minutes.”
At the stove, she turned the bacon with a fork and a splash of grease scalded her arm, making her temporarily forget the pain in her back.
When the bacon was crispy, she put four pieces on Kevin’s plate and two on hers. She drained the grease into a soup can, wiped the frying pan with a paper towel, and oiled it again with cooking spray. She had to move fast, so the bacon wouldn’t get cold. She started the toaster and cracked the eggs. He liked his over medium, with the yolk intact, and she’d grown adept at the process. The pan was still hot and the eggs cooked quickly. She turned them once before sliding two onto his plate and one onto hers. The toast came up and she placed both slices on his plate.
She sat across from him at the table because he liked them to have breakfast together. He buttered his toast and added grape jelly before using his fork to break the eggs. The yolk pooled like yellow blood and he used his toast to sop it up.
“What are you going to do today?” he asked. He used his fork to cut another piece of egg. Chewing.
“I was going to do the windows and the laundry,” she said.
“The sheets probably need a wash, too, huh? After our fun last night?” he said, waggling his eyebrows. His hair was pointing in different directions and there was a piece of egg at the corner of his mouth.
She tried not to show her revulsion. Instead, she changed the subject.
“Do you think you’ll get a conviction in the Preston case?” she asked.
He leaned back and rolled his shoulders before hunching over his plate again.
“That’s up to the DA. Higgins is good, but you never know. Preston has a shyster lawyer and he’s going to try to twist all the facts around.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re smarter than he is.”
“We’ll see. I just hate that it’s in Marlborough. Higgins wants to prep me Tuesday night, after court finishes for the day.”
Erin knew all of this already and she nodded. The Preston case had been widely publicized and the trial was due to start on Monday in Marlborough, not Boston. Lorraine Preston had supposedly hired a man to kill her husband. Not only was Douglass Preston a billionaire hedge-fund manager, but his wife was a scion of society, involved in charities ranging from art museums and the symphony to inner-city schools. The pretrial publicity had been staggering; a day hadn’t gone by in weeks without one or two articles on the front page and a top story on the evening news. Megamoney, lurid sex, drugs, betrayal, infidelity, assassination, and an illegitimate child. Because of the endless publicity, the trial had been moved to Marlborough. Kevin had been one of several detectives assigned to the investigation and all were scheduled to testify Wednesday. Like everyone else, Erin had been following the news but she’d been asking Kevin questions every now and then about the case.
“You know what you need after you’re finished in court?” she asked. “A night out. We should get dressed up and go out to dinner. You’re off on Friday, right?”
“We just did that on New Year’s,” Kevin grumbled, sopping up more yolk on his plate. There were smears of jelly on his fingers.
“If you don’t want to go out, I can make you something special here. Whatever you want. We can have wine and maybe start a fire and I could wear something sexy. It could be really romantic.” He looked up from his plate and she went on. “The point is, I’m open to whatever,” she purred, “and you need a break. I don’t like it when you work so hard. It’s like they expect you to solve every case out there.”
He tapped his fork against his plate, studying her. “Why are you acting all lovey-dovey? What’s going on?”
Telling herself to stick to the script, she pushed back from the table.
“Just forget it, okay?” She grabbed her plate and the fork clattered off it, hitting the table and then the floor. “I was trying to be supportive since you’re going out of town, but if you don’t like it, fine. I’ll tell you what — you figure out what you want to do and let me know sometime, okay?”
She stormed over to the sink and turned the faucet on hard. She knew she’d surprised him, could feel him vacillating between anger and confusion. She ran her hands under the water then brought them to her face. She drew a series of rapid breaths, hiding her face, and made a choking sound. She let her shoulders heave a little.
“Are you crying?” he asked. She heard his chair slide back. “Why the hell are you crying?”
She choked out the words, doing her best to make them sound broken. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what you want. I know how big this case is and how important it is and how much pressure you’re under…”
She choked off the final words, sensing his approach. When she felt him touch her, she shuddered.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said grudgingly. “You don’t have to cry.”
She turned toward him, squeezing her eyes shut, putting her face against his chest. “I just want to make you happy,” she stammered. She wiped her wet face on his shirt.
“We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll have a nice weekend. I promise. To make up for last night.”
She put her arms around him, pulling him close, sniffling. She drew another rasping inhale. “I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t need that today. Me getting all blubbery for nothing. You’ve got so much on your plate already.”
“I can handle it,” he said. He tilted his head and she leaned up to kiss him, her eyes still shut. When she pulled back, she wiped her face with her fingers and pulled close to him again. As he pressed against her, she could feel him getting excited. She knew how her vulnerability turned him on.
“We’ve got a little time before I have to head into work,” he said.
“I should clean the kitchen first.”
“You can do it later,” he said.
Minutes later, with Kevin moving atop her, she made the sounds he wanted while staring out the window of the bedroom and thinking of other things.
She had learned to hate winter, with the endless cold and a yard half-buried in snow, because she couldn’t go outside. Kevin didn’t like her to walk around the neighborhood but he let her garden in the backyard because of the privacy fence. In the spring, she always planted flowers in pots and vegetables in a small plot near the back of the garage, where the sun was full and strong, unshaded by the maple trees. In the fall, she would pull on a sweater and read books from the library as fallen leaves, brown and crinkly, drifted around the yard.
But winter made her life a prison, cold and gray and gloomy. Misery. Most days were spent without setting foot outside the door because she never knew when Kevin would show up unexpectedly. She knew the names of a single neighbor, the Feldmans, who lived across the street. In her first year of marriage, Kevin rarely hit her and sometimes she went for walks without him. The Feldmans, an older couple, liked to work in their garden, and in the first year she’d lived here, she’d often stopped to talk to them for a while. Kevin gradually tried to put an end to those friendly visits. Now she saw the Feldmans only when she knew Kevin was busy at work, when she knew he couldn’t call. She would make sure no other neighbors were watching before darting across the street to their front door. She felt like a spy when she visited with them. They showed her photos of their daughters growing up. One had died and the other had moved away and she had the sense that they were as lonely as she was. In the summer, she made them blueberry pies and would spend the rest of the afternoon mopping up the flour in the kitchen so Kevin wouldn’t know.
After Kevin went to work, she cleaned the windows and put fresh sheets on the bed. She vacuumed, dusted, and cleaned the kitchen. As she worked, she practiced lowering her voice so she could sound like a man. She tried not to think about the cell phone she had charged overnight and put under the sink. Even though she knew that she might never get a better chance, she was terrified because there was still so much that could go wrong.
She made Kevin breakfast on Monday morning, just as she always did. Four slices of bacon, eggs over medium, and two pieces of toast. He was grumpy and distracted and he read the paper without saying much to her. When he was about to leave, he put a coat on over his suit and she told him she was going to hop into the shower.
“Must be nice,” he grunted, “to wake up every day knowing you can do whatever the hell you want to do whenever you want to do it.”
“Is there anything special you want for dinner?” she asked, pretending not to have heard him.
He thought about it. “Lasagna and garlic bread. And a salad,” he said.
When he left, she stood at the window watching as his car reached the corner. As soon as he turned, she
