The Sound of Broken Ribs(53)
Lei felt as if she were being watched. She opened her eyes and looked to her right. She was in a window seat without anyone in the aisle seat. The two old women in the center aisle were asleep, one snoring softly while the other dozed, peacefully drooling on one of her shoulder pads.
A boy of maybe ten was leaning out into view from the window seat opposite hers. Brown hair cut into a bowl. Bright eyes so shockingly blue that Lei could see them all the way across the cabin. His left forearm was cocooned inside a blue cast with black signatures covering nearly every inch of available space. Someone had drawn a red circle and filled it in all except for a star. Lei thought she recognized the emblem. Had something to do with a popular super hero. His eyes were locked on Lei’s prosthetic in a mixture of wonder and solidarity. She hefted the fake arm and waved it at him. He snapped back and out of sight.
“You okay?” asked a groggy female voice. Because of the two old women, Lei couldn’t see who was sitting next to the boy, but assumed it was his mother, assumed the voice she heard was Mom asking if Son was all right.
The boy didn’t answer. Or, if he did, he did it so quietly that Lei couldn’t hear him. He probably nodded his head or something. When scared, most children spoke with body language instead of words.
Lei reached for her purse in the seat beside her and pulled out her phone. She had the device in Airplane Mode, but she should still be able to play one of the umpteen million variations of the candy-themed puzzle game she enjoyed so much. She held the phone in her right hand and used the thumb of that same hand to swipe and play.
She noted the time on her phone: 8:45. It would be three hours earlier in California. Lei wondered if Jack had been able to fall asleep. Lei had hated to threaten the woman, but the truth of the matter was, she didn’t want to go about this alone. She didn’t want to drag someone she cared about into it, either, so she’d left Harry at home. He’d never suspect that his wife was hopping across country to…
Well, to do what, Lei?
She had yet to figure that part out. Assuming she ever met Belinda Walsh face to face, Lei didn’t expect the meeting would go merrily. She saw delicious tortures in her mind, but thinking of such things made her feel dirty, tainted in some way. Lei wasn’t even entirely sure the police would extradite Belinda from the west coast to Ohio. They should, but she wasn’t sure. The last thing she wanted was for Belinda to be arrested and then released without consequence. And if Lei lost her again…
Well, she didn’t want to think about that.
Now, for whatever reason, she was thinking about Harry. The thought most present in her mind was whether or not she was somehow betraying his trust by looking for Belinda. He’d told her on numerous occasions to let the cops handle the situation. This advice soon morphed from suggestion to demand. Harry wasn’t the kind to insist Lei do anything; he didn’t have it in him to even suffer the idea of upsetting her, a trait she sometimes loathed in him. He wasn’t a pushover, but he wasn’t as forceful and stubborn as she was. They balanced each other in that way. Her—impulsive and chaotic. Him—thoughtful and organized. Still, she saw parts of her in him, and vice versa. When writing, she was as organized, if not more so, as her husband. And when it was hockey season, Harry was as chaotic as any crazed sports fan. But that was love. Seeing the differences and loving the faults. Anybody could be attracted to a sexy body. But if you could grow to appreciate the bumps and scratches and bruises, you might have a chance at more than just passing affection.
She recalled the heat and power of the first time they made love after the accident.
Her first real night without any immediate pain, Lei, wearing only a thin pink negligee, brought Harry, who was sitting in his favorite chair watching Better Call Saul, a glass of wine. She lay her own glass on the foldable table he kept next to his chair, the one she always asked him to get rid of because it made the living room look “like the inside of a mobile home.” He would always remind her that he was raised in a trailer park and turned out just fine. It was a battle Lei would never win.
Keeping steady with her good leg—the right one—she threw her bad leg over his lap and straddled him. Not being a dumb man, Harry used the remote to kill the television. He gripped her hips and squeezed just hard enough—a grip that said, “I know what you want and I can’t wait to give it to you.”
She reached down and stroked herself between her and his jeans. In seconds, she’d soaked the denim.
He watched her. He liked to watch, and she got off on being watched. She bucked atop him, her orgasm quick and powerful, like a depth charge. Her muscles became loose and warm. Endorphins flooded her system. She felt as if she’d just finished running.
Harry’s need was as insistent as hers. Instead of making her leave his lap for even a second, he unzipped, undid the button, and whipped himself out. She impaled herself.
They fucked. It was hard and emotionless and eager and urgent and explosive. When he came, Lei could feel his semen inside her like a pinball striking bumpers. He bent almost in half, sandwiching her between his torso and his lap, clutched her about the shoulders as his spasms filled her.
Then he carried her to the bedroom, where they made love again. This time, it was tender and slow and kind and warm, and her heart was full to bursting with love for her man.
Later, while they lay beside one another, hot and sticky and desperately in need of a shower but not wanting to leave each other’s sides, Lei, her voice not much more than a whisper, said, “Thank you.”