S Is for Silence

attack.”
    “Well, it was an amazing experience and I have you to thank.”
    “And for this.”
    “Yes, for this.”
    He was quiet for a moment. “You know I can make it happen.”
    “Make what happen?”
    “The car. I can set it up so it’s yours.”
    She laughed. “Oh come on. Bullshit. You can’t do that. Are you nuts?”
    “I’m serious. Tell Foley to come talk to me. If he shows up tomorrow morning, I can make him a deal.”
    “Foley doesn’t have a dime.”
    “I know, but we’ll work something out.”
    “You’d do that for me?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re not just pulling my leg?”
    “I’d do anything for you. I mean it. I’m crazy about you.”
    “You don’t have to say that just because we ended up in bed.”
    “You don’t know what you’ve done for me. Everything’s different now. I’ve changed.”
    “Not changed at all. You’re finally yourself.”
    “Tell me you’ll see me tomorrow,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll never make it to next week.”
    She was quiet again, making a study of his face before she formulated her reply. “All right. Tomorrow at four. I’ve got something to take care of first so you gotta promise you won’t get your undies in a wad if I’m late.”

    Friday at 3:45, he checked into the Sandman. On Wednesday afternoon when he’d registered the first time, he’d told the desk clerk a pipe had broken in his house, badly flooding the downstairs. He spun the story off the top of his head, never realizing he’d be checking in again the very next day. Thursday, he told her he expected the repairs to be under way, but the contractor stood him up. She’d been sympathetic on the first day and skeptical the second. Today, she was snippy, saying if he was going to check in again, why not just keep the room instead of using it for an hour, checking out, and coming back the next day? He hadn’t realized she was keeping track. He felt compelled to elaborate, talking about the smell of mildew, having to put all his furniture in storage. The phone rang in the midst of his recital. She picked up and turned her back to him. She went on chattering with some friend until he realized she didn’t intend to listen to another word. He took his key and left. What a bitch. He was a respectable businessman. It was no concern of hers what he did or didn’t do, or with whom. He wasn’t sure why he’d even bothered to explain himself. There were other motels. Next time around he and Violet could find someplace else.
    He returned to his car and drove the length of the parking lot and parked outside the room. On the way over, he’d stopped at the florist’s and bought Violet an armload of flowers that he wanted her to see the minute she entered the room. He took the bouquet with him and let himself in. They’d twice been in room 14. This was room 12, and he noticed it was quite a bit shabbier. Not that she’d care. He knew the car was already in her possession, because Foley had driven it off the lot at 10:30 that morning. He’d come into the dealership at 8:45, and Chet had made him a better deal than he had any reason to expect. He’d been jovial through the process, knowing he’d be bedding the guy’s wife by 4:15. He’d despised Foley previously, but now he pitied him as well. He was too doltish and too much the brute to appreciate what a rare and precious woman he had. She was clearly more than he could handle—young, sensual, beautiful, spirited. Foley’d tried controlling her with his fists, and all he’d done was drive her away. Chet knew how to treat a lady and he had the wherewithal to do it right. He’d already formulated half a dozen plans for getting her out of Foley’s house and stashing her somewhere close. At first he thought he’d have to leave Livia, which he was perfectly willing to do. A divorce would be messy and painful, but he was forty-seven years old and entitled to happiness. Of course, his daughter would be upset, but kids were resilient—everybody said so. Kids sensed when their parents were unhappy, and you didn’t do them any favors papering it all over and pretending everything was okay. Better to have it out in the open.
    On further reflection, he wondered if his initial impulse was wrong. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how cruel it would be to put Livia through that—the public humiliation, the vituperative shouting matches, not to mention the reduced circumstances divorce would entail. After fifteen