Passion radiated between them. Veronica’s face, flushed and warm, turned up toward the ceiling back toward the wall behind her. Her hands slid across his back, up his neck. Her fingers tangling his hair. His tongue trailing down her side, punctuated by kisses along the way. Reaching further into her as he worked his way down.
Coldness spread across Veronica’s pleasure, freezing the moment.
“You didn’t take it off,” Veronica’s voice cut through the air.
Looking up no longer did Brody see the mountains of her breasts or the alluring track of her neck. Instead he saw Veronica’s eyes boring into him. Her mouth still slack, but no longer from his fingers exploring her. Her nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes. His fingers stopped their expedition as the metal of his ring burned around his ring finger.
He felt her slide away from him. Her wetness already drying in the cold air. Brody rested his chin on her thigh, right above her knee. Her right leg was already pulled into her chest. Now sitting up, she perched herself. Looking down at him, her head stacked on top of her hands, her hands covering her knee, she was waiting for something.
The weight of the double standards bore down against her. For a moment she had a hard time breathing as it stirred inside her like thick molasses. Veronica was split. Imperfectly divided between happiness and her fears and doubts. Skin cut by metal. Metal dividing a finger. If the ring left, would the finger too have to go?
“Please,” he whispered into her skin.
Brody’s voice radiated throughout her bones. Groveling his way in murmured pleadings and kisses, Brody carried himself back up the curves of Veronica’s body. Almost clinging to her, his left leg leaning into her right. His right leg hooked around her back, her butt nestled against it. His right arm stretched across her back, fingering the base of her hair, pulling her into him. Chest to chest, the space between them hot and trapped. He nuzzled his face in her hair.
Veronica felt him pressing into her. As if she could absorb him and his sorrow. The space between them closing. The air being forced from their small space. Brody’s lips brushed against her neck. His hands blindly finding each other behind Veronica’s back. The ring hesitated before sliding off his finger. His beard tickling her as his mouth engulfed her throat. Leaning forward leaving his sin on the window sill.
She softened into him. Her right leg opening, allowing him deeper into her space. The moon and the stars lit up through beams of connected light radiating through her as he swam through her forcefield. His eyes, bright bursts of clouds surrounding a black hole. She felt the deepest purple come to life, seeping through the wetness of his eyes.
He did need her. This was his universe where he was home.
They melded together, dissipating as individuals, becoming one heart beat, one breath.
She wanted one life, not two. Even if it wouldn’t last forever, she had found her forever home in him, in this moment.
Eventually it ended, for both of them. Their unison fractured returning them to two individuals united by webs of intimate conversations; heartstrings outlined by hand touches, trinkets, and tiny kisses; and what an unknowing observer would call love.
Veronica felt the pull of her heart through her oversized, knit sweater. One that Brody had bought for her after a weekend away. Their friend had gotten one for herself, and all the women on the trip were taken by it including Brody’s wife. No one had been more enamored by it than Veronica, so he rigged their Secret Santa and bought one for her and one for his wife.
Looking beyond Brody, standing outside her door, the weather was already beginning to break. Storms were projected for the next few days. At least the thunder would keep her company.
Brody left, already feeling like he had left a piece of him behind.
He had been home a forty-five minutes, maybe an hour when he realized what he had actually left behind was his wedding band. His wife had already run out to pick up a few last minute things for dinner. She was waiting for him to get home. Their son had just laid down for a nap. They had basically passed each other in the hallway. At least that’s what it felt like. She would be home any minute from the store. Brody dashed upstairs and showered quickly. Unable to find his usual longue wear pants, the ones his wife teased made him look like an old school delivery person, Brody threw on the fancy pajamas his wife had gifted him for their anniversary. It was common practice for him to take his ring off before his nighttime shower and keep it off until morning.
Veronica texted him. Unusual when she knows his wife is home, or at least supposed to be. It’s a picture of food, her favorite actually. An order of spicy nuggets, at least knowing her they are, a small crispy BLT sandwich, a massive order of fries, and a water. In the background it looks like an iced coffee drink. The only message is a series of emojis: the cat with heart eyes, a white heart, and the container of fries. He hears his wife pulling up and puts his phone away without a response.
The rest of the night passes quietly. They eat, they make small talk, his wife tucks their son in a little earlier than normal. She puts on whatever sports game she can find, and starts to play her own game with his balls. It’s been a while since her mouth was on him, and it’s different from Veronica, but it’s still good. They have sex, and it’s nice. It’s better than he remembers it to be, but nothing like earlier in the day. When he finishes, it’s Veronica that he sees.
His wife dismounts him, and getting her things together, smiles as she unabashedly parades her naked self upstairs. It’s an attractive quality he forgot his wife had. Brody had forgotten a lot about his wife it seemed. A heavy weight rose in his chest, creating a slow pull into his gut. It was clawing and uncomfortable.
