Shallow Graves

arousing suspicion?
    Second, there was a funny type of jealousy at work.He accepted that his lover was married but he was occasionally stung by the thought that she’d learned a certain technique—a touch or kiss—from her husband.
    Third, neither of them was twenty-five any longer. Ambler had worked in the building trades when he was young and still hunted and fished—the history of physical effort had helped slow the inevitable effects of gravity and sedentary life. But there was no denying that muscle was giving way to fat, that erections that used to last an hour began to fade after fifteen minutes, and that he’d be no good for twenty-four hours after he came. His hair was thin (though in some slight compensation, not too gray) and he’d developed a jowl that he kept poking at as he’d pass the large oval mirror in his dining room until his wife had commented on it and he immediately stopped the habit.
    Oddly, though, his lover, who was more than fifteen years younger than he was, had been even more self-conscious than Ambler. She always shut the lights out and drew the shades before she undressed.
    But despite these worries, they had quickly fallen into a comfortable pattern and they soon found themselves making good, sweaty love.
    Today, in the dark tangy-wood-scented bedroom, Ambler pinned her to the stark oak bed and pressed into her—hard, hard. Almost cruelly. He wasn’t sure why. He knew he had a reputation for being a cruel man in business and at other times, but he would never think of being cruel to anyone he loved. But as he felt himself coming closer to the moment, he wanted to hurt his mistress. He wantedher to admit she was in pain but that she didn’t want him to stop.
    “Does it hurt, love?”
    “Yeah,” she whispered, her mouth saying the hot word against his skin, a centimeter from his ear.
    She gasped twice, then whispered something he couldn’t hear, then she said, “Don’t stop. No, don’t stop. I like it.” The words were lyrical grunts. He smelled the aroma of her perfume and sweat.
    “You like it . . .”
    “Don’t stop.”
    “. . . to hurt?”
    “Oh, Wex. . . .”
    Afterwards they lay together. Unlike when Ambler had made love with his wife, he and his lover often began to talk immediately, right after they had caught their breath.
    Today, though, he kissed her forehead, whispered, “Darling,” and then they lay with their own thoughts for five minutes, half dozing.
    “He’s still here, I heard,” Ambler said casually.
    “Who?”
    “That man from the movie company.”
    “I heard.”
    “What do you suppose he wants?”
    “Taking time off after his accident, I suppose.”
    Ambler asked, “They aren’t going to make the movie here, after all?”
    “Why don’t you like him?”
    Why do you say I don’t like him? But Ambler didn’t say that. He said, “Look what happened. With the drugs and everything.”
    “Wasn’t his fault.”
    “Movie people.”
    “Are just like everybody else,” she countered.
    “You’re glad he’s staying, aren’t you?”
    “Wex, what’s this all about?”
    “Drugs and—”
    She said, “You take it on your shoulders to be the moral protector of the town and you scare all these people into thinking that the big bad world is going to gobble them up alive.”
    That made him nervous. He considered. No, there was no way she could know about what Mark had done. She wouldn’t be here if she suspected that. He said, “You give me more credit than I deserve.”
    “You bully people.”
    “As if I could bully the whole town of Cleary.” After a moment, he said, “Did you talk to him about a job?”
    “No.”
    “Would you?”
    “I considered it. I thought—”
    He scoffed. “You thought you’d be Lana Turner.”
    “I’m wasted here. My life is wasted. I should . . .”
    “You should what?” he asked, edging back toward desperation.
    “Nothing.”
    “You’re life’s not wasted at all.”
    “I feel like I’m just drifting.”
    “How can you say that? You’ve made my life something wonderful.”
    The lines fell like a lead sinker. She squeezed his shoulder but he was glad for the darkness. His face burned with embarrassment.
    He asked, “Have you ever thought about moving?”
    A pause. “I’ve thought about it.”
    “You’d just leave, without talking to me about it?”
    “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say that. I’ve got a lot of possibilities.”
    “Some of them involve me,