Posted on | August 16, 2012 | 7 Comments
I’m working on a little something, just some fiction that’s been trickling out of me slower than I’d like, but at least with some hint or semblance of an actual story. So
with a lot without too much trepidation, I introduce you to Kathryn Andrews who bears no resemblance to anyone I know but who I often wish I could be. And much like Katy, everyone else here is fiction, too.
“Are there any other prayer requests before we get started this morning?”
The reverend had a voice that could melt butter in December and rich brown eyes that drew you in and made you want to write checks to the church until the grocery money was all gone. Katy sat very still in her Sunday dress, knees locked tight together though the edge of her left leg still felt the warmth of her husband beside her. How he could come to Sunday School and sit here with her after yesterday made her head swim. Of course, maybe that was just the after effects of the three glasses of wine she had with breakfast. She shifted slightly in her seat, uncomfortable with the closeness of the tall, handsome man beside her. He was pressed and tucked trimly into the dark blue suit she gave him for Christmas the year before, his blonde hair touseled and tangled. She cleared her throat and beside her, Adam rested his hand light against her knee. He was always one for quieting, for patting down the ill effects of whatever she had brewing just beneath the surface. At his touch she jumped, imperceptible, she thought, but then she felt those brown eyes on her and the room spun again.
“Prayer request, Katy?”
His voice was kind and she had always loved that he called her by her preferred name, unlike all the rest of this town with their formal Mrs. Andrews or snidely purred, three-syllabled “Kath-uh-rinn.” Reverend Jacobs always spoke to her like she was a person, not just some cheap, tacky beer coozie Adam had pulled out to use for the next few years, much to his mother’s chagrin.
Katy looked to the left at her husband. His eyebrows raised softly and in his low, slow, drawl, he purred her name into a caress of a warning.
She’d always hated that he called her that.
“I do, Reverend. I actually do.” Her voice sounded more authoritative than she felt and it gave her the strength to brush away Adam’s hand and stand in the small room.
“I’d like y’all to pray as best you can for my husband, Adam.” She poured his name and title down like thick, rich maple syrup, picturing it suffocating out his life. “Because I’ll be leaving his ass and taking the babies.”
She paused, and her voice cracked slightly as she added as an afterthought, “and the dogs, too.”
A collective hush of silence whispered around the room and she turned to face Adam, watching him almost recoil from her presence as she drew strength from the shuffled shush of movement around her.
“And husband,” she spat the word out with venom as she turned to leave, watching the heat of her words rise up Adam’s face like a slow curl of hot lava, “I hope your dick falls off.”