February 9, 2007
“The bed squeaked,’ Miriam said.
“It did not,” Les responded.
“Get off me, the kids will hear.”
Les, comfortable in his usual missionary position beneath the blankets, thrust again.
“Get off me.” Her voice had changed from whine to commander, though still quiet.
The stereo behind them quietly switched from Michael Jackson chirping about how bad he was to Peter Gabriel singing about how big he was. The music was so low it could barely be heard over the nonexistent squeak.
“You should turn down the music, too.”
Les rolled his eyes, not that she could see in the near pitch black. She never allowed any light, nor sounds for fear of waking up the boys. The problem was, however, that Les and Miriam had gotten used to falling asleep to music while the twins had been off at university.
He rolled onto his back sighing before sitting up and pushing his feet from beneath the sheets off the bed.
Pedro, the fourteen year old Doberman decided to lick the feet presented to him.
“Oh shut up. The kids probably have snuck girls into their rooms.”
“Lester Harold Thomas…how dare you! Our boys would never…”
“They did it when they were in high school, for fuck sake. I caught both, but never told you because…” He flipped the side table light on.
“Because what?” She got up on her knees and crossed her arms over her chest. Her pink nightie feel to cover her petite frame completely.
“Because how you would react.”
“How would I react? And put some clothes on, you should be embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed about what? Pedro doesn’t care, and no one else is seeing me.”
“I’m seeing you.”
He grinned and laughed. “My naked body embarrasses you?”
“Stop changing the subject, we were discussing how your disrespect our innocent boys.”
“I wasn’t the one changing the subject…and the boys are not innocent.”
“Philip has never kissed a girl, he would have told me.”
“Really? 25 years old and you really believe that? I know he has done more than kiss a few of them.”
“How dare you!”
“Oh I dare. I’m so fucking tired of covering up their indiscretions so you can play peacock or ostrich.”
“I need to go pray,” Miriam said with a scowl.
“Like that will do anything.”
The gasp that escaped her lips was half moan and half growl. “Blasphemy!”
“Fuck off!” Les stormed from the room with a slam of the hollow door.
February 21, 2007
Miriam glared at Les. It was a true talent how she could bring tears and still glare past them without those around knowing her anger. All the others saw was the grieving widow of a man who’s brake line was cut…likely by one of the criminals that he had arrested over the years as a Chicago cop.
Philip and Dale, her 25-year-old twin boys, stood on either side of her, each with a hand on her respective shoulder. Their matching black suits left the only detail telling them apart being Dale’s moustache and Philips clean-shaven face. Being none at the funeral had seen the boys since they left for their religious scholarships at Notre Dame, none actually knew which boy had the moustache.
Miriam’s mind drifted briefly to the work gloves and how easily they had gone up in flames after she had doused them in gasoline. They had fit so well as she had slipped under the car on Les’ creeper. She suppressed a giggle and it came off sounding like the perfect sob.