Brazen Virtue

for it. This was her house, her home, and she wouldn’t be violated this way. She made herself reach for him, and waited until she heard him groan. Going with desperation, she rammed her elbow into his stomach and ran. He caught her hair with a vicious jerk as her hand closed over the doorknob. The moment he did, she knew he was going to kill her.
    “You lied. You’re a liar and a whore just like the others. So I’ll treat you like the others.” Near tears himself, he brought the back of his hand hard against her face. Her lip split. It was the taste of her own blood that galvanized her.
    She was not going to die like this, in her own kitchen. She was not going to leave her husband and children alone. Screaming, she clawed at his face and when he yelped, managed to yank open the door. She’d intended to run for her life, but Binky wanted to be a hero.
    The small dog had sharp teeth. He used them viciously on Jerald’s calf. Howling with rage, he managed to kick the dog aside, only to turn and find himself faced with the business end of a butcher knife.
    “Get out of my house.” Mary Beth held the handle with both hands. She was too dazed to be surprised that she had every intention of using it if he took another step toward her.
    Binky managed to get to his feet. As soon as he’d shaken his head clear, he began to growl again.
    “Bitch,” Jerald hissed at her as he edged toward the door. None of them had ever hurt him before. His face was aching, and his leg—he could feel the warm, wet blood seep through his jeans. He’d make her pay. He’d make all of them pay. “Lying whores, all of you. I only wanted to give you what you wanted. I was going to be good to you.” There was a whine in his voice again that made her shudder. He sounded like a small, evil boy who’d broken his favorite toy. “I was going to give you the best. Next time you’re all going to suffer.”
    When Harry brought the kids home twenty minutes later, Mary Beth was sitting at the kitchen table, still holding the butcher knife and watching the back door.

    ♦  ♦  ♦
    W INE ALL AROUND, EXCEPT for the expectant mother.” Grace passed out glasses as Ben poured. “You get some kind of juice, Tess. God knows what it is, you can never tell with Ed.”
    “Papaya,” Ed muttered as Tess sniffed dubiously at her glass.
    “A toast then.” Grace lifted her glass in salute. “To new beginnings and continuity.”
    Glasses clinked.
    “So when are you going to get some furniture in here?” Ben sat on the edge of the crate beside Tess. “You can’t live in a construction zone forever.”
    “It’s a matter of priorities. I’m finishing the drywall in the bedroom over the weekend.” Ed sipped as he considered his partner. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
    “Busy,” Ben said immediately. “I’ve got to—ah, clean out the vegetable bin in the fridge. Can’t have Tess slaving over housework in her condition.”
    “I’ll remember that.” Tess took another tentative sip of the juice. “Anyway, I’ve got to run into the clinic for a couple of hours tomorrow. I could drop you off.”
    Ben gave her a sour look. “Thanks. Ed, don’t you think Tess should cut back, take some time off? Put her feet up?”
    “Actually …” Ed leaned back comfortably against a sawhorse. “An active mind and body make for healthier mother and baby. Studies initiated by obstetricians over the last ten years indicate that—”
    “Shit,” Ben interrupted. “Ask a simple question. What about you, Grace? As a woman, don’t you believe an expectant mother should pamper herself?”
    Unmindful of sawdust, Grace lowered herself to the floor, Indian style. “It depends.”
    “On?”

    “On whether she’d die of boredom. I would. Now, if she were considering the Boston Marathon, it might require discussion. Are you thinking of that, Tess?”
    “I was thinking of starting with something local first.”
    “Sensible,” Grace decided. “This is a sensible woman. You, on the other hand,” she said to Ben, “are typical.”
    “Typical what?”
    “A typical male. And that makes you, under the circumstances, an overprotective worrywart. Which is okay. It’s cute. And I’m sure that Tess, being a woman, and one with psychiatric training, will be able to satisfactorily exploit that over the next seven months, one week, and three days.” Lifting the bottle of wine, she tipped more into Ben’s glass.
    “Thanks. I think.”
    Grace smiled