Lacy's End by Victoria Schwimley Page B

claimed it gave him a tough look. His body, once hard and lean, had gone a bit soft from lack of exercise and all the alcohol he consumed. His green eyes were distant and mean.
    Brenda stood and put her arms around her husband’s neck, turned on the sexy look she always used when trying to play him. “We both get what we want,” she said. “I get out of the house, and you get a wife who gives to the community, which makes you look good. I see re-election down the road.”
    Peter looked down at his wife. She was still beautiful, even after all these years—despite the black and blue marks under her eyes. “All right, you win,” Peter said.
    Brenda jumped with glee, plastering kisses on his mouth and neck. “Thank you so much, Peter. You won’t be sorry.”
    He couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to see a spark of joy in her. “Just remember, the housework doesn’t slip, and Lacy’s and my needs are met.”
    She nodded. “Of course.”
    He slipped his hand down her backside, resting on her buttock. He swatted her. She flinched but mustered a smile. “Do you like that?” he asked. She said nothing. His hand journeyed toward the front of her robe, brushing past the pocket that held the card in it. She stilled, praying he wouldn’t feel it. His hand continued past it, found the opening and pulled the robe open roughly. She was naked underneath, except for the bandage covering her ribs, and she could feel his response.
    “Where’s Lacy?” he asked.
    “She ran out. We had an argument.”
    “Good.”
    He pushed her down on the floor. “Not here, Peter. What if Lacy comes back?”
    He ignored her, pushing her roughly onto her back. Her head hit the floor as she went down. She tried hard not to cry out in pain. Her cries would only intensify his need. He mounted her, pushing himself roughly inside. She bit her lip, wincing with each thrust until finally he had finished.
    She sighed in relief when he got off her and strode back to the bedroom. She lay there for a few moments, thinking to herself. She didn’t even bother to pull the robe closed. So what if Lacy came home. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what went on between them.
    She closed her eyes against the pain. It wasn’t just submitting to Peter’s violence that hurt so much; she had grown accustomed to that. It was the humiliation and the fact that she had never known the gentleness of a caring man. She let her mind take her away from the pain. What would it be like to have a tender lover? Perhaps one who would arouse her to places Peter’s greed could not. If she tried real hard, maybe she could feel her lover’s kiss. She let her hands wander, finding the spot that gave her pleasure. In a rush of fury, she finished what her husband hadn’t.
    ***
    On the bluff overlooking the vast desert, Lacy stood perched on the edge of danger, the night air riffling her hair, whipping it fiercely around her face. Tears streamed out her eyes and down her cheeks, making it difficult for her to see.
    Lacy had lived in this harsh desert all her life. She was used to the ravages of the climate. Once, when she was three, the wind had blown so hard it had nearly knocked her on her butt. Her mother had laughed nervously, but Lacy could tell she had been scared. After that, Brenda always held her daughter’s hand when they walked near the bluff.
    Her mother wasn’t here now, though. She could not shield her from danger, could not stop the thoughts racing through Lacy’s mind.
    She gripped the railing with one hand while testing the breeze with the other. “If I just let go it will all come to an end.” She spoke the words aloud, even though there wasn’t a soul around for miles. Even if there had been, the night’s cover would have hidden her actions, the wind would have carried her words into the air.
    Would they notice her gone? Would the students in her school mourn her and cry, as they had last spring when Jacob Walters broke his neck in the football game