CHAPTER TWO

Jeanette had thought about her night with Evan at unlikely moments: in her car at a light, on Chautauqua Boulevard, waiting to turn onto the PCH; a crazy, deaf mute, ranting and raving in sign language at traffic, just outside her passenger window, torn cardboard cluttered with illegible desperation in his flailing hand––and she was thinking of Evan’s fingers...tracing her nipples, slowly, delicately; one nipple; then the other, coating them with his saliva.

He’d unleashed something in her––she hadn’t felt that way since when...her early twenties?––an uncensored desire to be free.

Evan had made her feel beautiful; beautiful and raunchy; beautiful and raunchy and alive.

Evan had made her feel like she wasn’t married––and now she wasn’t.