BY JULIE BOUCHER
Copyright is held by the author.
SANDRA CHECKED her appearance in the bedroom mirror for the third time. She adjusted her hair and added an extra bit of spray to a stubborn curl at the end of her long hair. A dab of lip gloss over her lipstick and a bit more mascara complemented the makeup she had applied ever so carefully. With spritzer in hand she sprayed the new perfume behind her ears and on her inner wrists. Tugging at her beaded shell, she strolled into the living room.
The makeup, tight pencil skirt, high heels and dangling earrings were in sharp contrast to her usual Sunday morning attire. Her husband, Stan, still in sweats and unshaven, lay sprawled out on the couch watching a NASCAR race on TV.
“I’m leaving now,” Sandra announced. But there was no reply. She took a few steps farther into the room. Again. A bit louder this time. “I’m leaving now.”
Stan turned his head toward her slightly. “Where are you going?”
“I told you.” She hesitated. “I joined the Church I was telling you about. I’m going to the service.”
“When did that happen?”
“Remember, we talked about it last week? I said I was going to do it.”
“I don’t remember you telling me that.”
“Well, you never listen to anything I say. You pretend to listen but you don’t. Not often anyway.”
“So, you’re really doing this?”
“Yes.” She checked her wristwatch. “And I have to leave now or I’ll be late.”
Sandra rushed out the door, got into her car and drove away.
The parking lot was almost full when she reached the church on Spruce Street. In the last row she spotted Peter’s black Lexus. She hopped into the passenger seat and leaned over to receive his ardent kiss. “Hmm, you smell nice, Babe,” he said.
Sandra smiled. “Thanks.” She inhaled his aftershave. “You do too.” She buckled her seat belt. “We don’t have much time,” she said as Peter drove out of the parking lot, up Spruce Street, then west along Lakeshore. His nearby condo with a wide expanse of windows overlooking the lake and his king-size bed became the scene of their lovemaking.
Just over an hour later, Peter deposited Sandra back at the church just as the last of the parishioners were leaving the service.
“See you next week,” she called out as he blew her a kiss and she headed inside the church to grab one of the weekly service bulletins.
“I’m home,” she called out as she entered the house. She walked into the living room and threw the bulletin on the coffee table. There was no response. “I’m home,” she called out again as she strode into the middle of the living room. Stan, still sprawled on the couch, craned his neck to see around her.
“You made me miss the touchdown,” he snarled.
Sandra smiled as she headed to the bedroom to change. Yes, going to church every Sunday promised to be just what she needed.