Becoming Mona Lisa by Holden Robinson Read Free Book Online

and I kissed him back with all the fervor of a lonely wife. “Take me home,” I whispered, and he helped me into the truck.
    “Let's go,” he said, firing up the Jeep.
    The drive would have been uneventful, if Tom hadn't reached for my hand. He squeezed it, and I turned to look at him. His face was bathed in shadow, then light, then shadow, as we moved along the parkway. He was beautiful, my Tom. How had I forgotten?
    I laid my head against the glass and closed my eyes.
    “Thurman's out there,” Tom said, as we pulled into the driveway.
    “Gross,” I muttered, and Tom chuckled. “Go get the Jack. I'm gonna get the mail.”
    I calculated the distance to the mailbox against the height of my heels, factoring in my Blood Alcohol Level.
    “Okay. Be careful, Mona. You look a little unsteady.”
    “I am.” I was half in the bag, about to face the neighbor I detested, and whose penis I had seen less than twelve hours ago. Then I was going to sleep with my husband, whose penis I hadn't seen in years. “I'll be damned,” I whispered, steadying myself against the Jeep.
    “Evenin', Mrs. Siggs, you have too much to drink tonight?” Thurman hollered from across the street, and I felt tequila rushing through my colon.
    “Cold medicine,” I lied, my words sounding something like code messin'.
    “Hope you feel better,” Thurman said, and I forced a smile I was pretty sure looked like something reminiscent of a Fun House.
    “Thanks,” I said, slipping off my shoes, and toddling up the sidewalk. Tom was on the porch with the Jack Daniels.
    “I got some glasses,” Tom said, handing me a half-full glass of amber-colored liquid.
    I slammed mine as Tom watched curiously. I held my glass out and he refilled it.
    “I'm gonna hurt tomorrow,” I said, not caring if I did.
    “Me, too.”
    “I'd hurt worse if you'd left tonight,” I said, and Tom sighed.
    “So would I.”
    “To husbands who give second chances,” I said, raising my glass.
    “To beautiful wives,” Tom said, clinking his glass against mine.
    Tom took my hand and led me to an old wicker love seat. I sat beside him, and leaned against his side. “Here we are,” he whispered.
    “Yup. Here we are.”
    “Do you remember the last time we were truly happy, Mona?” my husband asked, and I shook my head.
    “No,” I admitted.
    “We were happy when we moved here,” Tom said.
    “Once the medics came and the funeral was over,” I said, and I heard my husband chuckle weakly.
    “That was a difficult day,” he said, and I sighed.
    “It was. I'd never lost someone I loved before Aunt Ida.”
    “It's very hard,” he whispered.
    “I don't want to lose you,” I said to my husband.
    “Then, don't,” he replied, his two lone words carrying a powerful meaning. I said nothing, which for me was some remarkable feat. The night was quiet, and we both stared into the darkness.
    “Mona?”
    “What?”
    “Just for tonight, can we pretend the last five years didn't happen?”
    “Okay,” I whispered.
    “Can I kiss you?” Tom asked, and I shuddered.
    “I'd like that.”
    He kissed me, softly at first, then with a passion that was almost frightening. His hands were in my hair, his lips on my neck, and suddenly I felt like someone had set my Victoria's Secret shit on fire. It was amazing, and I hated myself when I pulled away.
    “What's wrong?” he asked.
    “I don't know.”
    “You don't want to?” he asked, sounding so hurt I wanted to hurl myself into traffic, which made no sense, since there wasn't any.
    “I do want to, Tom.”
    “Mona, please. Please can we try?” I looked into my husband's eyes, and sighed.
    “Give me the Jack.”
    “Why?”
    “I need one more shot.”
    “You've already had too much,” he said, without a hint of condescension.
    “I know. I may need some help to forget.”
    “Here,” he said, handing me the bottle.
    I took an enormous gulp and felt the burn as the liquor slid into my stomach. I wasn't much of a drinker, and I