The Righteous and The Wicked (7 page)

“It’s fine.” She has neglected the house. It’s true. But it hurts to hear someone call attention to it. She picks up her glass and sips, enjoying the way the wine warms her whole body. Her head swims.

“So what brought
you
here?” Emma inquires.

“I’m building a house, didn’t you know?”

“Yes, I may have heard that.” Emma giggles at his playful answer. “You know, waking up to that racket every Saturday has almost killed me.”

“Then I won’t work on Saturday anymore.”

His blue eyes reveal sincerity, and Emma’s flattered he would change for her. She takes another sip of wine.

“Why did you choose Pine Lake?”

He doesn’t answer right away, seeming to think of what to say. “Things just stopped working out for me where I was.”

He adjusts his sitting position and their legs touch underneath the table. Emma jolts from the unexpected contact and the spark inside her flares.

“Why did
you
move back?” His misty blue eyes bore into hers.

She leans toward him, allowing the wine to make her bold. “Things just stopped working out for me where I was.”

Eric smiles, and Emma has to resist the urge to brush her hand against his face. To touch his hair, to let him touch hers. She envisions him clearing the table with a swipe of his hand and throwing her willing body across it. She imagines his mouth on hers, the way he would taste, and the way his skin would feel, naked against her own. The way she would look beneath him and him above her. She imagines him taking her, tearing her clothes, giving her pleasure, making her scream. But the room is silent, except for the sound of the leaky faucet dripping into the sink.

“I can fix this for you, you know.” He taps the faucet after dinner, as he washes his now empty dish.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that. And you don’t need to be washing my dishes.” Emma takes a plate from his hand, dries it, and puts it in the cupboard. She’s having a hard time reconciling Eric, this gentle man before her, with Stormy Eyes, the volatile man she has watched from afar. She dries another dish and tries not to focus on his musky scent, the heat she feels coming off his body, the ease with which he fits into her home. Her skin prickles as his warm forearm brushes against hers. Their image is reflected in the now darkened window as she stands beside him at the sink. He’s focused on his chore, but Emma is not.

She watches his soapy hands and the movement of his fingers transfixes her. She tries to push her fantasies from her mind. She thinks of the Lord, she thinks of her husband, but neither of them are here. Eric is. It would be futile for her to try to ignore the attraction she feels for him; the way her body responds to him whenever he’s near.

In Emma’s heart, there’s still love for Aaron, but when she thinks of him, that emotion is laced with sorrow. All the happy memories she has of her husband are overshadowed by the tragedy they suffered. Guilt creeps up in her veins and she pushes it down. The box under the bed screams for her, but she ignores it.

Eric hums to himself as he washes another dish, and her sadness shifts into joy, a joy that comes from just being beside him. He shuts off the water and Emma gives him a towel. He wipes his hands and leans back against the sink, staring at her. He says nothing, but a soft smile graces his lips. Now a small flame, her spark blooms beneath his gaze. She knows she should look away. She should walk away. But Emma does none of those things.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says.

Eric looks around and notices all the things he could fix, all the ways he could help this girl—Emma. He wants to return the courtesy she has extended to him.

“I could come by tomorrow maybe, and fix the sink . . . if you’d like? What time do you get home from work?”

In truth, he just wants to see her again. Even in this brief encounter, her presence has brought him peace. A priceless gift she has no way of knowing she’s giving to him.

“I get home at four.”

“What do you do, Emma?” He enjoys the way her name feels on his lips.

“I’m a teacher. I teach first grade at St. Simon’s School for Girls.”

There it is. The reason he simultaneously wants to stay and flee. The reason Eric will not treat this innocent woman the way he treats all the others. The reason that maybe she could be more than that. Maybe this woman could be his friend.

“Emma, I was thinking . . . I’m alone and you’re alone, maybe we could, be alone, together.” He’s trying to move beyond his need—to fight his addiction. This girl is just the kind of person, just the kind of
friend
that could drag him out from the darkness his life has become. All of his hope to turn over a new leaf rests in Emma’s answer.

“The thing is, I’m
not
alone. I’m married. I don’t think it would be right for me to—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You’re not wearing a ring.” Puzzled and disappointed, he stares down at her bare hand.

“I’m not wearing it, because he left me.”

She says it in a faint voice. It’s hard to hear her, but he doesn’t need to hear her to sense the devastation this woman feels. The agony is there in her down-turned eyes. Without thinking, he takes her hand in his and is startled by how soft she is, how tiny, how delicate. Her skin feels heavenly, a remedy for what’s ailing him.

“Well, if he left you, then you
are
alone. Aren’t you, Emma?”

Her head snaps up at his touch and his words, and her eyes change. He sees something pushing its way out from under that sadness. Some kind of epiphany is rising up, but he doesn’t know what it could be. She gives his hand an almost imperceptible squeeze, but her face remains unchanged.

