The Blue Journal by L.T. Graham Page B

child, Thomas. A selfish, middle-aged, alcoholic child. You’re shoving your peas underneath your mashed potatoes and you actually believe you’re fooling someone.” She stood again. “Last night you told me you worked late, but I called your office just after four and they told me you’d already left for the day.” She glared at him and waited, as if that statement was some sort of question.
    â€œI had a meeting outside the office. Is that so unusual?”
    She responded with a disgusted look. “It’s not just that you lie to me, it’s that you don’t even make an effort to sound convincing.” She looked around for a moment, as if she might find an answer written on one of the walls in their bedroom. When she turned back to him she said, “Get the hell out of here. I’m truly sorry Thomas, but I can’t stand the sight of you tonight.”
    He sat there for a moment, wishing there was something to say that might matter, knowing there was not. Then he stood up and left without another word.
    Thomas Colello trudged into the den and readied himself for another night sleeping alone, which was fine with him, especially tonight. He switched on the television and turned to the news, waiting. It was the lead story, being covered by a young woman standing in front of Darien Town Hall. She reported what Colello already knew—a local woman had been found dead of a gunshot wound in her own home. The woman had been identified as Elizabeth Knoebel.
    He stood transfixed as the reporter described the preliminary details obtained from the local police.
    Wife of a prominent surgeon. Too early to name any suspects. No murder weapon found.
    Colello shuddered as if an arctic breeze had just blown through the room. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, he was only capable of feeling the chill that engulfed him as he thought about Elizabeth.
    What was I doing ? he asked himself.
    Was he really that vain? Yes , he admitted. And that stupid. He fell for her like a punch-drunk heavyweight walking into a left hook. He never saw it coming until he was stretched out on the canvas.
    But how could he have known what she was up to? I couldn’t , he told himself, and yet he felt he should have. He should have at least suspected something.
    After all, why would this gorgeous, voluptuous woman come on to him the way she did?
    He had been with different women over the years, beautiful women, exciting women—but none of them were like Elizabeth. He could say she seduced him, but seduced wasn’t a strong enough word. It was more like she hunted him down and captured him.
    He had been with passionate women before, but they didn’t know what Elizabeth knew. They didn’t understand what Elizabeth understood.
    He had made love to women who delighted in sex, who reveled in the intimacy and the pleasure, but they didn’t have the intuition about men that Elizabeth had. She was willing to be everything. Yes, that was it. She was willing to be everything a woman could be to a man.
    He had no way of knowing she was Stanley Knoebel’s wife. They had been together several times before she told him, and he was stunned at the absolute delight she took in revealing the truth. He could still envision her face and the sense of joy she had in explaining who she was and what she was about. It was only at that moment he began to understand her game, but it was too late. What was he supposed to do? Confess to his wife? Confront Stanley? Make an announcement in Dr. Conway’s group?
    No, it was already too late for any of that, and Elizabeth knew it. Instead she teased him, used him, and threw him away.
    And the maddening part, the part he could not bring himself to deal with, was that even after he understood her sick game, he still wanted her, needed her, ached for her.
    He shook his head as he stared at the television screen, wondering if Fran had heard what he already