The Righteous and The Wicked (14 page)

The gas station is very busy in expectation of the coming storm. The pumps are ancient. After Emma fills her tank, she impatiently waits in line to pay the attendant.

“Hi, George. I have twenty-five dollars on pump three.”

“How’s that old car treating ya, Emma?” He smiles with an almost toothless grin.

“It gets me where I need to go.”

A mason jar rests on the counter, filled to the brim with lollipops, and Emma’s flooded with memories of being a little girl. On Sunday mornings, her grandfather used to take her with him to get the paper, before anyone else had gotten up. He would buy her a lollipop, and warn her not to tell her mother. She had to eat it in the car before she got home, so they wouldn’t get in trouble. Staring at the bright cellophane wrapper, she remembers the simple innocence of a time when the only wrong she ever committed was eating a lollipop before breakfast. Riding in the backseat of her grandfather’s Chevy without a care in the world. A life so much simpler than her current predicament of contemplating adultery with a depraved sex addict.

She grabs a strawberry lollipop. “I’ll take one of these, too, George.”

She removes the wrapper as if she’s handling a fragile object and licks the red circle with reverence, enjoying it as she drives home.

The door of the car creaks open and Emma’s high-heeled foot meets her driveway. She flings her purse onto her shoulder and slams the door, still enjoying the sweet candy. She looks up at the blue-black clouds that are threatening rain, and thunder rumbles in the distance. The familiar and ungodly sound of the bulldozer assaults her ears, and she looks toward Eric’s property. She’s surprised by what she sees. The gigantic yellow machine has cleared a path between her yard and his.

Time slows down to a crawl as Eric emerges through the woods. He walks toward her, covered in mud from foot to knee, his white shirt soaked with sweat. His face becomes clear as he gets closer. He’s smiling. Her appetite for him has reached a fever pitch. She takes the lollipop out of her mouth.

“Hey.” She points toward the bulldozer. “What’s with the path?”

“Nate and I cleared it today. I thought it might be easier for us to get back and forth—you know—because my driveway is so long and muddy.” He says it like it makes perfect sense, and Emma blushes, flattered that he wants to make it easier for her to get close to him.

“I’ve never even been to your house, Eric. Maybe you could show it to me sometime?”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything, then turns his back and walks away. Emma’s baffled by his behavior. She must have offended him.

He stops and turns back around. As he smiles at her, his eyes twinkle and his expression makes her knees weak. “Well, are you coming with me, or what?”

Eric’s envious of the lollipop in Emma’s mouth as he walks beside her toward the new-formed path. She’s in her work clothes. Pencil skirt, silk blouse, hair up. He steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and she’s sucking and licking that lollipop like a pro. The sun glints off the silver cross on her neck and his filthy thoughts are disrupted. He looks away, struggling to find something normal to say.

“I heard there’s going to be a big storm tonight. They say we may be flooded and lose power.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”

They reach the edge of her yard. Emma looks at her feet and stops. “I think I should go change my shoes. Heels and mud don’t mix.”

Eric looks at his work boots and feels stupid for not considering this. Without thinking, he scoops Emma up in his arms.

“Whoa, what are you—”

He looks into her eyes and she stops protesting. She’s staring at his mouth and he knows what she’s thinking. He wants to kiss her, too.

“What kind of lollipop is that?”

“Strawberry.” She raises her eyebrow. “You want a taste?”

She holds it out and he opens his mouth. He licks it, and she watches him do it. Her skin is flooded with pink, and he’s harder than he has ever been. He carries her down the path with the lollipop in his mouth, and they don’t speak. She wraps her fingers around his neck, fondling the back of his head. He delights in the way she fits into his arms. He runs his hand over her silk stocking-covered legs and she shivers at his touch. He wants to tear them from her body.

He sets her down as Nate, Eric’s contractor, gets out of the bulldozer and approaches them. Eric doesn’t like the way he’s looking at Emma, like she’s free for him to ogle. He moves in front of her.

“Thanks, Nate. That’s all for today.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be back with the flatbed to get the dozer tomorrow. I want to get home before the storm hits.”

The frame of the house Eric’s building is enormous, even though just the foundation and first floor have been completed. Emma thinks that this could be a home for a family, not just one man. She wonders why he’s building such a large structure for himself. The trailer he’s living in seems miniature compared to the incomplete creation.

He opens the door to his trailer with a jerk, and holds it for her. “After you.”

It’s not messy, but it’s not clean either. The only places to sit are a kitchen stool or the bed. Emma chooses the bed. He sits down next to her and thunder rumbles in the distance. The dangerous storm that has been predicted is making its way closer and closer toward Eric and Emma. He leans back on the bed, supported by his elbows. Emma sits on the edge, with her legs crossed. He reaches past her and presses play on his sound dock. His arm brushes against her back and the rain starts to fall, pitter-pattering on the tin roof.

“Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.” He pushes a tendril of her hair from her shoulder. The gentle yet erotic touch pushes Emma to submit to the idea that’s been eating at her.

“Eric, what’s going on here?”

His azure eyes are locked on hers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this.” She gestures between them.

In response, he raises his hand and cradles her cheek. Emma’s need for him is crushing her, she can’t fight it. She’s compelled to surrender to it. She kneels on the bed and then straddles Eric’s lap. What she craves presses against her, just where she wants to feel it.

“Shit,” Eric says.

She moves her hips against his and caresses his face with her fingertips. Then she kisses him. It is a sublime and blissful indulgence. They acquiesce to what their bodies have been begging for, as their lips and tongue taste and consume. With this kiss, she tells him how much she desires him—and he hears her.

“Eric, I want you. I want to be with you,” she pants.

He groans as he slides his hands down her back and grips her hips. He lifts her and shifts her down on the bed, descending on her petite figure. Any will to withhold has vanished. He grinds against her and whispers in her ear, “I want you, too, Emma, so much.”

He kisses her neck and she fists her hand in his hair. Her heart races. This is happening so fast, but giving in feels so good and so right. The veil is lifted and she can be honest. “Eric, I know about . . . the way you are . . . and I want you to know, that I don’t care.”

He jerks up. “What did you say?” He moves away and sits up on the bed, confused.

Emma pulls her skirt into place and takes his hand in hers. “I know about what you do. I’ve seen you . . .”

“Wait, what?” He shakes his head and anger creeps into his face, erasing the passion.

“That night I ran into you at the bar, I stopped there because I saw your car. I know you were . . . with someone . . . in the bathroom.”

He pulls his hand away from hers. His eyes are once again barbaric and savage, a human storm. “What the fuck, Emma? Were you following me?”

“No. I mean, not that time . . .”

He shakes his head. “There were other times? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you some kind of stalker or something?” He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Emma knows.

“Eric, no. I just . . . I saw you at the club, and then I followed you once, and then I came by here once, and I heard you with the girl from the coffee shop, and then, when I passed the bar that night I saw your car and . . .”

Embarrassment and shock seize him. He can’t comprehend this. His antidote, his remedy, is just as wretched as he is. A voyeur. Everything he thought was true is false. He stands up and grabs her elbow, yanking her off the bed. “And what, Emma? That gets you off? Listening to me fuck other women? That gets you wet?”

“Let go of me.” She whimpers.

When he realizes how hard he’s gripping her, he lets her go. His demon has surfaced. He’s face-to-face with the reality that she knows how twisted and perverse he is. His disgrace is reflected back at him through her eyes, and he can’t handle it. He has to get away. There is no one on earth who knows his secret. He flings the door open and is soaked by the merciless rain.

Emma chases after him. “Eric! Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer or look at her as gets in his Jeep, revs the engine, and peels out of the driveway.

“Eric!” Emma weeps where she stands, paralyzed by what just happened. He rejected her. She never dreamed that he would react this way. Soaked and freezing, she runs barefoot up the muddy path to her house. Lightning cracks and flashes, snaking across the sky, followed by an earth-shaking, thunderous boom. She shivers as she climbs her porch steps and then collapses once she’s inside. She buries her head in her hands, sobbing and moaning. She’s embarrassed, ashamed, and utterly destroyed.

Thunder rumbles again, shaking the old house. Emma doesn’t hear the sound of screeching tires or the thud and crunch of metal as Eric’s car swerves off the slick road and crashes into a tree.

Chapter Fifteen

Sunlight wakes her. Emma sits up. Her head is heavy, and her heart broken. She let herself feel. She let someone in, and it was a mistake. Her life was empty before he
came. Empty, but easy. Sleep was all she lived for. Numb and alone, with nothing and no one. The emptiness was pleasurable compared to the agony and anger she feels now.

The wound Aaron left her with had been healing; she was accepting a new path. But now that wound has been ripped open, and the path she chose has been closed to her. Eric doesn’t want her. She feels worthless. Forgettable. She sinks back into bed, picks up her phone, and calls in sick to work. She stares at the stark ceiling and falls into a dreamless, barren sleep.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A chill ripples over Emma’s skin when she hears the knock at the door. It’s four in the afternoon. She’s still in her robe and hasn’t showered. She peeks through the peephole, hoping to see blue eyes, but instead she sees mascara-coated eyelashes batting back at her. She opens the door a crack.

“Abby. Hey.”

Abby pushes past Emma, her arms filled with brown paper grocery bags. “Okay. I got OJ, tea, some soup, and some ginger ale. And why the hell didn’t you answer your cell? I called you three times today. You never miss work; I figured you were half dead. What’s the matter with you?” She unloads the groceries.

“I’m just . . . I don’t feel well.” Emma flops into a chair at the table.

“Well, you look like shit.”

“That’s nice, Abby. Thanks.”

She places the back of her hand on Emma’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”