's coming. You wait for the bad news every day, in fact. But when they eventually pass on, you're still going to cry if it was someone you loved.

When Claire picked up the kids from school, they recognized immediately that Mama was not in a good mood, and they did their best to stay out of her hair for the rest of the day. Stacy picked up her room without a million and one requests, and George Jr. sought Nikki when he got stumped on his multiplications rather than disturb Mom.

George called while Claire was slicing onions for an enchilada dinner.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby. I gotta work la—”

“It's fine.”

“Huh?”

“Go ahead and work late,” Claire said. “That's fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm great. Melanie and Becky are coming over tonight anyway.”

“Oh, well, okay,” George said. “We're getting backed up over here. I think I'll be in around t—”

Claire hung up before he could get the rest of his lie out. The bastard had been lying about his whereabouts for the last freaking
decade
; what was the point in listening to him anymore? Even if George told her it was raining outside, Claire would check for herself before she grabbed an umbrella.

* * *

Melanie arrived at Claire's house at six-thirty and Becky got there at seven. The kids weren't in bed yet, but they were still in their Act Good 'Cause Mama's Mad mode. They greeted their play-aunts quietly, and then hustled back upstairs to their computers and video games.

Claire served her friends leftover enchiladas when it was time to put her offspring to bed. She went upstairs and set the sleep timer on George Jr.'s TV for ten. The girls got an extra hour, but under no circumstances were they allowed downstairs for the rest of the evening.

“Are you going to get drunk?” Nikki asked when Claire turned her light off.

“Ladies don't get
drunk
,” Claire informed her daughter. “They may get
tipsy
.”

“Whatever it takes to make you happy,” Nikki said. “You're mad
all
the time.”

Claire was eager to get downstairs and see Melanie's papers for the first time, but she couldn't let that misconception slide. She went and sat on her daughter's bed.

“Drinking doesn't make you happy,” she said. “When you get bigger, don't ever think you can find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. You'll turn into a depressed alcoholic.”

“I can't wait till I'm—”

“You'd better not say it.”

“What? I was gonna say I can't wait until I'm as smart as you.”

“Oh, you're such a butt-kisser,” Claire said, but Nikki made her more and more proud every day. She kissed her on the forehead and left the room with a smile on her face.

When she got back downstairs, Becky was in the den alone.

“Where's Melanie?”

“She went to get those papers and something called
bumpy face
. I don't know what that is.”

“I don't, either,” Claire said with a chuckle. She sat next to her friend and sighed heavily. “Oh, Becky. This is going to be really bad, isn't it?”

Becky nodded and patted her knee. “Probably so.”

“What did I do wrong?” Claire asked her. “That's the only thing I don't understand. Why would he do this?”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Becky said. “Maybe he got drunk at a party one time and didn't know what he was doing.”

“He knew what he was doing for the last
ten years
,” Claire said.

“Maybe when she told him she was pregnant, he decided to do the right thing,” Becky offered. “A lot of guys would walk away, but maybe he wanted to be there for his children, even if they were illegitimate.”

“Why are you taking up for George?”

“I don't know. I thought you wanted me to.”

“No, Becky. We hate him and he's an asshole, remember?”

“Oh, well I think he did it 'cause he's an asshole,” Becky said. “If he wanted to do the right thing, then he should have told you and let you decide if you wanted to accept his mistake or not.”

“That's my girl,” Claire said.

They heard a sound at the front door. Melanie rounded the corner a few seconds later with a folder in one hand and a huge jug of clear alcohol in the other.

“What's that?” Claire asked.

“These are your papers,” Melanie said. She approached them a little winded from her trip outside.

“I mean what's that bottle?” Claire asked.

“That's gin,” Melanie said. She handed it over, and Claire almost let it fall to the floor. She bobbled and caught it just in time.

“
Girl, whatchoo doing
?”

“I wasn't prepared for the weight.” Claire said. “Why do you call it bumpy face?”

Melanie smiled. “Feel the thang, girl.”

Claire shook her head, but as she caressed the glass she understood. The Seagram's people designed their gin bottle with a lot of small knots on the outside that might feel like someone's
bumpy face
—if this person had a terrible, terrible skin condition.

“I'll go get some orange juice,” Claire said, but Becky shot to her feet.

“I'll get it.”

“Well, let me see those papers.” Claire sat the bottle down and took the folder from her friend. She flipped through the pages aimlessly, not making sense of all the technical information. “Where does it say there's a match?” she finally asked.

Melanie took the folder from her and went straight to the last page. “Right there. You see that number
ninety-nine point nine, nine, eight, nine, nine, nine, nine
?”

“Yeah.”

“That means them twins is George's.”

Claire stared at the computer-generated data for a long time. Science was awesome. It was funny how man's greatest achievement was now used to crucify men day after day. “So this is what I need to give my lawyer?”