The Perfect Mother(66)

Francie is surprised at the convincing job he’s doing, pretending he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Gwendolyn Ross? The actress? Her kid was abducted?”

“When?”

“Really? Do you not read the newspapers? Watch television?”

“Just sports.”

She can’t believe it. He really doesn’t know. “Do you remember talking to a woman at the bar that night? Pretty? You may have disappeared with her for a little while?”

Finally, a flash of recognition. “That woman had her kid abducted?”

“Yes. Her son Midas. He was taken that night.”

“Holy shit. I have heard about this. The girls at work are always talking about it. Midas. Like the Greek god.” He puts his beer on the table and leans forward, laughing. “That is insane. Wait until I tell my friends.”

“Why?” Francie asks, conspiratorially. “What will your friends say?”

“They were the ones who dared me to do it.”

The amusement drains from her voice. “Do what?”

“Talk to her. Hit on her.” He appears dumbfounded. “There were these moms there, out back.”

“Yes, I remember them. She was with them.”

“My buddies said they’d give me twenty bucks if I hit on one of them. You know, as a joke. Like, who could get with a MILF? I took the bet. The first one I tried denied me before I could even offer the drink, but then she—this Winnie woman—she was into it.” He scoffs. “Really into it.”

Francie takes another sip of her drink. She needs to slow down. The wine is muddling her thoughts. “So you didn’t know her before that night?”

“No.” He smirks. “But I sure knew her by the end of it.”

She softens her voice and peers at him from under her eyelashes. “I’m intrigued.”

He’s quiet, studying her. He takes the hem of her dress between his fingers and folds it over itself, making her dress shorter, exposing her freshly shaven thighs, shiny with peach-scented lotion. “You sure you want to hear? It’s really crazy.”

She forces a flirtatious tone into her voice. “I like really crazy.”

“Oh yeah, Veronica? Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. Let’s say I have an incredibly good story for you.”

“Okay.”

“But you have to earn it.” His face is inches from hers. “Kiss me, and I’ll tell you.”

He leans in and roughly presses his lips against hers, pushing his tongue inside her mouth. He pulls away eventually, leaving a bitter hint of beer in her throat. “I bought her a drink.”

Francie raises her eyebrows and then frowns. “That’s not really crazy.”

“No, that’s just the beginning.” He traces Francie’s collar bone with his thumb. “You want more?”

She nods as he slides his hand under her dress, gently forcing her legs apart. He squeezes her inner thigh, his thumb teasing the edge of her underwear. “Go ahead,” she says. Her voice sounds hollow and unfamiliar.

“I asked her to come home with me.” One of the construction workers at the pool table glances at them as fake Archie takes Francie’s hand and places it in between his legs. Francie can feel he’s grown hard, and he guides her hand back and forth over the fabric of his jeans.

“And did she? Go home with you?” she asks. He kisses her. When he pulls away, her vision is hazy. The smell of beer on his breath. The bruising stubble on his chin. It’s not him she’s seeing—not this man she’s calling Archie—but the science teacher. Mr. Colburn.

“No, sadly. She said she had this kid to think about. She was upset about it.”

Francie spreads her fingers wider, feeling a sinking sensation as she continues to press down on him. She closes her eyes. “Winnie was upset?”

“Yeah.” He forces aside her panties and she feels her arms being pinned down, the scratch of the cheap blanket on top of Mr. Colburn’s bed. She feels the urge to scream, but she can’t. “She said all she wanted was to go back to my place. Climb on top of me.” Her hand moves faster over the fabric of his jeans. “That she hated being stuck at home. Having this baby to worry about all the time.”

She whispers into his ear. “She said that? That she hated having a baby?”

“Something like that. We locked ourselves in the bathroom. I couldn’t keep my hands off her body. It was amazing. I told her to at least stay a little longer. Let me get her another drink.”

“And?”

“She started yelling at me. Telling me she had to go take care of things. That she wasn’t like that. Something about being a good mother.” His breath grows shallow on Francie’s neck, and she feels his body beginning to tense. “I would have killed to take her home. To shove her down on my bed. To rip off that dress.” He removes his hand from between Francie’s legs and clutches her wrist, pressing her palm down, forcing it to move faster, his eyes closed, his mouth open. “Winnie. My god. She was so fucking hot.” Francie feels the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes as he moans, deep and low, the sound filling the room.

They’re watching. Both of the guys at the pool table. Standing motionless, their cues held like pitchforks at their sides. Archie doesn’t seem to notice she’s crying as he stares up at the ceiling, licking his lips, his head resting on the back of the couch.