“Yes. I guess I am.”

Eric pulls his hand free, and walks out into the night. “Well, if you decide that you don’t want to be, you know where I live.”

Chapter Eight

Alone. She’s alone. Emma shuts the door. Tears flood her eyes and she sits down on the stairs. Her isolation has suffocated her, but she’s been holding on to the hope that Aaron would return. She hangs her head between her knees and her body shakes with sobs. Then the sobs turn into a scream. She’s furious, she’s frustrated, and she’s grateful.

It took this man, this
stranger
, this sex-crazed, thieving hero, to show her the truth: she is alone, and Aaron’s never coming back. No matter how much she wishes he would, no matter how many times she thinks she feels him in bed beside her. No matter how much she longs to feel his touch and hear his voice. No matter how many tears she sheds, no matter how much she misses him. She is alone.

Another Monday. Abby and Emma sit together on folding chairs in the stark faculty room at St. Simon’s.

“I want to get my marriage annulled.”

Abby chokes on her soda. “What?”

“Aaron’s not coming back. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s gone, and I need to accept it.”

Abby is stunned but thrilled. “Well, can we speak to Father O’Hara about it?”

“That’s the problem. I can’t get an annulment unless I can prove the marriage was fraud. I don’t even know if I can do it without Aaron here, to give consent. And, since he basically vanished off the face of the earth, there’s no way for me to find him.”

“Does Sylvia know where he is?”

Emma cringes at the mention of her mother’s name and Abby wishes she hadn’t brought it up.

“I can’t call my mom. It just hurts too much.” Emma gets choked up, and Abby takes her hand.

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie. I’ll see what Jeff says. He doesn’t specialize in divorce law, but I’m sure he knows someone who does.”

Jenny unlocks the door to the bike shop, flips on the lights and starts the computer. She was running late this morning, so she puts on her makeup in the back room. She takes a black eye pencil out of her makeup bag and traces a thick line around each lid, then swipes on mascara and red lipstick. The shop door opens and she tosses the lipstick into her bag then walks out to greet her first customer.

Eric meanders up and down the aisles—they’re a jungle of rubber and metal—as far as he can see. A bike. A hobby. Something normal. He noticed the shop girl when he came in. She looks tough but sexy: black eyeliner, dyed hair, tattoos. She’s too young for him, college age, but that’s never stopped him before. He’s trying not to watch her. He’s trying to be discreet, to pick out a bike without her help, but it seems that even when he’s not looking for it, it finds him.

She walks toward him, black fishnets, Doc Martens, short skirt. He’s the sole customer in the store. He could take her in the back room and do anything he wants. He could wait until the shop is closed and come back for her. He could fuck her up against the counter . . . on the floor. He envisions her face looking at him over her shoulder as he takes her from behind. He can feel how wet she would be, he can hear her moan. He’s thirsty for her—hard for her. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to remain steadfast, to fight against himself.

“Is there anything you need?” Her voice is irresistible and sensual. He gets even harder when she speaks. He envisions her spent and sore, sweaty and smiling.
He rips himself out of his downward spiral and grabs the bike in front of him.

“No. I don’t need anything from you. I’m all set.”

At home, Eric fills the tires, and tightens each screw. He checks his watch for the hundredth time today, and then gets on his dirt bike. It’s warm today and he wants to see how it handles the mud. He rides up the driveway. The white of Emma’s house flickers and fades through the trees. It would be a lot easier to get to her if there were a path between their houses. Eric contemplates creating one, but there would be no point. He never remains anywhere for very long, and Pine Lake will be no different. He considers making the house he’s building his permanent home, rather than selling it to the highest bidder. A path would be a good idea. He makes a mental note to get the bulldozer out here again . . . but not on Saturday.

He hears an engine and he knows it’s hers. He hoped he would run into her today, he almost planned it. Her car rumbles past him and stops at the top of her driveway. She gets out to check the mail, and Eric pulls up alongside her on his bike. She doesn’t look at him as she takes the mail out of the box and drops a letter on the ground. He bends to pick it up, and so does she. Their heads collide and they each reel back from the impact.

“Shit.” Eric rubs his skull. He sees how embarrassed Emma is and the pain fades, replaced by a feeling that’s still new to him. The tranquility that he feels when he’s near her.

Her blush deepens, and she rubs her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m not having the best day. Um, that’s a nice bike.” She makes an effort to change the subject.

“Thanks. I just bought it. I was thinking of taking it off-road. The girl at the store said it’s a great trail bike.”

Emma fumbles with the mail and shuffles her feet. Neither of them speaks and the awkward silence persists.

“So . . . I guess I’ll see you around.” He straddles his bike and begins to ride away.

“Wait!”

He skids to a stop.

“I was wondering if you’d be able to fix the sink later? I mean if you’re not busy?”

He smiles and turns around. “I’m not busy right now. I’ll just go home and get my tools.”