The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (3 page)

Hearing this, I fight the urge to turn around.

“I think I had an orgasm,” another moans.

Another girl snorts like a horse in heat. “I hate to prick your fantasy, but he’s crushing on a sophomore.”

“
Nooooooo
!” groans Easy to Orgasm. “What a waste! Who is she? Maybe we can make her life miserable.”

“Her name is Mary Stone,” says Giggles.

I sit up straight. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the field.

“Never heard of her, so she can’t be much competition,” Easy to Orgasm sniffs.
 

“Sure you have,” Snorter insists. “Her father abandoned her family to become a terrorist. After a few years, her mother had some guy move in and pretend to be her husband. To top it off, her younger brother was almost beheaded on television.”

I feel my face warm up with shame. Poor Mary! As if high school isn’t hard enough: she’s got to live down Carl’s, Jack’s, and my sins too.

Easy to Orgasm chuckles. “If all that is true, getting Evan away from that little drama queen should be a piece of cake.”
 

“Something tells me it’s not her ‘drama’ that attracted him,” Giggles says. “Did you know he moved in with her? And her mother
let him
!”

They all giggle, Snorter loudest of all. “Considering how easy her mom is—well, you know what they say: ‘like mother, like daughter.’”

Giggles sighs. “You’d think he’d choose a girlfriend who was normal, what with all the hell he’s already been through.”

“What do you mean by that?” Easy to Orgasm asks.

“You don’t know?” Snorter exclaims. “Evan’s mother went to prison for ordering a hit on his father!”

“Get
out
of here!” Easy to Orgasm groans. “Wasn’t she a United States congresswoman?”

“Yes, you ninny! She’s Catherine Martin. Don’t you remember? She was also elected
president
,” Giggles chides her. “Talk about the Mother from Hell! But he was left with a fortune—and he was included in
People
’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ lists.”

“Poor little rich boy,” Orgasm murmurs. “He’ll need some TLC, and I’m just the girl to give it to him.”

Am I shocked that the sheen of sensationalism has only added to Evan’s persona? Not at all. We live in the Los Angeles ’burbs, where everyone is impressed with each other’s fifteen minutes of fame—or in this case, infamy.

Just then, the lacrosse coach calls it quits. Evan scans the bleachers. Seeing me, he waves, and heads over.
 

The girls squeal again, and whisper furiously. Of course, they think they’ve finally gotten his attention.
 

 
But he leans down to give me a hug. “Hi, Mrs. Stone. Thanks for the ride home,” he says with a dazzling smile.

Suddenly, Snorter realizes who I am and she gasps.
 

“No problem at all, Evan,” I say nonchalantly, but loud enough for the girls to hear. “JV Basketball practice must be over by now. Let’s go round up Mary.” I stand up and turn so I can get a better view of my daughter’s new nemeses. Their eyes are open wide…their mouths, even wider.
 

The prettiest girl nudges the others. As they rise to their feet and clamber down the rows of bleacher seats, she makes it a point to graze Evan’s back as she passes him.

Instinctively, he looks at her.
 

She smiles innocently.

He blushes, but he also smiles back at her.

Yowch.

Lucky us, they’re also heading to the gym.
 

Orgasm purrs, “You scored the most goals today.”
 

Evan graces her with a smile. “Oh…thanks. Yeah well, I’m doing my best to stay off the bench. I was happy the coach had room on the team.”

She takes his elbow as she moves in closer to whisper something. Whatever she says causes him to duck his head shyly. He glances back as I wave. When our eyes meet, his face turns red.

I smile and shrug so that he doesn’t feel as if he’s been put on the spot.
 

We reach the gym lobby just as the girls’ JV team is heading out. Mary is still talking to her coach, Ms. Lonergan. Her face is flush from the workout. Still, she nods during her coach’s pep talk, and smiles when Ms. Lonergan pats her back as a sign of dismissal.

Seeing me, Mary gives a wave, and jogs toward me. She doesn’t see Giggles and Snorter making a beeline for her until it’s too late. Just as Snorter trips Mary, Giggles elbows her in the back.
 

Mary goes down hard on her knees. She groans in pain as she rolls to one side. When she gets on her feet, she’s limping.

Giggles and Snorter look back to admire their handiwork, then exchange high-fives. When Mary looks back at her attackers, their “Sorry!” rings out in a singsong duet—not in falsetto, but false nonetheless.
 

Orgasm frowns as Evan breaks away from her in order to help Mary. Because his back is to her, he doesn’t see her petulant pout, or that her eyes have narrowed into razor-sharp slits. To save face, she shrugs and saunters over to her friends.

Mary gratefully takes Evan’s arm as she staggers to her feet. She wipes away the blood on her nose as she hobbles over to me.
 

I force my lips into a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Despite her obvious pain, she is smiling. Apparently, whatever Coach Lonergan told Mary won’t be easily ruined by her new enemies, which is fine by me. “So, guess what? The coach is moving me up to Varsity! One of the guards is moving out of state, and she says I’m the best player to fill her spot.”

“That’s awesome!” Evan says, as he high-fives her.

I turn back toward the gym floor, where the Hilldale High School girls’ varsity basketball team is being put through its paces—including Giggles, Snorter and Orgasm.

“When do you start?” I ask.

“I begin practicing with them tomorrow.” She stretches out one of her bloody knees to examine it. She chides herself with a shake of her head, then hobbles toward the exit.
 

I pace myself so that I’m beside her. “How many other sophomores are on the team?”

“Only one. But it’ll be okay. They’re a great group—really supportive of each other.”

We shall see.

