Sullivans Island (Continued)
"Tom!" she screamed. "Stop! My God!" She scrambled to cover herself with my sheets.
He turned around to face me and started screaming, "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," I said. My voice sounded weak. "I forgot some papers." I couldn't move.
"Well, go get them," he said, "and close the door!" He sounded cold and foreign. Not like the man I had shared the last sixteen years with.
His dismissal finally infuriated me beyond reason. "Get out of my house," I said, "both of you." I crossed the room and raised the fireplace tool over Tom's head. They were suddenly horrified and begged me to put it down. They scrambled to the other side of the bed to escape, caught in the sheets, knocking a lamp from the end table, sending it smashing to the ground.
"Please, Susan! I can explain! Don't do this!" Tom was pleading with me and thank God, I heard him. I would've hit them both, bashed their brains in. I dropped the cast iron poker to the floor and began trembling. I'd never hit anyone in my life and suddenly there was a raging murderer inside of me.
"Get out," I said to her in a low voice. My heart pounded so hard I thought I might have a stroke. She slipped out of the bed, naked and wet with perspiration, her blonde hair all matted in the back from her tiger ride. Her dark pubic hair was shaved into a heart shape. "Who do you think you are?" I hissed at her. "You're not even a real blonde!"
"Go downstairs, Susan," Tom said, "try to pull yourself together."
"Really?" I said. "Pull myself together? You're in my bed with this slut and I should worry about how I behave? This bitch is screaming ride me, tiger! and I should compose myself? I'll tell you what, Tom Hayes. You get that cheap whore out of my house and get your ass dressed and downstairs in five minutes. If you can't give me the apology of your life, I want you out of this house today. Is that clear?"
I didn't even know if he answered me. I slammed the door so hard behind me that it thundered all over the house. I don't remember going to the kitchen, or lighting the cigarette I found myself smoking a few minutes later. I heard the front door close. Silence. I waited for Tom to appear. Silence followed by silence. I went back to the foot of the stairs.
"Tom?"
He was gone.
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