Wife Number Seven

by Melissa Brown

  I raised my shoulders in a helpless shrug as I shook my head and whispered, “I can’t answer that.”

  “Of course not,” Burt said, wringing his hands.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I wanted to yell at him, Go see her, convince her, tell her you love her. Don’t give up! But I couldn’t. There was nothing left for me to say to Burt Jameson.

  When I turned to continue my walk into town, he startled me yet again. “Do you love your husband?” he called after me, his voice sounding desperate. But that didn’t absolve his question of its obvious inappropriate nature.

  I paused for a moment but didn’t turn, just stared straight ahead, knowing that if I turned to look at him, he’d know the answer.

  When I didn’t answer, he choked out, “I hope not. So much easier that way.”

  Overcome with emotion, I ducked my head and hurried away. The man’s obvious pain and distress at losing his family tore at me. His words played over and over in my head as I walked to the pharmacy.

  So much easier that way.

  So much easier that way.

  Sure, maybe it was easy . . . but maybe I didn’t want easy.

  Maybe I wanted to be challenged, to be pushed, to be seen.

  Burt Jameson saw Rebecca in a way that Lehi Cluff never would. How could she not see that? And if she did see it, how could she possibly abandon it?

  • • •

  Tiffany’s face relaxed with relief when I walked through the door of the clinic.

  “I was starting to worry,” she said as I approached the desk. “You must be almost out.”

  “I am,” I said in a low voice, then glanced around me.

  “Be right back. There’s something you need to know.”

  Oh no. Did Lehi know about my pills? Had Rebecca shared my secret?

  Birth control was strictly forbidden and grounds for removal from the church. Children were a blessing, and a woman’s reason for life. We were to conceive, birth, and raise our children in the service of our husbands and the prophet. Preventing pregnancy was unforgivable.

  I knew that the day I accepted Tiffany’s offer to get me a prescription. The day I placed that first pink pill in my mouth and washed it down with water, I knew I was sinning.

  Maybe Porter was right about me after all. Maybe I was the type to resist. Maybe I wanted to be caught.

  Maybe . . .

  “Listen.” Tiffany lowered her voice as she placed the small bag on the counter. “Do you remember a boy named Porter?”

  Shocked to hear that name that ignited something deep within my belly, I bit back a gasp and nodded.

  “You don’t seem surprised to hear his name.” Tiffany crossed her arms in front of her chest, a knowing smile on her face.

  My face burned as I slipped the pills into my purse. “I ran into him about a month ago.”

  “Well, he came here, asking about you.”

  “What? Here?”

  “He knew,” she said, lowering a pointed glance at my bag. “About the pills. He knew where they came from.”

  “Oh.” Terror swept over me, chilling me to the bone. “What did he say? Is he going to tell Lehi?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. He wanted to know about you, like when you’d be here next. Stuff like that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think he was hoping to run into you again.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head meaningfully in my direction. I had no idea what she was trying to convey with that expression.

  “Really?” The thought of seeing Porter again made my mouth dry and my palms sweat. A rush of moisture hit my private parts, and I clenched my thighs in response.

  Tiffany’s smile faded, and her eyes turned stern as she said, “Just be careful. He’s a junkie.”

  “A junkie?” I didn’t know that word or what it meant.

  “He’s a drug addict, Brinley.”

  “Oh.” I covered my mouth with my hand as I attempted to hide my disappointment. “How can you tell?”

  “He’s been in here before, trying to get clean. But I could see it in his eyes. He’s far from it.”

  Her words were boulders weighing on the dreams I’d had for weeks. I was such a silly girl. I’d been dreaming of a man who was possessed by the devil. Drugs were the gateway to possession; everyone in our church knew that. Only lost and weak souls would succumb to them, those who didn’t deserve God’s mercy. They were the damned, the forgotten.

  But something told me I wouldn’t be able to forget Porter Hammond. No matter how damned his soul might be.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Tiffany said, her voice stern. “It’s not true. He’s not damned.”

  Feeling angry and defensive that she’d read me so easily, I blurted out, “You only say that because you are too.”

  The words left my lips before I had the chance to stop them. Tiffany recoiled, her hand covering her gasp.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, shaking my head as I reached my hand across the counter, hoping she’d accept it. And with it, my apology.

  She didn’t. A tear tracked down her cheek and she wiped it with the back of her sleeve.

  “You should go,” she said curtly, looking through me. “It’s going to be crowded soon. I need to get back to work.”

  “Tiff—”

  “Just go.” She shook her head, turned on her heel, and walked through the swinging door to the back room.

  I left the clinic not knowing if I could, or would, ever return.

  • • •

  When I stepped outside the clinic, I had a choice. I could do what was expected, keep sweet and return home, or I could let my anger be my guide. How dare Porter ruin my relationship with Tiffany, my one connection to the outside world, the one person I could count on outside of my confined existence within the compound. I had no idea if Tiffany would ever speak to me again after what I’d just said to her, and it was all his fault.

  All of it.