I turn toward Orgasm and her mean girl posse, who are huddled near the bleachers. When they realize that I’m glaring at them, their sly smiles disappear.
 

As it should be.

Luckily for them, I was raised with manners. Make a fool of my daughter once, shame on you. Make a fool of my daughter twice, you better head for the hills—

And don’t look back.

Jack leans over me, and murmurs into my ear, “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

I’m naked. I lay on my stomach while he crouches over me. I could lie to him and tell him that the massage he’s giving me has me relaxed, tranquil, and yearning to feel him inside of me, but sadly, only the yearning part is true.

Frankly, I don’t want to ruin the moment by relaying my children’s travails.

The fact that I don’t answer him immediately doesn’t seem to bother him. Jack has always been of the assumption that all things come to those who wait, which is why he takes his time now.
 

Yes, I have much to anticipate—from him. All the more reason I hate the fact that he must stop in order to warm more of the rosemary-scented massage oil between his wide palms. He doesn’t speak until after he has spread it on the small of my back. Instead, he waits until he has rubbed the thick liquid into my skin—

And laughs as he watches me shiver—the tease.

But yes, it is worth the wait. For you see, because even this infinitesimal reaction encourages him to do so much more.
 

First, his thumbs press down on either side of my spine, while his fingers rotate in small circles, into my muscles.

Yes, this makes me sigh.

He nudges me over onto my back. I watch his eyes as he sweeps away a long strand of my hair off my forehead. They are dark with concern for me.

For this, I raise myself up on my elbows so that our lips may touch.
 

The taste of my mouth whets his appetite for more.

His lips make a glistening trail of kisses as they work their way from my neck to my chest. He sighs as he lifts his head slightly, in order to take my left breast in his mouth.
 

I moan as his tongue circles my taut nipple.
 

He is stiffening too.

When I take him in hand, he groans with desire. The urgency in which he lifts me by my hips and flips me onto my knees thrills me. Kneeling behind me, his palms open wide so that his fingers are spread across my bottom. They tap lightly on my haunches until I give into the urge to arch my back toward him.

He takes this as a sign that I desire him; that I yearn to have him inside me.

He knows me so well.

I guide him inside of me. As I tighten around him, he cannot help but thrust and surge and come—

But he is not alone.
 

Our climax is simultaneous.
 

He collapses over me.

I feel his heart, beating in time with my own.

Finally, he rolls to my side. Still, he cradles me, as if he never wants to let me go.

I, too, wish we could stay like this all night.
 

In time, though, the fog of desire clears much too quickly. In its place is the clarity of my reality:
 

I am still sad because my children’s happiness is uncertain.
 

It’s why the tears well up in my eyes now until they overflow, forging a wet trail down my face before rolling off the contours of my cheeks, onto Jack’s chest.

Startled by their dampness, he pulls away from me. “Donna! What’s wrong?”

My frustration flows out of me in a torrent of barely coherent sentences—about Jeff’s fears, and Mary’s potential enemies—each word punctuated with a painful sob.

Jack pats me and soothes me and holds me and kisses me until, finally, I stop.

“I can’t let them be hurt again.”

“You can’t protect them from the experiences that will help them learn right from wrong. They have to experience life—both good and bad—in order to grow emotionally, and to mature.”

“I feel helpless,” I mutter.

He cuddles me in the hope that my anxiety will go away.

It will, because I am not alone. He is beside me: to share my hurt, my pain, and my fears.

In time, he falls asleep. Not me. I am still restless. I worry about mundane things. Did we lock the doors? Did we set the alarm?

Does it matter? My God, we kill bad guys for a living, usually under the most surreal circumstances. For folks like us, the real boogeymen lurk in our subconscious, undermining our confidence, and playing on our trepidations.

I’m overreacting.

In other words, I’m a mother.
 

And a hitwoman.

Still restless, I pull away from Jack. As I slide out of the bed, something falls to the floor: a turquoise ring box.

Ah, Tiffany.

I open it. The round, multi-faceted diamond sits high on a yellow-gold band designed to look like entwined rope.
 

Exquisite.

Yes, after our lovemaking would have been the ideal time to ask me to marry him.

But he didn’t ask because I cried and poured out my heart about my fears for my children.

He was right to wait. Timing is everything.

The next time he tries will be the right time.

I hope.

I tuck the box beside him.

This time, when I cry, it’s because I feel so blessed that we found each other, and that he loves me so dearly.

With Jack by my side, everything will be all right.

Chapter 3

Bolting

If you plant vegetables too late in the season, the warmer temperatures may cause them to quickly go to flower rather than produce a food crop. There is a word for this: bolting.

Certainly you’ve used the word in a different context—say, when riding a horse that suddenly leaps in fear of something and runs away with you clinging on for dear life.

People bolt too. Perhaps an old boyfriend or husband walked away, leaving you in shock at his desertion at a time when you thought things between you couldn’t be better.
 

To stop a bolting horse, don’t follow your instinct to pull back on the reins with both hands. Instead, disrupt the bolter’s forward momentum by exerting pressure on the rein in your dominant hand. Then set the palm and base of your other hand down on the crest of the horse’s neck, just above the withers. Next, be sure to keep your heels down in your stirrups, and lean back. And finally, with brute strength, bend your elbow and lift up and back with your right hand. In this position, the bolter can’t bend his neck and is momentarily unbalanced, which will force him to alter his gait and pace, and to turn. Continue to exert your rein pressure until he begins to turn in a circle. Eventually, he will stop.

Should you come across your bolting significant other, shoot him. A bullet will stop him much more quickly than jumping on his back and twisting his neck.