The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress by Ariel Lawhon Read Free Book Online

to the lash of tree branches against the metal roof. A summer storm had blown in during the night. It was a sudden, full sort of wakefulness that dragged her from sleep, and she sat up, grasping at the edges of a dream she couldn’t quite remember. After a moment, she slipped from bed and padded down the stairs in her bare feet to rummage in the kitchen for a tin of coffee. She stood at the window, arms crossed, watching gray water slap across the pier. The lake looked furious. As the smell of coffee started to warm the air, she heard a knock at the kitchen door. Fred Kahler, crouched on the stoop, soaked to the skin. Hands cupped to his face, he peered in the window.
    Stella wore nothing but a cotton nightgown frayed thin from use.
    They realized this at the same time. Fred was about to leave when she held up one finger. Wait , she mouthed, and ran back up the stairs, face crimson.
    Her dressing gown hung on the bathroom door, and though she wouldn’t normally wear it in front of a man other than her husband, Stella didn’t have time to get dressed. On her way out of the room, she grabbed a towel and slipped on a pair of socks.
    Fred stared at his feet when she opened the door. “I’m so sorry. I—”
    “Come in.”
    He ducked inside, streams of water running from him in at least four different places, and offered her a grateful smile. Stella handed him the towel, and he wrung himself out while standing on it.
    “Coffee?”
    The puddle by his feet crept toward the potted fern. Fred stared atthe trail of water. She could tell he was about to politely refuse. And suddenly the kitchen felt dark and lonely, so she said, “Just drop your jacket on the floor. It’s only water.” Stella picked two cups from the cabinet and poured him some coffee.
    Fred scooted across the floor with the towel beneath his feet, trying not to make a bigger mess. It was considerate. And funny. She laughed. “Cream or sugar?”
    “Black.” He took a gulp of the hot liquid and sank into a chair with a sigh. He stared at her sock-clad toes.
    “Cold feet,” she said.
    Her feet were fine, actually. She’d thrown them on because there was, by and large, nothing sexy about socks. And juvenile as it may be, Stella felt the need to counteract the sight he’d glimpsed through the window. She searched the icebox for milk and the cupboard for sugar. After Fred drove Joe to the train station on Monday, Joe had told him to stay behind. Fred had spent most of the week in his apartment behind the garage or tinkering with the car. The consequences of the situation were awkward, however. It had been years since Stella had been alone with another man.
    She stared at the coffee grains floating at the top of her cup. “Do you think he took the night train?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “He didn’t tell you what time he’d come back?” She looked over the rim of her cup at Fred.
    “No.”
    “Did he say anything,” Stella balled her fist and pointed to it for emphasis—“you know, about what happened?”
    He inspected the bottom of his cup. “I like you far too much to repeat what he said, ma’am.”
    Stella nodded and rubbed her eyes. They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee and watching the downpour. When the minutes stretched long and Fred had drained his cup, he looked at the clock over the stove.
    “The next train will be pulling up any minute,” he said. “I’d better get going. Just in case.”
    “Probably best.” Stella forced a smile. “We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
    Fred set his cap on his head and tapped the brim as he walked out the door. “Back in a few.”
    Stella finished off the pot of coffee but didn’t make another. Joe wouldn’t be on that train. Not today or tomorrow—or the next day, for that matter. She was certain of it. This was her punishment for what she’d done.
    RITZI stood in William Klein’s office like a beggar. The Schubert Association had not officially opened for business,