Free The Night, The Day by Andrew Kane Page A

looked out the rear window, wondering if he was being followed.

chapter 8
    J acques Benoît sat across the table from his wife in silence, waiting for the inevitable question about his therapy session. He couldn’t blame her, really; in a single act, he had shattered her nearly perfect existence. Now, still skeptical of his explanations, she sought answers.
    Martha Benoît had the things most women yearned for: a loving and successful husband, devoted children, position and respect in the community, more money than she could possibly spend in a lifetime, and health. At 63, she still had the figure of a high-priced model, which she owed to genetics, a daily two-hour exercise grind and a strict organic diet. Her tennis player’s tan obviated the need for heavy makeup, while her wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes made her appear more free-spirited than she actually was.
    “So, how did it go with Dr. Rosen?” she asked, caressing the rim of her wine glass with her forefinger.
    Jacques hesitated for a moment, sipped his bourbon, and answered, “Fine. The doctor is a real gentleman.”
    “Oh please, Jacques,” she snapped back. “It doesn’t concern me how the doctor is. I want to know how you’re doing!”
    “How do I appear?” he asked.
    “Why, wonderful , of course. A few weeks ago, you tried to kill yourself, and you’ve been just wonderful since. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
    He paused. “I suppose it should.”
    A welcome interruption ensued as the maid entered the dining room with dinner.
    “That’s all right, Consuelo,” Martha said as the maid was about to serve the Cornish hens. “You can just leave the tray on the table. We’ll help ourselves tonight.”
    Consuelo quickly complied. Jacques looked at his wife with amazement. She was truly annoyed, a side of her he’d rarely seen.
    “I am sorry for what I did, Martha. You know that you are the last person on earth I would ever hurt.”
    “But I’m the person you did hurt, Jacques, and so far, the reasons you’ve given me are wholly insufficient.”
    “I feel as though you are cross-examining me.”
    “I have to tell you how I feel.”
    “I do not know what more you expect of me. I am seeing that psychologist, I am trying to find out if there is some, as you say, underlying reason for what happened.”
    “Are you?”
    “Why else would I start seeing that fellow every week? I do have other things to do with my time.”
    “Perhaps to placate me.”
    “Please, my dear, I know you are not stupid.”
    She was silent for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder.”
    “I have always regarded you as the smartest person I’ve ever met, you know that.”
    Something inside her told her that she had pushed as far as she could, at least for now. He was in good hands with Dr. Rosen, so she’d heard from several sources, and she would just have to trust in that. She looked at him, regarding the warmth in his eyes. He was a good man, she believed, loving and selfless in every respect. He was right, he could never do anything to hurt her. Yet, what had happened to him, as impulsive, irrational and uncharacteristic as it may have been, left her uncertain about the future.
    Jacques continued. “I spoke with the doctor about your talking with him. He says it’s fine and that you should call.”
    She forced a smile.
    He stood up from his chair, walked over to her and ran his hands through her hair. “Everything is going to be all right, my dear, I promise,” he said softly.
    It amazed her how easily he could make her feel the same way she had the first time he ever touched her. This was the man she had fallen in love with, the man who had always been able to arouse her lust, the man who had inspired cravings she’d never imagined herself capable of. And even now, years later, he affected her so.
    She grasped his hand and rose to meet him face-to-face. They hadn’t stood this close to each other for some time, several weeks before his suicide attempt by her