It was a perfect night, and after my husband made me come twice, he rolled me over to my stomach, hauled my ass up into the air, and held me down by my neck while he fucked me hard from behind.
That is the Zach I miss the most on those nights where he’s too tired to do anything past snuggling into me tight. My primitive, controlling, domineering man that focuses all of these egocentric traits on giving me pleasure, protecting his family, and making us happy.
“Okay,” I say as I tap my hands on Cannon’s thighs. “Shoes are on, Jaime’s dressed, and we are ready to rock and roll. Let’s go eat some burgers.”
“Is Uncle Randall coming?” Cannon asks.
“He wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I tell him, and that’s true times ten.
Randall went without Zach for eighteen years when he was lost to the Amazon wild after his missionary parents, Jacob and Kristen Easton, died. While Zach was raised by the very tribe his parents were ministering to, Randall mourned hard for the loss of his friends and their child.
But he never gave up looking, and he finally found Zach.
Then he sent me to the Amazon, and I brought Zach home.
And here we are, almost eight and a half years later, and I am still head over heels in love with my husband and the father of my children. I have the almost perfect life, and the only thing that would make it better is if Zach didn’t work so hard, but I know this is just for him to pay his dues. It won’t always be like this.
I hope.
Scooping Jaime off the couch, I walk into the kitchen with Cannon scrambling behind me. I pull my phone from my pocket and throw it in my purse before grabbing it, and we all head toward the laundry room, which connects to the garage.
Just as I reach for the door, my phone rings, and I have to put Jaime down with a grunt of frustration to search for it in my purse.
I answer on a breathless, “Hello”.
“Mrs. Easton?” I hear a crisp female voice on the other end.
I sigh internally because I know what’s coming. “Yes… hi, Lila,” I say, trying to hold the disappointment at bay. “How are you?”
“I’m so sorry to make this call, but Mr. Easton wanted me to call you and tell you he’s stuck in a meeting, so he’ll be late.”
“And Mr. Cannon?” I ask, even though I know the answer to this as well.
“He’ll be on time. In fact, he’s left with his driver already,” Lila says, and I find it odd that her voice is more brusque and businesslike when she talks about Randall versus Zach. And maybe that’s because she is Zach’s personal secretary, a woman who I sometimes speak more to on any given day than my own husband.
“Tell it to me straight,” I say in exasperation as I open the door to the garage and help Jaime down the steps while holding her hand. “Is he going to make it?”
Lila is quiet for a moment, and I know she’s trying to figure out the best way to handle a wife on the verge of getting let down and possibly pissed off. I almost expect her to bring out the extra-soft kid gloves she sometimes wears with me, but instead, her voice sounds a little aloof. “It’s an emergency that came up; he’s putting out a rather large fire—”
“Is he going to make it?” I cut her off, my voice firm and brooking no nonsense.
“Probably not,” she softly says.
I let out a long, frustrated sigh, dropping Jaime’s hand to scrub my fingers through my hair. “Figures,” I mutter, my chest constricting with disappointment.
“Zach’s had an incredibly hard day today,” Lila says in defense. “You know he wouldn’t be late unless this was a crucial meeting.”
Hmmmm. That’s interesting. She’s never called him by his first name to me—not that it’s inappropriate because frankly, I feel weird when she calls me Mrs. Easton. Makes me feel old, and I’d rather just be Moira, so I’m cool with the first name. But she’s never used Zach before with me, and she’s never defended his working late to me either. I think the loyalties of one Miss Lila Hendrick are now being tested firmly between her employer and the wife that she often has to “handle” because Zach would rather avoid my anger.
A variety of emotions seems to overwhelm me all at once, but the one leading the pack is sadness that “family” night clearly isn’t going to happen. I know I’m going into full-on pity-party mode when I say, “Lila… call Mr. Cannon and tell him we won’t be making it. Please give him my apologies. He’s coming to Sunday dinner, so we’ll see him then.”
“And what shall I tell Zach?” she asks.
Thinking a moment, I focus in on how quickly I’d gone from happy excitement to crushing defeat. I think of how many times this has happened over the last few years since we moved here, and how clearly, it’s just not a pill that’s getting easier to swallow.