Free The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom by Robyn Harding

her terribly, but I felt numb, shocked, incapable
of emotion. My thoughts were racing, madly. Doug had found her, just lying
there, dead in the attached garage? While this was an entirely plausible
scenario in my own chaotic garage, I knew Doug kept his in pristine condition.
Did Karen just fall over and crack her skull? It was too weird, too bizarre…
especially with what I knew about Karen’s secret love affair. “I have to go,” I
said blandly.
    “Are you okay?” Jane asked, composing
herself. “You don’t sound like you’re okay.”
    “No, I’m not. But I… I just…”
    “You’re in shock, hon. Let me come over.”
    “I’m okay, Jane. I just need some time to
come to terms with this.”
    “You shouldn’t be alone right now.
    “I-I’ll call Paul.”
    “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind coming
over. I know Paul’s very busy.”
    Yes, Paul was very busy, but these were
extreme circumstances. Of course he’d be there for me, wouldn’t he? After all
these months of physical and emotional unavailability, if Paul didn’t grant me
this request I’d… I’d… Well, I didn’t know what I’d do. But it would be
something radical, insane even—like, running outside and licking Leon’s
muscular calves. “He’ll come home,” I said. “He has to.”
    When I hung up from Jane, I took the
cordless phone to the formal living room and closed the French doors behind me.
The children were preoccupied with a Jimmy Neutron cartoon, but I didn’t want
them to see me in this state. I still hadn’t broken down, emotionally, but I
wasn’t myself. Perched on the antique sofa, I stared at the curtained front
window. If I were to walk over there and draw back the drapes, I’d be able to
see Karen’s house. Was Doug still there? Was someone with him? Or was he at the
hospital? Or the (ugh) morgue? But I couldn’t do it. My legs would not carry me
to the window to look. It was too devastating, too unfathomable. I dialed
Paul’s office.
    “Paul Atwell,” he answered, tap, tap,
tapping on his computer.
    “You have to come home,” I said, my voice
devoid of emotion.
    “Why? What’s wrong?”
    “Karen’s dead.”
    “What the fuck? Oh my God! What happened?
Are you okay? Jesus Christ!” Paul tended to expletives when he was upset.
    “I need you to come home and be with the
kids. I-I can’t…”
    “Yeah, okay, honey. Look… hang in there for
an hour. I’ll wrap up a few loose ends and head home.”
    “’Kay,” I said, weakly.
    “I don’t want you to be alone. Can one of
the girls come over? Jane? Or Carly?”
    Oh my God, Carly! Carly was all alone. Did
she know? Had she seen the police cars and ambulances? She worked from home so
she probably had. They must have come while I was off flirting with my
children’s principal, or I would have been alerted to the commotion myself.
Poor Carly—she could be cowering in a corner, weeping hysterically at this very
moment. She and Karen were so close. She had no one… “Come home as soon as you
can,” I said, and hung up.
    I would go to Carly: I had to. She only lived
two doors down, and Chloe was responsible enough to look after her brother for
a few minutes, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone. Karen could
have been knocked on the head by some crazed psychopath who was still roaming
the neighbourhood. Deep down, I knew this was not the case, but better safe
than sorry. I called Mrs. Williams, an elderly lady at the end of the block,
who sometimes babysat for us. Chloe would be pissed off, of course. She didn’t
feel she needed a babysitter anymore… or a mother for that matter. But I’d
rather my daughter be pissed off than attacked by some head-bashing maniac.
    When I explained the gravity of the
situation to Mrs. Williams, she promised to rush right over. I grabbed my coat
from the front closet, and then went to the family room to address my children.
“I’ve got to go over to Carly’s for a little while,” I said, zipping