High Risk

Chapter 3-2

“How about money?” Beth offered, feeling like she was talking to a rock. “I have about fifty in my purse and can get $500 out of the ATM at the corner. You can have it all if you’ll just go.”

She wished she could read Abbott’s thoughts, but all he returned was a blank stare. Perhaps there was a bit of contempt lurking beneath the perfect features. She went on, in spite of herself. “I have some jewelry, some of it’s worth quite a bit. I could give you some. No problem to sell it, make yourself a real bundle.” She sucked in a quivering breath. “All you have to do is leave.”

“Cut it.” He looked her up and down. “Haven’t you realized yet you got nothin’ I want?”

Beth couldn’t hold back the sobs. “Why? Why do you want to do this to me?” Oh God, why did I do this? Why did I do any of it? Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have? Again: “Why do you want to do this?”

Abbott smirked, cupped his crotch. “Why do you want to do this?”

Beth closed her eyes, tried to swallow. She could hear him snickering, but couldn’t bear to look at his face, the face that had once had such a hold on her. She bit her lower lip. “There’s nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there? You’ll just go ahead and casually ruin a couple of lives. All in a day’s work.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you dare blame me, sweetheart. You made your own choices. I tried and tried to get away from you, you greedy little bitch.”

“Won’t you think about the promise I’ll make? I swear I’ll stick to it if you just give me one more chance. Really, you’ve shaken me up enough. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Forget it. You expect me to take the word of some tramp who probably lies to her husband every single f*****g day?”

Beth crossed to the window. Outside, the autumn leaves were in their full glory, red, orange, brown. Some skittered along the sidewalk, pushed by the wind. A woman in a yellow windbreaker breezed by, walking a boxer.

How could this be happening?

Seeing the Saab coming down the street caused a jolt to go through her. It actually felt like an electric shock. It couldn’t be Mark: too early. She turned; the mantle clock said it was only ten minutes ‘til three. Nervous, she turned back to the window, hoping to see another face behind the driver’s side glass: a man with black hair, an African American woman, a teenage boy.

It could happen!

But there was Mark, not noticing her peering through their living room window, searching for a parking space. Same blond hair, close cropped, with a precise part down the side. Same ruddy complexion and tortoiseshell glasses. Same rep striped tie, red and gray, she had bought him last Christmas.

Beth covered her mouth. No. The reprieves were over.

This day had had to come.

She edged nearer to Abbott and away from the window. As if Mark could hear her, she whispered, the desperation in her voice audible. “He’s home. My husband’s home. Now you can go ahead and do what you want. I hope it makes you very happy.”

No more tears. An eerie calm took hold of her. Other than a slight chill, she felt nothing but numb. Gone were the trembling extremities and queasy stomach. “You can tell him your news.”

Abbott crossed the room, so that he stood next to her, near the window. “Where is he?”

“Gray Saab.”

Abbott nodded, still staring out the window. “Looks like he was lucky. Found a spot right in front.”

“Good for him.”

Abbott snickered when Mark emerged from the car. “Looks like a fuckin’ yuppie prince.” Finally, he touched her, a whisper of fingertips on her bare shoulder. “And look who’s getting flowers.”

Some of the queasiness returned as she watched Mark grab his briefcase (aluminum, another Christmas present) and start heading for their front door.

Abbott pulled her away from the window, drawing her against his chest. “Let’s not spoil his surprise too soon.” He led her back to the couch, where, like someone under a spell, she sat wordlessly beside him. She wondered what kind of scene would follow, and it suddenly seemed as though she were watching all of this from a distance, a melodrama on Lifetime TV….Television for Women.

There was no saliva left in her mouth.

Abbott snickered again.

Beth tried to pull her green mini-skirt lower.

And then the sound of Mark’s steps out front.

Beth bit her knuckles.

And then the sound of a key in the lock.

She closed her eyes, praying for this to be over quickly.

A click. The works of the lock tumbling.

Beth stopped breathing, unable to open her eyes. She was frozen on the couch.

Footsteps: quick. She opened her eyes to see Abbott dashing though the apartment, pulling on his shoes as he went, toward its back. What was going on? Where was he going? The back door opened; slammed shut, almost in concert with the creak of the double front doors opening.

“Honey?” Mark’s voice.

Beth peered after Abbott, almost as if she expected to see an afterimage of him.

But he was gone. She rushed to the kitchen, watched him through the window over the sink as he ran through the yard, continued on through the alley, not looking back. Beth turned the dead bolt on the back door.

Then turned to face her husband.