Ravenous by Ray Garton Page B

palm, swept them into her mouth, then drank them down with the glass of water on the nightstand.
    Hugh picked up the tray and stood. “Would you like to call the counselor and—”
    â€œNo, just go. Please.”
    Hugh left the bedroom, frowning. She was still sobbing as he pulled the door closed. He went downstairs to the kitchen, put the tray on the table and went to the counter. He put his hands flat on the countertop and leaned forward, elbows locked, his head bowed between jutting shoulders.
    It was not like her not to eat. Hugh was concerned. Of course, the truth was, she could stand to lose a few pounds, but he knew this was not the way to do it. He felt guilty for so much as thinking it. He hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with her. Could her head injury be worse than first thought? Maybe Emily should still be in the hospital. Whom should he call to ask? He knew a lot of people, he knew medical people, maybe someone he knew would have some advice. But who? He couldn’t think, couldn’t line his thoughts up in a row because ... because ...  
    Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Vanessa Peterman.
    He could look at his wife in bed upstairs, knowing she’d been through the worst experience imaginable, a horrible rape right beside the street—and at the same time, he would be thinking about Vanessa in some other part of his mind, thinking about what her breasts felt like under his hands, what her neck smelled like when he nibbled it. He might think about the amazingly sexy lingerie she wore for him, or about finding her smooth and shaven when he went down on her one day. She’d done it because he’d mentioned it in passing once, that he thought it might be fun, and she thought he might like it. It drove him insane. He did not want to stop kissing and licking and sucking on that perfectly smooth, soft, plush flesh. Even with his wife in her current condition, Hugh could not get his mind off Vanessa. On the one hand, Vanessa pleased him, preoccupied him—on the other, he felt disgusted with himself for it, and the guilt had gotten into his bones, deep, like arthritis.
    He went to the kitchen sink, ran the cold water, splashed some over his face, then rubbed his hands up and down from chin to forehead. He turned off the faucet, tore several paper towels from the role above the counter, and dabbed his face dry.
    I’m going to burn in hell, he thought. Sure as shittin’, I’m going to burn in hell.
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    11
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    First Time
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    Andrea was washing loads of laundry and ironing Jimmy’s shirts; before that, she’d scrubbed the toilet and tub and damp-mopped the kitchen floor—she was tired. Her right eye was still swollen and dark. She’d held ice against it for awhile that morning, but it hadn’t done much good. Her lower lip was slightly swollen, too, around the small cut she’d received that morning.
    Andrea had put Marnie and Jenny down for their naps, and the house was quiet. At a quarter after three that afternoon, she poured herself a glass of chilled red wine, went to the living room, sat down in Jimmy’s recliner, and put her feet up with a long sigh. Even though she seemed to do nothing but work around the house all day, Andrea enjoyed her time alone—without the kids, and especially without Jimmy. She felt so relaxed when he was gone. The moment he left the house, she could feel the tension flow from her body, but the moment he came back into the house, she tensed back up—her chest and throat felt tight; she would jump at the slightest sound—and she remained that way until she went to bed. Even then, it always took her awhile to get to sleep. She could not sleep until he started snoring, until she knew that he was asleep and no longer a threat.
    She took a few sips of the wine. It felt warm in her belly and she relaxed even more. She picked up the remote and tried to find something on