Free Vicious by Kevin O'Brien

toward her.
    She shook her head. “Get the hell out of my way,” she growled, brushing past him as she headed for the door. “I need to be alone. I need to get out of here before I hit you or something….”
    Then Susan hurried out of the bedroom. She ducked out the kitchen door, so the boys didn’t see her leave. She drove to a lookout point on Fifteenth, near Lakeview Cemetery. The little park had benches and a panoramic view of Husky Stadium, Lake Washington, and Bellevue. Directly below the park was a wooded ravine with trails. It was just the kind of remote spot she wouldn’t have taken Michael during the heyday of Mama’s Boy. But that night, Susan sat there for three hours. She managed to cool off. It wouldn’t be easy forgiving Walt, but she would. And going to that Fourth of July party would be terribly uncomfortable for him.
    But go they would—Walt, the boys, and her. Susan saw to it.
    Driving to the O’Maras’ on July Fourth, Susan balanced the Tater Tot casserole in her lap and tried not to kick the two six-packs of Redhook India Pale Ale at her feet in the front passenger seat. Though she and Walt had pretty much made up, he’d been tense and taciturn all day. Clearly, he saw going to this party—with his college friends and Melissa in attendance—as some kind of punishment. And it was. Except for when he yelled at Michael for teasing Mattie in his car seat, Walt said nothing for the duration of the ride. Susan didn’t utter a word either.
    She looked for Melissa when they got to the O’Maras’ home, but the pretty redhead yoga instructor wasn’t yet among the thirty or so guests. The O’Maras had a large wooden deck off their living room, and that was where Jim was barbecuing. Though only on the second floor, the condominium stood on a hillside, so the deck was at least four stories above the ground. They looked over the treetops at the Space Needle on the horizon. An occasional skyrocket or firework from some other private party burst against the darkening sky.
    Walt opened up a Pale Ale, while she had a Coke and watched for new arrivals. After three doorbell rings and three more couples made their entrance, Melissa finally appeared—in a clingy blue and white striped halter-top dress that she’d accented—no doubt, for Independence Day—with a red belt. She had her stupid 7-Up cake with her—in a Tupperware cake container. Making her way to the kitchen to unload the cake, she smiled and waved at Susan—one of those, Hi-haven’t-got-time-to-talk-now deals. But minutes later, Susan watched her hug Walt out on the deck, kiss his cheek, and then whisper something in his ear.
    “She said, ‘Why haven’t you called me?’ and ‘We really need to talk, handsome,’” Walt told Susan under his breath during dinner.
    “She called you handsome ?” Susan whispered. “She was flirting with you while the kids and I were right there across the room?”
    She waited until after the horrid 7-Up cake was served for dessert (even the kids didn’t like it) before she approached Melissa, who, in a rare moment, stood by herself near the guest-room door. She was sipping a glass of red wine. “Melissa, can I show you something?”
    “Why, sure, Susan,” she said with a big phony smile. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all night long. I just had a smidge, but your Tater Tot casserole was to die for!”
    “Well, thank you.” Susan opened the guest-room door, then nodded toward the bed. A pretty, brunette teenager was sitting there with an open book in her lap. Two toddlers sat on one side of her, and Mattie was curled up on the other side, just starting to doze off. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to really see my boys,” Susan whispered. “That sleepyhead is our two-year-old, Matthew….”
    “Oh, he’s a darling,” Melissa said.
    “Isn’t he though?” Susan replied, quietly closing the door. She pointed to Michael, out on the deck. Holding a sparkler, Michael turned