  I made my choice and walked the two blocks to his apartment over the coffeehouse. My chest heaved as I climbed the stairs, my anger growing inside me with each step. By the time I pounded my fist on his door, my face was hot, and I almost lost my nerve when a girl answered the door.

  “Yes?” The girl stared at me with pity in her eyes. Her hair was short, almost like a boy’s, but there was no doubt she was a girl. A tiny tank top exposed the cleavage of her breasts while her shirt crept up her midsection, revealing a ring through her belly button.

  Ouch. Doesn’t that hurt? Does she have no respect for the sanctity of her body?

  “Um, I’m here to see—”

  “Who is it?” a voice called from inside.

  Porter.

  Part of me wanted to run, but I was still angry so I stood my ground.

  “I don’t know, but she’s not from around here,” the girl said, stifling a laugh.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I visited this town often enough to know when I was being mocked.

  “Can we help you?” she asked.

  “Porter Hammond, please.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, a stance I wasn’t used to. I’d never been encouraged to be strong. Not once, not ever. But somehow I had it in me and I was ready to fight.

  “Whatever you say,” she said, laughing. “Porter, it’s for you.”

  He groaned from the other room, and I could hear a rustling sound. When he rounded the corner and came into view, our eyes locked and his expression softened.

  “Hey,” he said, narrowing his eyes, taking in my aggressive stance. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

  “That’s not what my cousin said,” I snapped back.

  “Who is that?” the girl asked. She hooked her hands on her hips, dividing her glare between Porter and me.

  “A friend.” Porter glared right back at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She turned and narrowed her eyes at me, her upper lip curling as she spoke. “Seriously, wh
o the hell is she?”

  “She’s no one, all right?” When the girl still didn’t budge, he rolled his eyes. “Just go home. We’re done here.”

  For a second or two, she glanced back at Porter with pain in her eyes, her lips pressed in a straight line.

  “Whatever.” She shook her head, grabbed her purse, and brushed past me hard, knocking me into the wall.

  “Hey, watch it,” Porter yelled at her.

  “Again . . . whatever, asshole,” she yelled as she clomped down the staircase.

  Porter closed his eyes and shook his head, then turned his attention back to me.

  “Who’s your cousin?” he asked with a smirk. He knew exactly who I was talking about, which made me even angrier at him.

  “Tiffany. She works at the clinic. Why did you bother her?”

  “Bother her?” He enunciated each syllable, condescension hanging in his gravelly voice. “Um, she works there, Brinley. She was doing her job.”

  “Telling you when I’ll be at the clinic is not her job.”

  “All right, so what?”

  “So, I—she— Now she’s not talking to me, and it’s all your fault.” My foot hit the tile as I stomped with anger.

  Porter chuckled. He actually chuckled at me.

  Never had anyone ever infuriated me this much—not Leandra, Aspen, or even Lehi. Porter Hammond was making me so angry I thought I might cry, or hit something, or both.

  “Something to drink?” he asked, walking into the kitchen and pulling open his refrigerator, its door covered in magnets and smeared food.

  Gross.

  His casual attitude fueled my anger even more, and I said through gritted teeth, “No, thank you.”

  He shook his head, laughing again under his breath. “Even when you’re pissed, you’re still polite. How nice.”

  He placed two bottles of water on the counter, then opened one and took a large sip, gesturing for me to take the other.

  “I already said no.”

  “Fine, whatever,” he said, grabbing the other bottle. “Wanna sit?”

  I froze, not knowing what to do. Porter invited me into his apartment, and I hadn’t expected that. I thought I would release my anger while standing in his doorway and return home, but once I heard those words, I couldn’t decline. I was drawn to him and didn’t want to say no.

  I glanced around, looking for other people in the apartment.

  Porter noticed my discomfort and said, “It’s just us. Amy’s not coming back.” He walked over and sat on a couch covered in blankets.

  “Amy?”

  “The uh—the girl you met a few minutes ago.”

  “Is she your wife?”

  He exploded in laughter, tilting his head back as his hands dug into his knees. When his eyes met mine again, he took in my furious expression and became more serious.

  “It’s not like that out here, Brin. People don’t just get married, ya know? You date, you sleep around, you meet people. I’m only twenty-six. I have plenty of time for that bullshit.”

  The idea of Porter laying with Amy or any other woman made my skin itch. Although I was certain he was far from a virgin, I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to know.

  “Please don’t call me that,” I said, sitting opposite him in a chair that smelled like dirty laundry.

  “What, Brin?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, sorry. Brinley just seems . . . young for you.” He snickered, taking another swig of his water.

  We sat in silence for several seconds. I smoothed the cotton of my pastel green dress, trying to ignore my leg as it bobbed up and down under my dress, something I always did when my nerves took over.

  “So, Brinley, what brings you here? I mean, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?” He leaned his arms on his thighs, linking his hands together at his fingertips.

  “I j-just saw Tiffany,” I stammered, “and I . . . I—”

  “You’re cute when you stutter.”

  I hadn’t stuttered since I was a young child. Anxiety rose in my chest. I had to go. I had to leave, to escape the confines of his apartment before a panic attack consumed me and I was unable to function. I rose to my feet and rushed toward the door.

