Live and Let Die by Bianca Sloane Read Free Book Online Page A

chicken, salad, green beans, mashed potatoes, a glass of iced tea with three ice cubes, a half a pack of Sweet ‘N Low, no lemon, buttered rolls and for dessert, a cup of coffee to go with their apple pie with one scoop of vanilla ice cream. Paula unhooked her frilly white apron from its hook in the laundry room and worked in silence for the next hour and a half, keeping a careful eye on the clock.
    Finally, Paula set the table for two, arranging each place setting symmetrically. Her last act was to drop a straw into Phillip’s glass of iced tea with practiced flourish. She glanced at the oven clock and went down the hall to the master bathroom to get ready. She held a damp washcloth to her face then pulled her hairbrush from the drawer and ran the stiff bristles along the sides and top of her head. She smoothed her hands down the front of her short-sleeved gray housedress and adjusted the seams of her stockings, which ran into sensible white flats.
    She heard Phillip’s car pull into the driveway. Paula threw her shoulders back and greeted her husband when he opened the front door. With a wide smile, she held out her arms, beckoning him.
    “Hello dear. How was your day?”
    Phillip smiled and gave his wife a chaste hug. “It was fine. And how was your day?”
    “Oh, fine. Let me take your jacket. Dinner is ready. Baked chicken, your favorite,” she sing-songed.
    “Mmmm, that sounds delicious. I’m starving.”
    As Philip waited, Paula took her husband’s blazer and hung it up in the bedroom closet, taking care not to let it press against any other clothing. Paula came back to escort Phillip to the small white wood dining room table and pulled out his chair. She smiled and picked up the white linen napkin next to his plate and tucked it over his blue striped tie and into the collar of his crisp blue shirt. With a small smile, she dished up dinner for them both. She picked up his glass of iced tea and brought the straw to his lips.
    “Tell me when,” she said as she held the straw. He took a few hearty sips then nodded his head, indicating he was through. With a contented smile, Paula put the glass down next to Phillip’s plate before she took her place at the table across from him.
    “Did you complete your errands today?” Phillip asked as he took a small bite of salad.
    “Yes. I got the money back from the teakettle that didn’t whistle. It’s in my purse.”
    “Go ahead and keep it,” Phillip said. “Add it to next week’s grocery allowance.”
    Paula smiled, pleased. “Oh, thank you dear.”
    Phillip gave his wife an adoring look. “I thought you would like that.”
    The two continued dinner in silence, each concentrating on their food and little else. When Phillip was done, he cleared his throat and Paula put down her fork, though her plate was half-full. Paula stood and cleared both of their dishes, throwing all the food down the garbage disposal. Phillip didn’t like leftovers—unless it was dessert—preferring a freshly prepared meal each day. She brought out two plates of homemade apple pie that she’d made that morning, one scoop of vanilla ice cream apiece.
    She proudly placed her husband’s apple pie in front of him and went to pick up his fork to feed him his first bite when he placed his hand over hers.
    “Paula.”
    “Yes, dear?”
    “Paula, what have you forgotten?”
    Paula looked over the table, searching for the offense. Her face fell as she realized. “The coffee,” she whispered. “I forgot the coffee.”
    Paula dropped to her knees, her breath coming in short bursts before the floodgates opened and she sobbed, unable to stop. She clutched the space between the tops of her husband’s brown loafers and the hem of his blue slacks.
    “Oh, please, please forgive me. You know I only want to please you,” she cried.
    With gentle force, Phillip placed his hands underneath Paula’s armpits and brought her to her feet. “Now, now. I guess the errands were too much for you.