Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) (21 page)

She turned out the lights and
got into
bed, waiting for her husband to come home
.
For the next couple of hours, she dozed, off and on, and just before one a.m., she heard the click of the door as he entered their bedroom
.
Although it was too dark to see more than his silhouette, she knew exactly what he was doing
.
She heard the clink of change as he emptied the contents of his pants’ pockets onto
the top of his dresser
and she heard the sound of his zipper as he undressed
.
For a change, h
e wasn’t stumbling or bumping into the furniture
.
He’s not drunk, she realized, happily
.

Finally, he
got
into bed beside her
. He turned to his
right
side, facing away from her.

She
was nervous as she turned toward David and snuggled up against him. She reached
down, under the covers, and, as she kissed his neck and upper
back
, she began gently rubbing his thigh, starting above his knee and working her way slowly upward.

He
flipped over onto his back.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
he
demanded.

“I miss you,”
she
said, in her sexiest voice
.
“I want you.”

He
grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm out from under the covers
.
“Why are you
doing this
?
Are you trying to make me feel bad?”

“No, honey,”
she
said
provocatively
.
“I want to make you feel good
.
”

“Stop it
!
Stop making a fool of yourself.”

“David, why
?
Why should I stop?
I love you.”

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you
?
You always make me out t
o be the bad guy.”

“What
?
What do you mean?”

“You know I don’t think of you that way
.
You’re the mother of my children, for God’s sake
.
Act like it!”

“But I’m your wife
!”
Shocked, hurt and angry,
she
shouted, “
You never used to turn away from me and y
ou
sure
don’t turn away from me when you’re drunk!”

“Well, what does that tell you, Ann
?
I have to be drunk to have sex with you
.
Think about it.
Look, I’m sorry
.
I didn’t want to have to say that but you made me
.
I’m sorry
.
I’m always sorry.”

She
turned away from him and pulled the covers up, over her head
.
Within a few minutes, she heard
him
snoring lightly but it was hours before she stopped crying and fell asleep.

Chapter
2
1

LAWRENCE WAS A NIGHT PERSON
.
Long after his mother had gone to bed,
h
e would stay up, reading or watching television
.
He
loved the peace and quiet
.
It was “his time
.”
He wasn’t “on call” for his mother and there weren’t any of the little disturbances there were during the day such as telemarketers calling, the annoying noise of lawn mowers, leaf blowers and cars honking their horns
.
At night, there were no interruptions; he could do what he wanted to do.

But tonight, for some reason, he felt restless and agitated
.
He flipped through the TV stations, finding nothing that he wanted to watch
.
“All these channels on cable,” he muttered, “and not a damn thing to watch
.”
He picked up the biography of Benjamin Franklin
that
he’d been reading but, even that, which
he’d found fascinating
, couldn’t hold his attention
.

Ordinarily
, he loved reading the stories of other people’s lives and he enjoyed the biographies that were featured on TV; he could sit for hours totally immersed in their lives, living vicariously through them
.
But, after a few minutes of reading, he realized that his mind wasn’t focused; he couldn’t remember a word of what he’d read
.

He wasn’t sleepy so he knew there was no use in going to bed. All he would do, he knew,
would be to toss and turn or, worse yet, stare at the ceiling, giving the negative thoughts space in his head
.
Once it started, it was difficult to stop
.
It all had to do with the meaning of his life
.
What had he done with his life so far
?
Sure, he took care of his mother but shouldn’t there be more to life than that
?

Oh, he had his interests, even his passions
.
He was a long time member of the American Numismatic Association.
He loved his coin collecting and he looked forward to his trips a few times a year to
the various
conventions and
coin
shows
.
He
did most of his
buying, selling and trading coins
at the shows and he’d met some interesting people there.

Once, years ago,
at a coin show in Dallas,
he’d met a woman he liked
.
He thought she liked him too.
The last day of the show, t
hey
left the convention center and walked a few blocks
to a local coffee shop
.
He remembered how good it felt to
talk about coins for hours
with someone who shared his enthusiasm
.
He didn’t want the afternoon
or the relationship
to end.
She’d seemed so nice,
but
unfortunately,
that hadn’t worked out
the way he’d hoped
.

