Free Blue Collar Blues by Rosalyn McMillan Page A

Thyme reached for her housecoat at the foot of the bed. “Now close the door, Cy—it’s freezing!”
    “There’s not a place in the world that’s more beautiful.”
    “Once again,” she said, joining him, “I couldn’t agree more.”
    “Remember when you first showed me the house? I wasn’t too impressed.”
    “Yeah. You thought it was too big.”
    “Nine thousand square feet of custom living space on three levels. I didn’t think we’d ever furnish it all.” He appraised the elegant room now, but his eyes were always drawn back to his prized possession: the portrait of his wife. “Now, I love this house. But not without you, Thyme. I hate this house when you’re not in it.”
    It was more than the average worker, blue collar or salaried, could ever hope for. The lake’s beauty served as the inspiration for the theme of the decor, with water inside as well as out. One slate-colored two-tiered waterfall greeted guests; a pyramid-shaped fountain stood in the living room. Silver-blue wool carpeting was set against the palest blue walls, with touches of burgundy to show the richness of the woods. There were two staircases on each end of the mansion, recessed lighting throughout, and three types of wood. Located on the lower level of the two-story house were a sunken hot tub with ceramic tile and a steam room. There were three kitchens, including one in the mother-in-law suite in the east wing—it was a part of the home each knew they would never use.
    But it was the view of the lake that had sold Cy on 2300 Cyprus Cove. It was a symbol of success. Cy was not satisfied with accumulating money; he wanted to show how successful he was.
    After Thyme fell back asleep, he walked through the dining room, admiring their heirloom china, which had been left to him by his parents. His great-grandparents had purchased the porcelain in the early 1900s in Beijing, China. Thyme had cried tears of love and affection after his mother offered the china to them on her only son’s wedding day. It was a legacy that should be passed on to his children.
    Maybe it wasn’t too late for Thyme to change her mind. Stranger things had happened.
    Neither color, circumstance, nor Champion could come between them. The love they shared for each other was stronger than the elements that threatened them—like race, like his disapproving sister, Sydney, like his mistress, Graciella, and the children they shared.
    When he went back into the bedroom, he could hear Thyme exhale, a faint smile still on her lips. He admired his wife’s beautiful black body glowing in the semidarkness; even in her sleep it was disturbingly provocative. The thought of waking her again entered his mind. He went to lie beside her and his hands stroked her delicate flesh softly, as if she were a flower. He kissed her earlobe, then whispered, “I adore you.”
    The familiar smell of her perfume enveloped him, on the sheets, the pillow—even his body had caught the scent. He snuggled closer, breathing in the aroma of her scent lingering on the sheets.

5
    ___________
    Their plane landed in Detroit Metropolitan Airport at 7:40 on Tuesday night. Ten minutes later, Tomiko and R.C. were met at Northwest baggage claim by Herman, one of R.C.’s drivers. With tons of luggage finally stowed, R.C. took delight in pointing out to Tomiko all of the interesting sites along Interstate 94 as they drove east toward home.
    A full moon bulged low in the sky, its face turned toward them, lighting the cars whizzing past them like silver phantoms. At least six late-model vehicles, some wrecked, some just with flats, were abandoned on the right side of the highway. Tomiko observed houses so close together that if someone dropped a match on one, another would catch fire. Before she could organize the zillion questions she wanted to ask R.C. about her new surroundings, she felt a jolt, and fell against him.
    “It’s nothing. Just a pothole,” R.C. said reassuringly. “It’s one of the