The Wrong Sister Read Online Free PDF Page A

forefinger without doing anything more. She nodded while closing her eyes and letting his lips touch hers. She forgot her grief in his lovemaking, but only temporarily.
    Lying together, quiet, half dressed on the floor of their living room, she finally lifted her head. She was so exhausted, it hurt to gasp the air into her lungs. Her eyes were dry and swollen. “How do we tell our children?”
    He shook his head. Clearly, he had no answers for the impossible situation he was putting her through. He swallowed and said softly, “That’s why I was staring at the gun. It’s why—”
    “NO!” she interrupted him. “No. Stop it. Promise me. No matter what, you will never talk about that or threaten to do that again.”
    He nodded slowly. “All right. I promise you, Tracy.”
    “We need to tell them soon.” Soon, he would be gone. In prison, or in custody, or incarcerated or whatever the hell you called it. How should she know? She never committed a crime. She didn’t even knew anyone who had done time in prison.
    Now she was married to a potentially convicted felon.
    The ramifications were only just starting to unfold, and no doubt, would continue to increase as the days crept by. There was the family to tell and friends, who would be shocked, appalled and dismayed. There were the parents of friends and the children’s teachers to tell. And their children. They had to immediately get their affairs perfectly in order. Whatever was left of them.
    His mouth yet again touched the top of her head. She could feel his warm breath as he pressed a kiss on her. “I’m sorry. Forever, Tracy, I’m sorry. I love you so much. Never, in the worst days to come, never doubt that. I never wanted to hurt you.”
    They were pretty words, but not capable of helping her in the ensuing months.
    ****
    Donny nudged at Vickie’s arm. She was lying face down on their unmade bed. It was so destroyed, half the covers were undone from the mattress, and bare where she lay with her face turned to the side, a puddle of spittle pooling under her chin.
    “Vickie.” He nudged her harder. She groaned before her eyes finally started to flutter open. He grew impatient and grabbed the glass she left on the nightstand. Water? Vodka? Who the hell cared? He dumped it over her head.
    She shrieked and sat up, blinking furiously. Her eyes didn’t focus on him because she was still drunk. Her head lolled back and forth while he stared at her. His heart froze in anger so deep, he had to flex and unflex his fingers to keep from making fists. Fists that he wanted to do bad things with.
    How? How could he, Donny Lindstrom, a nice, funny, well-liked guy, get stressed to the point of almost wishing ill for his own wife?
    He stared at Vickie Moore tonight. She wore plum-colored lingerie. She always wore sexy bras and seductive get-ups to bed. It was now crooked with half of her left breast falling out. She had large breasts with big, pink nipples. The drink he poured on her splashed her face, upper chest and one boob. A year ago, he might have leaned over and licked it off. Now, he wanted nothing more than to shower. The lacy part of her get-up was stuck in the backside of her thong. Her mouth was smeared with lipstick. But it was her eyes he detested most: bloodshot and black-rimmed with slept-in makeup. It was her glazed, drunken eyes that stopped her from being the wife he desired any longer. That was ironic, since there was no one more beautiful than Vickie. And no one could deny it. She had a fun, flighty, flirty personality. She sucked him off on their second date in a way he never experienced before. It was all sex, all the time for the first few weeks, quite literally, rock-your-world sex. He’d never gotten off so often or so intensely as he did with Vickie. He fell quick and hard into what he thought was love and lust and adoration. Her smile made him feel like he stood taller. There was something almost reverent in how she could make a man feel.
    He was