Chapter Three
627 Words
Chapter Three
Home Sweet Home
I dont believe it! a livid Sharon screeched. Her eyes were wild with anger, her arms gesticulating with all the passionate anger that vented around the morning room where a calm Peter Kimball sat drinking his morning coffee. Shes been gone three days and you didnt know until yesterday? Where the hell did you think she was? You live in the same house! She moved toward him, anger preceding her like a firestorm. With her face just inches from his, he backed away in his chair, awed. She never leaves unless you or I take her somewhere, and you dont have any idea that shes been gone the last two days. You didnt bother to miss her, to wonder why you didnt see her at meals, even if it was only to get a glimpse over your damned Wall Street Journal! The irate brunette stood up, turned away in frustration, then turned back seething, her hands crossed over her chest, that lovely chest heaving with ire that would not pass for a long time.
Sometimes its like that here, Sharon. We
he hesitated, wincing, being somewhat embarrassed, often live in our own worlds. This is a very big house.
Thats no excuse for being a thoughtless ass.
Damn, Sharon, what am I supposed to do? Shes mopes about, glum as soggy toast, and I get a little tired of the act.
Its not an act. Shes withering away in this marriage. Cant you see that?
Apparently there isnt a marriage anymore.
She stared at him in stupefied wonder, immediately speechless. Thats it? Thats all youre going to say? Youre just going to assume that shes off on a lark, maybe come back, maybe not, and you dont really give a gnats ass? Youre contemptible, Peter Kimball, a lout, a boorish ass, an inconsiderate bastard and
she paused as more words failed her, a nincompoop!
Why the hell are you so pissed! What have you done for her recently?
I was in Spain, Peter, on a buying trip. I cant be here every minute to make sure my sister-in-law doesnt wilt away like your flowers in this dreadful heat. She gazed out to the patio where the impatiens and fuchsias looked irreversibly damaged and sighed wearily. You know she would have seen that they were watered every day, her voice turned softer, though it was cloaked in sadness.
That she would, he agreed quietly.
So what happens now? You have called the police?
Of course. Im not the villain you think I am. I want her back. I want to make amends, but how can I do that when shes not here?
Youre not the least bit concerned that she might have been kidnapped, Sharons emotions flared again, that shes not lying dead, the victim of a rapist or murderer?
Yes, Ive thought of that, he tried staying calm.
And youre not frantic with worry?
Yes, Sharon, I am. But I deal with these things in different ways than you. I try not to get ugly.
Oh, thats a cheap shot.
And Im supposed to ignore the nasty things you just barked at me?
She took a deep breath. Im sorry. Im just so worried.
We have every right to be, but if it makes any difference, I dont think shes dead. I dont think shes even in danger.
How do you conclude that?
My gut.
Oh, as if you were somehow psychically connected? she spit sarcastically.
We once were.
Yes, I suppose you were. What happened?
He pushed his coffee cup back and it clattered in its saucer. Then he rose to his feet and moved toward the window, staring out as he stood beside his sister. His hands sunk deep in the pockets of his khaki silk slacks; his stiff blue dress shirt hadnt a wrinkle on its starched surface. Ill have someone water those plants. Shell be a wreck if they die before she returns.
If she returns, Sharon added.
You doubt that?
I do, Peter. I dont think shes coming back.
Well, I guess well just wait and see. Im meeting with the police chief in an hour, and Mims been calling all her friends.
Her friends?
You know, the ladies in that gardening guild and at the club.
Like they would really know where shes gone?
Thats just it. No one knows anything about her.
Sharon smirked with discontent, silently thinking, Youre right, but if anyone should know her, its you.
- Writer