In addition to going to the shows,
he
enjoyed corresponding via email
with other numismatists.
Sometimes, they traded coins through
“snail mail
,”
as they called it now,
but
he
was very careful; he only dealt with people he knew and trusted.
The coin collection
that
he’d started as a child was worth “a pretty penny,” as his mother was fond of saying
; some of his mint condition coins were worth thousands of dollars each
.
Between his coin collecting and taking care of his mother, h
e stayed busy most of the time
b
ut, if he wasn’t careful, he could easily fall into depression, something he fought constantly.

He could begin to dwell on the fact that he often felt like life was passing him by; that he hadn’t really lived
.
Where had all the years gone
?
The hours had turned into days, the days to months and on and on
.
And, he had to face the fact that he was getting older
.
It wasn’t that many years ago that he’d awakened every
day
with an erection
but
that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Already, his joints were often stiff in the morning and he wasn’t nearly as agile and fast as he’d once been
.
His strength was going too
;
h
e used to be able to lift his mother easily but now it took everything he had
.

The aging process had definitely begun
.
He
was used to the physical problems related to his disease
and
he
had long ago accepted the fact that his albinism wasn’t anyone’s fault
.
He knew
that it was caused by
recessive
genes from both of his parents that had remained dormant for generations
. But
he now had aches and pains that he’d never had before
.

No, he didn’t have a whole lot of “good” years left and he wanted so badly to make the most of them
.
He gave himself a mental slap
.
Do not go there, he told himself
.
You have to stay away from the dark place; you have to stay positive
.

But it was difficult
,
especially
on nights like this, not to
wish some things were different and not to
have regrets
.
If only I’d known my father
.
If only I’d had a brother or sister, I wouldn’t have been so lonely growing up, he thought. If only I
had a wife, a family and a home of
my
own
… .
This
house
is
my
mother’s and
will
be until the day she die
s
.
I’ll inherit the house but t
hen I’ll truly be alone.

The thought of Olivia dying terrified him
.
He must not think about that
.
He couldn’t stand it
.
He took care of his mother
,
but who would take care of him when he got old
?
You don’t have to worry about that, he reminded himself
.
That won’t happen for a long, long time
.
He knew that, although she was an invalid in a wheelchair, his mother was otherwise very healthy and incredibly strong
.

He took a deep breath and smiled
.
With her upper body strength, she could probably still beat the tar out of me, he thought
.
Her doctor marvels at her because she doesn’t have to take any medications like most people her age; her blood pressure and cholesterol are always
well within normal range
.

I guess that’s
due to the nutritious foods she eats and the natural herbs and vitamins she takes, he thought, grinning. I should know because she’s
constantly
sending me to the health store to pick up something or other.
She always says that she’d rather spend her money on things that will keep her healthy rather than on prescriptions full of chemicals that will ultimately do her harm.

How many times had he heard her say, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure”
?
He pictured Olivia, sitting at their kitchen table, chopping carrots and celery, two of the ingredients
that
she used to make her “health drink,” as she called it.
No, I don’t have to worry about
my m
other; she’s doing a lot better than I am and she’ll
most likely
outlive me.

He began pacing back and forth from one end of his bedroom to the other
.
Occasionally, he would stop at his bedroom window, pull the curtain aside and
gaze
out into the dark
.
He considered sneaking out of the house and going for one of his long, solitary walks but even that didn’t appeal to him tonight.
He couldn’t think of anything that would make him feel better.

A little before one a.m.,
he
heard a car pull into the driveway
.
He parted the curtains and watched as David Kern got out of his car
.
I’ll bet he’s been at that bar again, he thought, remembering the scene he’d witnessed the night before when he was out walking. As he passed
Whitey’s Tavern,
he’d seen
David standing in front of the door with a sleazy
looking
, bleached blonde
rubbing
up against him.
He’d hurried past the bar. It was sickening; he couldn’t bear to see anymore.

He muttered to himself, “If
Annie
were my wife, I wouldn’t stay out till all hours of the night
and I sure wouldn’t be fooling around with someone else
.
I’d be home with her
.”
He smiled as he pictured himself with
her
, lying in bed, their arms wrapped around each other
.
He imagined how her hair would feel brushing against his cheek as she nuzzled against him and how soft her skin would be when he touched her.