  “Wait.” Porter hopped up from the couch and ran in front of me, closing the door. He turned, forcing me against the wall of the hallway. Then he placed his hands on the wall on either side of me, and stood much too close to me.

  My heart thumped inside my chest and sweat formed on the back of my neck. He was trapping me. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I come here? What did I expect to happen?

  Silly girl.

  Foolish girl.

  Stupid girl.

  Porter tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he asked, “Why are you really here?”

  “I-I already t-told you.” I clenched my eyes tightly, scolding myself for stumbling on my words.

  “No, that’s not why. Tell me the truth.” He leaned in closer, whispering into my ear, “It’s okay, you can say it.”

  Slowly, he inched closer. I felt like his prey as he backed me into the wall, one arm above each of my shoulders. With my back pressed against the wall and his breath on the sensitive skin of my neck, my anxiety ramped up and the area between my legs began to throb.

  “Say what?” I whispered, finally allowing my gaze to meet his. His eyes had darkened, become intense, and focused on me as if everything else in the world had ceased to exist. No one had ever looked at me like that.

  He sees me.

  Really sees me.

  What on earth have I gotten myself into?

  “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low. He lifted one hand from the wall and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  I shook my head.

  “You’re lying,” he insisted. “I know it.”

  Again, I shook my head from side to side, closing my eyes tightly, resisting the urge to place my lips on his, just like I had in my dreams.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said softly. “I don’t want to, but I can’t stop. Ever since you came here that day, I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

  I flinched. That awful word made my shoulders tense. But my heart fluttered at the idea of Porter thinking of me, wanting me, dreaming of me like I dreamed of him. I said nothing, but met his stare with my own.

  “Tell me something,” he whispered when I didn’t respond to his confession. “Do you love him?”

  Again, this wholly inappropriate question. Only this time, I wanted to answer. I wanted to scream it through the apartment. I wanted him to know that Lehi Cluff could never own my heart.

  When I didn’t answer, he moved in closer, so close I could feel the thumping of his heart against mine. I shook my head in answer to his question, and he sighed.

  “I see.” He nuzzled the hot skin of my neck with his nose, before he pulled back to look into my eyes. “Tell me something else.”

  I glanced away quickly, afraid to look back into his icy eyes.

  “Does he make you come?”

  I wanted to pretend that I knew what he meant. But I didn’t. I had no idea. I glanced up, searching his eyes for an explanation.

  “C-come where?” I asked finally.

  He chuckled again under his breath. “Come,” he said again as he ran his finger down the side of my neck, then skimmed it along the neckline of my dress.

  “It’s not a place, it’s a feeling,” he explained. “A feeling so intense you come apart.”

  Porter continued to drag his fingers gently across the delicate skin at the base of my neck. I held my breath, but the rise and fall of my chest didn’t stop.

  “It’s what happens when a man knows how to touch a woman the right way. Make her feel things no one else can. Make her respond with the lightest touch, in just the right place.”

  His face was inches from mine. I could taste his breath. Feel the heat.

  “Oh.” I
swallowed hard. My throat was dry, my breath harsh. He was talking about orgasms. Rebecca had explained them to me, about losing herself in Burt. I’d never lost myself, but something told me I could easily lose myself in Porter. Part of me was already lost in him, in his smoky voice, in the heat of his breath on my ear, in the tip of his finger against the fabric of my dress.

  “I’d make you come . . . so hard.” His voice was rough as his finger continued to dip down beneath the cotton.

  The pulsing in my private area increased, so much that I had to press my thighs together to numb the sensation. He glanced down at my crossed feet and smiled.

  “Come on, Brin. Admit it,” he insisted softly. “You think about me, just as I think about you. I know you do.”

  Involuntarily, as if somehow detached from the reasonable side of my brain, my head nodded up and down. Slowly. So slowly.

  “And that’s why you came here . . .”

  I nodded again, swallowing hard.

  “But you’re afraid. Afraid they’ll catch you.”

  Again, I nodded, a barely perceptible movement.

  He removed his finger from my neckline, smoothed my hair, and peered into my eyes with a gentleness he hadn’t shown me since he grasped my wrist a month ago.

  “I want to see you again.” His blue eyes blinked rapidly as we stood in silence. Both of us waiting for me to summon a response.

  My lips responded, turning up into a soft smile. Porter smiled in return. Something inside me shifted, and a boldness crept forward as my hand reached to grasp his. He released the wall and squeezed my fingers, sighing loudly.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t come into town every day.”

  “Try,” he whispered, once again nuzzling his nose into my neck before placing a tiny kiss on my skin. When I sighed in response, craving more of his touch, he said, “Just try.”

  “I will,” I answered. “I’ll try.”

  Porter stepped back, rubbing his neck with one hand as he opened the door with the other.

  I wiped my brow quickly with the tips of my fingers and walked to the doorway. When I stopped to catch one more glimpse of the man who made my heart pound and my skin sweat, he took my hand in his and kissed my fingertips.