Before Brody could wallow too long his wife called down to him. It took him a moment to collect himself, but she was wondering if he had any more clothes for the wash. It seemed their passion had spilled out and she didn’t want stains to set in. He said he would do it. As he went upstairs to collect the basket, the long weighted feeling of guilt loosened a little. Like phlegm.
Brody threw the clothes into the washer, surprised that his longue pants were there. He could have sworn they had just been washed. He had been distracted lately. Veronica. . . Brody cleared his throat and resumed his chore. His hand looked especially empty without the thick band covering his ring finger. He would have to get it from her first thing in the morning. It was Saturday. She would be up early, lounging like a cat in her favorite arm chair by the window. Wearing nothing but a blanket and a book. Brody groaned. He wanted her, he loved her, but fresh in the memories of his wife, he didn’t feel as harshly about Evelyn as he had previously.
By the time Brody made it upstairs, the laundry started, his wife was dead asleep. He took some time alone in their living room, before giving up on whatever show had been playing and heading to bed. Tomorrow would be a fresh start.
Brody had left right before the ass crack of dawn. He was going to the bagel store by Veronica’s house, after he got his ring back, and right home to surprise his family with fresh bagels and all the fixings. He couldn’t just say he needed his ring. It would crush Veronica. He would tell her the truth, a mostly truth. He was getting bagels and he did want her. He always wanted to see her, touch her, be with her in every way. It’s just this time, he also needed his ring. He had never lied to her, and Brody sure as shit wasn’t going to start now. He just didn’t want to hurt her either. Especially after what happened yesterday, with the ring. His ring. His wedding band.
If he everything went as planned, he would be back home before anyone was up. His wife and son were usually out of bed and functional by 8:00 AM. It was possible. It was still early. Brody slid his key out of his wallet and pushed it through the hole. It jangled for a second, like it always did, and then the door opened. It was quiet. Which wasn’t uncommon at Veronica’s save her voice, her laughter, her moans filling up the townhouse. There was nothing. Maybe she was still asleep. That would be a god-send of sorts. He slid off his sneakers and headed into her house.
Quietly, but not sneakily per se, Brody made his way to her bedroom. Neither her nor his ring were there. Brody’s muscles stiffened. He stopped, listening, straining for any type of sound from her. He left her loft and made his way back toward the front hallway. He stepped into the living room space, nothing seemed wrong, but something wasn’t right either. Brody froze when he walked into the study, the small chunk of space she had made into her own reading nook.
Veronica was slumped over the chair. A book discarded on the floor, her hand suspended inches above it. The wrappers from last night were still out on the table in front of her. Thinking she was choking, Brody ran over his hands grabbing her shoulders and shaking them. He checked her missing pulse. He kissed her forehead as he let her go.
Rushing to the bathroom, Brody barely made it into the bowl. Bile wrenching up and burning his throat. He flushed, watching his life go down the drain with it. A voice whispered in the back of his mind. Two voices, actually, that of his wife and his love. Discussing podcasts and all those killers who almost got away. Worse, those innocent lovers who called the police and ended up labeled guiltier than sin. Panic consumed Brody’s body. His hands started trembling worse than the shock of Veronica, dead. in her favorite chair. with her favorite food.
Brody’s body took over as his mind went blank. He shouldn’t be here. Simple, he wasn’t. He began beelining for the front door. Already the key tight in his grip. Re-locking the door from the outside he kept his eyes glued to his car. 10 feet, 7 feet, 5 feet, 3 feet, in the car, down the block into the parking lot of the bagel store. A massive garbage can stuffed almost to the brink of overflowing sat outside the building. Even if he had been there previously, he wouldn’t have a key to get in. The key burning against his palm as he dropped it into the trashcan abyss. Fuck, he thought. His hand, it was empty.
He didn’t have his wedding ring.
An old woman coughed behind him. Her walked providing her a buffer from obstacles around her. She looked at Brody and then at the heavy glass door to the bagel store. Brody smiled, his skin felt taught against his bones. He was sure his eyes were bugging out from his skull. He opened the door and followed the old woman in.
While his outsides were still, his brain was still in overdrive over his ring, his dead girlfriend, his wife waiting at home for him. He left the bagel store with two dozen bagels; five pounds of assorted cream cheeses, three sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches; three bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches; and one Taylor ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches. He couldn’t remember who liked what. Was it Veronica that loved bacon or was it Taylor ham? His wife hated one of them. His son would eat anything. His son wasn’t the problem.
His son. Brody thought of his son. How he had met Veronica over the years at various parties. He loved her. Not the way Brody did, but enough that this would destroy his son. Especially if Brody went down for her murder. He needed to focus. Throwing at least one, maybe two, hundred dollar bills at the register, he assembled his brown paper bags and fumbled his way back to his car.
