3
The pleasant effect of the champagne, and her illicit lovemaking, still lingering, Amy pulled onto the freeway linking the city's downtown to her quiet, suburban home. Setting the cruise control, she felt a swell of contentment. How many had what she had? A wealthy lover who lavished her with affection, and money; a magnificent home, purchased with that money; and a husband who was serious, responsible, and not too demanding in bed. The excitement, affluence, and stability that all these things brought made her a happy woman indeed. In fact, it often seemed to Amy, that a woman couldn't be happy without them.
Franklin had, in particular, been a blessing. She allowed her mind to drift to the beginning of their affair, a favorite memory. She was an eighteen-year old freshman at Whitmore College then, almost eight years ago, and her boyfriend at the time was Adam Wainwright, Franklin's son. And though Adam had professed his love for her repeatedly during their one-year relationship, he was not confident enough of that love to pit it against his mother's distaste for her.
And so, on a rainy Friday night, Adam had told Amy that he didn't want to see her anymore. It had become too difficult, Adam said sheepishly, to deal with his mother's dislike of her. Amy was shocked, and hurt. And she was angry. She raged at Rachel Wainwright's interference, furious that Rachel would suffer no consequences. Amy realized, as does everyone who has had a broken heart, that all things are permitted in matters of love - those who are cruel and dishonest are not bound by any law, or punished by any judge.
But as the days passed, Amy wondered why there couldn't be consequences for Mrs. Wainwright. What would happen, for instance, if Rachel were to suffer the same hurt as Amy? If Mr. Wainwright were torn away from Rachel as Adam had been from Amy? Why, nothing would happen, Amy realized, other than the upset that would race through the Wainwright family. All it would take, she mused, would be a seduction of Mr. Wainwright, and a means of making the dalliance known to Rachel and Adam.
Amy's thoughts frightened, and fascinated, her - it would be a horrible thing to do, wouldn't it? But what Rachel, and Adam, had done was horrible, too. And they would pay no penalty for their mistreatment of her - unless, that is, someone made them.
And it was for that reason Amy stood at the front door of the Wainwright residence on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Amy paused a moment before ringing the bell, her heart pounding, her tiny palms moist. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her finger to the doorbell.
"Hello, Mr. Wainwright, how are you?" she asked as Franklin appeared at the door. She hoped he hadn't noticed the tremble in her voice.
"Amy?" he replied, staring at her uncertainly. She could tell he was trying to determine the reason for her visit. "Well, this is a surprise. How are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks," she answered. Amy nodded her head, a little too emphatically, but she wanted to ease his concern that she was there to start screaming at Adam, or in his son's absence, at him. "I actually came by to pick up something I left in Adam's room. Would it be o.k. to go and grab it?"
"Well, sure. Come on in," he smiled, apparently relieved that there would be no shouting.
Amy tentatively stepped through the door, passed Franklin, and entered the foyer.
"Go right ahead, Amy," he motioned in the direction of Adam's room. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything." And with that, he plopped himself onto the sprawling leather couch, and resumed reading his newspaper.
"Um, Mr. Wainwright?" Amy said meekly. "I'd feel better if you would come with me."
Franklin looked up from his paper, perplexed.
"I just don't want anyone to think that I'm taking anything that's not mine," she started.
"Amy, I really don't think that's necessary - "
"I would feel a lot better if you did," she interrupted, hoping that he couldn't detect the trace of anxiousness in her voice. "I mean, with the way things ended with Adam and me, I just don't want there to be any doubt."
"Well, o.k.," he sighed, lifting himself from the sofa. "But, really, Amy - "
"I know, and I don't mean to be weird, but I would really just feel better about it." With Franklin in tow, she gave a quiet a sigh of relief, and walked down the long hall to Adam's bedroom. She glanced back at him a couple of times, hoping to catch him looking at her inappropriately, but his attention remained fixed on the newspaper he had toted with him.
Amy tried to suppress her worry. What if he got angry, or worse, didn't find her attractive? Franklin wasn't a high school boy, a pliable little thing desperate to be with a girl just because she was a girl. He was older, successful - and probably had turned down women whose beauty would humble her own. Why would he jeopardize his marriage, as rotten as it probably was, or his stature, just for her?
She walked quickly into Adam's room, almost hoping that Franklin would change his mind and return to the living room. But he didn't, so she swallowed hard, went to Adam's closet, and pulled open the door. Reaching to the back, beyond several pairs of battered gym shoes and a pile of crumpled laundry, Amy extracted a medium-sized, brown cardboard box.
