girl.
“Do you hate me, Mr. Brady?”
“Just call it something less than love,” I snapped.
“I hope we won't need to make trouble.”
“So do I.” I looked into her face, meaning it. “So do I, my dear, but this can't go on.”
She shrugged and began to turn away. “As they say, it's your funeral.”
I closed the door on her and turned back toward the yard. Amy was already picking up things and restoring order to the sordid chaos of the pool area. I wanted to drain the pool and replace it with clean water.
We spent a silent afternoon, ate a silent dinner and climbed into bed in silence. Even Alexander was smart enough to stay out of our way, huddling in the garage all the remainder of that day and night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was some time before we were able to sit down and discuss it and, by then, I thought I'd come up with a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than hanging around waiting for the juvenile authorities to file charges against us and send us to jail.
We were morose, weak, vulnerable and generally sick at heart as we sat across the dinner table from each other. I watched Amy toy with her food and finally drop her fork.
“I'm still not hungry,” she said, uttering the first words I'd heard in a full day, since we'd tossed the teen-age monsters out of the house.
“Neither am I,” I muttered, watching her. “But we can't go on, hanging in limbo this way. We've got to do something or we'll destroy ourselves, even if the kids don't do the job for us.”
Amy nodded. “I know, you're right. We should get back to work. I've missed two days already and Dr. Pratt will be worried. I imagine you've got piles of work waiting at the office.”
I nodded. “Sam called and I told him we were both a little under the weather, giving him some excuse about a couple of bad steaks we'd eaten. He's trying to take up the slack.”
She tried to smile. “We ate a couple of bad steaks, all right. Steaks named Trudy and Buddy. As a matter of fact, I don't feel at all well.” She touched her forehead. “I wonder if I have a fever.”
I frowned. “You're probably simply exhausted, but I suppose you ought to see a doctor about it.”
“Yes. I'll go into work tomorrow morning and pop across the hall to see Dr: Duncan.” She paused. “You'd better get back on the job, too.”
I bit my upper lip. “I intend to, but there's one thing I'd like to check out, first. I was going to suggest you go along, but if you're not well…”
“What's that?” She was leaning forward, her eyes showing a spark of interest for the first time.
“Aunt Charlotte.”
She frowned. “Aunt Charlotte?”
“Their aunt, remember, the woman they're living with in that old two-story house a couple of blocks from here?” I knew my wife was disoriented now. It wouldn't be a bad idea at all for a doctor to look her over.
“Oh, yes, you told me about her and the house. Didn't you talk to her on the phone? You said something about her sounding like a swinger.”
I nodded. “I don't really know, except that she said something about going out on a date. But why the hell not? Trudy said she was only thirty-five, I believe, hardly old enough to sit around knitting lace curtains, especially if she's been married three times.”
Amy blinked. “She's very experienced. At any rate, why do you bring her up now? Don't tell me you want her to join the party.”
“That's not funny,” I snapped. “I thought she might be a way to help control those kids of hers.”
“She's apparently controlled them very little up until now. What could she do for us?”
“Perhaps if I went to her I could persuade her to exert a little discipline.” I swallowed, thinking fast. “If they don't turn us in, and we can get their aunt to keep them home at night, we'll stand a better chance of getting out of this mess.”
Amy made a face. “We could stay out of it if we'd only be as firm as you were yesterday, when it was time to throw them out. Of course, we are weak, I'll admit that.” She shrugged. “All right, perhaps she could help. If she could control them it would help us to build up our resistance.”
“Exactly.”
We stared at each other for a full minute, awareness growing in our eyes. Yes, it seemed we were regaining our sense of purpose. We would return to work, straighten ourselves out and begin living the good life once again. The extent of our sinning would be cheating at bridge with the Champions and maybe letting Alice Champion tickle my knee occasionally from under the table.
We picked up our forks and ate our first complete meal in a full day, feeling it add strength to our resolve. We were almost normal that evening and, if it hadn't been for my plans to go out, I might have made a pass at my wife. It would be fun to return to normal, healthy sex.
Amy seemed to be regaining her old drive, too, and, shortly after dinner, she came and sat on the arm of my chair as I read the paper. Leaning close, she took my hand and placed it on her breast, letting me feel the thing quivering like a puppy dog.
“See? It's missing you already. Do you have any plans for tonight?”
Her breast felt exciting, full and warm and hard at the tip. I cursed myself for what I had to say, but there was no choice. “I'm sorry, honey, but there's Aunt Charlotte.”
She made a face. “See her tomorrow.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I just called her. The kids are out at the movies…”
“Ha! I'll bet.”
“Anyhow, she's expecting me in half an hour.” When she made a long face, I stroked her cheek. “It's better to get this unpleasantness out of the way and then, when I get home, we can get reacquainted, all right?”
She sniffed and I felt my groin beginning to tighten. I'd had so much sex lately that even a twenty-four-hour layoff was too long. I was hot, she was hot and I had made a date to be somewhere else.
She went with me to the door, her arm around me, her body close. “Hurry back?”
I kissed her lightly. “Like Superman, like a speeding bullet.”
I was thoughtful in the car, trying to sort out the pieces of our jumbled lives, determined that we'd rescue order from chaos. In addition, I wasn't certain what I was going to say to Charlotte Pipp. It was obvious she couldn't be told the entire story, but I could give her enough to shock her into turning the screws on her niece's and nephew's nocturnal activities.
I arrived at the house in a minute or two, seeing the porch light burning. It was a large, old place with a full second story. Quite Victorian, really, and I wondered if Aunt Charlotte would match its decor.
As it turned out, she did, after a fashion. She answered my ring at once, standing in the light and smiling out at me. “Mr. Brady? Do come in, please.”
I remembered the low, whisky voice from our telephone conversation. That seemed like months ago, but it had been only a few days.
Inside I turned to look at her and, while she was attractive, she was hardly the swinger that her voice and her series of husbands had led me to believe. She wore a rather old-fashioned dress, one that almost covered her knees, and it was up to the throat, buttoned chastely. She wore little make-up, had on horn-rimmed glasses, and her blonde hair was wrapped in a tight bun. A real Marian the librarian, I thought.
The inside of the house was filled with antiques, from the full-length grandfather's clock in the entry hall to the lace on the scattered tables. The lamps were shaded by stained glass and some of the furniture was quilted in red.
She smiled at my glances, her hands pressed together. “You're wondering about these old things. I'm afraid I'm not a true patron of antiques, Mr. Brady,” she remarked, her voice perfectly modulated, although still somewhat low. “You see, my last husband owned this house. It had been in his family for a hundred years, so he said. It came to me in the settlement and I'm staying here until something more suitable comes along.”