Brody shuffled the bags around until they stayed sitting upright. He didn’t have a key to Veronica’s apartment. Therefore he couldn’t have been in it this morning. He did have a slew of texts, most of them innocuous. They had to be. Not only was Brody married to Evelyn, his wife, but they were all in the same friend group. Veronica had been part of the group before Brody had met Evelyn. They had history. It made sense that they had their own little jokes and would talk. It had never bothered his wife before they were married, it didn’t bother her after.
Putting his car on autopilot, Brody read through as many texts as he could stomach from Veronica. He had gone back at least two months while driving – most of the their texts were in group chat with their friends. His heart filled and broke with almost all of them. “Pretty kitty – needs a home?!” He had texted her back, “we are a no pet house, and you’re allergic.” He had gone to her house that afternoon. They played cat and mouse. He played with her kitty until she couldn’t take it anymore. Each moment felt like an eternity in heaven.
There were a few he knew existed that shouldn’t. He was going to have to turn off the highway soon. He wouldn’t be able to keep reading. He would have to look for it later. Putting his phone down, Brody lightly tapped on the break, and took control over his vehicle. The sun was still low, but above his house. He thought of his son running into his legs as he walked through the door. Brody felt his face open up. He just had to concentrate on his son.
He did. Brody walked into his house, his arms full, and was met with a giggling toddler gunning for him. His wife joined in, her laugh sounded light and free. He wanted to get lost in it. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten how magical it sounded.
They had breakfast. Evelyn heated up her Taylor ham, egg, and cheese; his sausage, egg, and cheese; and a plain bagel for their son. She laughed again as she handed him the other sandwiches. He wanted to burry himself in her laugh. And he would, Brody decided cramming all the bagels into the freezer and fridge, during their son’s nap time he would take his wife to bed and do all the things he had been doing to someone else to her. He forgot that there was something at the library. He offered to go with them, but Evelyn had only RSVPed for two. She had thought he had something, “next time,” she said.
He came back up from the basement where the access bagels went to the freezer, just in time to kiss them goodbye. Once they were out of the driveway, Brody picked up his phone for the first time since he had been home. He went to comb through the texts from Veronica. Scrub them for anything that might be “too much.” They were gone. All of their messages were gone. They still had group texts, but their messages were gone. Shit, Brody thought. Shit, shit, shit.
It didn’t mean anything. She choked on her dinner. There was no other explanation. Text history or not, affair or not. There was no way he had anything to do with a choking incident. He just had to relax. He didn’t do anything wrong. It would all be fine, it had to be.
Brody went back to the bagel store. It had been a month since he was there last. He went overboard, but not like the last time. Evelyn had RSVPed for three at the library event. They would all be going after breakfast. Falling in love with his wife again had been easy. He just had to pay attention to her, talk to her, engage with her. She was perfect. Not that Veronica hadn’t been amazing in her own right, but she was a distraction. A mistake. And she was in the past.
There had been a discovery, an investigation. The media was reporting it as a suicide that had put police on a goose chase for a few weeks. She was laid to rest in a cemetery, under a big tree, across from a pond. Not that sustainable burial she had wanted, but what she didn’t know. Their friends had come together, closer than before. Evelyn had stepped up, connecting with everyone on a deeper level. Being grace in a time of hurt. She was everything they needed. She was everything he needed.
He was home. Breakfast was eaten. Evelyn was upstairs getting their son ready for activity time. There was a knock on the door. Unexpected, but not unheard of. Brody walked over, surprised to see two officers when he opened the door.
“Brody Quint?”
“Yes,” Brody said slowly.
“You’re being arrested for the murder of Veronica Lewin.”
“Murder? But it was suicide. They said it was -”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.You have the right to an attorney.”
Brody turned around as they placed the handcuffs on him. Evelyn walked down the stairs, telling their son to stay put. The second officer approached her. “Ma’am, Mr. Quint is under arrest. You need to stay back.”
Evelyn stopped in her tracks. As the officer turned back, now facing Brody, she looked at her husband. Her head shaking slightly. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. She winked before turning toward her purse, “I’ll call an attorney.” Brody could make out the word she had repeated twice: CHEATER.
Brody sat waiting for his attorney to come back into the room. It didn’t look good, footage from Veronica’s doorbell camera of him entering Veronica’s home then leaving 15 minutes later. There was a sworn affidavit from his wife saying she and her son were home waiting for him – he had forgotten something and ran back out – and that he had done the laundry when he came back. His wedding ring at the crime scene. Footage of him returning to Veronica’s house the next morning. The pieces snapped together clearly enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to understand. His stomach dropped like a slow, heavy glob of molasses, bringing with it an unswallowable lump in his throat. His wife had fucked him that night, that was clear. Now he had an indeterminate amount of time to think about what he had done.