Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Lee and Amanda. All subsequent characters are my own creation.
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The Scent of a Stranger
Amanda sifted through the clothes, separating colors from whites. It was a mundane activity, but one that—unlike sitting around and watching television on her day off—reaped a benevolent outcome. She dropped the whites into the washing machine, crushing the layer of foamy suds on top with undershirts, socks and briefs. She left the colors in the laundry basket and walked away.
The washing machine churned, pulling apart and pushing together its pallid contents. The noise was soft, and the vibration hardly noticeable over the vacuum several yards away. It was Sunday and Amanda was celebrating a long week with housework.
Lee sat in the dining room, a phone at his ear, his voice hushed. He tapped the fingers of his left hand on the table and stared through the opened blinds of a window. Slivers of light struck his face like horizontal cell bars, and assailed his plaid shirt as if they too were a piece of the design. The vacuum stopped and his voice became quieter.
"Okay," he spoke into the receiver. "Right, I'll see you then."
He hung up the phone and looked at what he was staring at through the pane—his own reflection. He rubbed his hands along his unshaven cheeks and brushed his fingers through his hair. "Hey, Amanda?"
The voice came from the living room. "Yah?"
"Do you think I should change my hair?"
She walked into the dining room, brandishing a cloth and dust spray. "You mean like getting it cut?"
"Yah. What do you think?"
She leaned against his chair and stared at his reflection in the window, running her hand through his thick brown hair. "I think if you cut it any shorter you'll have to join the military."
He smiled at her and took the cloth and spray. "Let me finish for you."
* * *
Lee stepped out of the shower. His face was shaved. A towel hung around his waist. His hair was black with moisture and his skin pink with heat. He changed into gray slacks and a short-sleeved white collared shirt, pulling a belt around his waist before mending his muddled hair.
Amanda sat in the living room, her feet resting on a cushioned stool. She grazed her eyes along the yellowed pages of a novel and stared up at Lee.
"Aren't we the lovely one tonight." She smiled, her long row of teeth shining in the light of a reading lamp.
He pulled on a light jacket. "You don't think it's too much, do you? The guys decided to try out some new place and I'm not quite sure what the attire is like there."
"Better to be safe than sorry," she approved.
He bent down and kissed her.
"Have a nice time," she called as he exited the room. She looked back at her book and turned the page.
***
Lee walked into the restaurant like an animal in search of food. His eyes darted from side to side, catching in everyone with blonde hair—everyone with green eyes. He was close to turning away, reconsidering the night altogether, when a raised hand and broad smile called him over from the bar. He stood taller and moved toward his prey. He was pleased.
***
Wednesday was a blur to Amanda. She and Lee saw a man put behind bars for kidnapping the daughter of a mayor—killed before their efforts came to fruition—and were given another case—to locate and dispose of the headquarters of a major drug ring. She slumped into the house with her husband and threw off her coat.
"Oh, Jeez."
Lee turned to her.
"What is it?"
She pulled at her shirt. "I didn't realize I got so filthy today."
Lee glanced at his own torso—his white long-sleeved collared shirt was splattered with flecks of dirt and even a small amount of blood. Amanda noticed the splattering of red across his stomach and started. "His or yours?"
Lee lifted his shirt to expose a long but narrow cut along his abdomen. "Mine. It's not bad though. Want me to wash yours with it?"
Amanda lifted off her shirt. "I'll do it. You just order pizza or Chinese or anything; I'm starving." She turned a dial on the washing machine and scooped in some detergent before walking to the bedroom. She lifted the laundry basket and brought it to the washer. Her blouse was white, Lee's shirt was white—she would wash the brights.
She tossed in that days shirts, some socks, and a pair of briefs before reaching in for another handful of garments. She flung in another sock and an undershirt when something in the air caught her attention. It was a scent—not the laundry soap, but something—something in her hand. She smelled each article separately—another undershirt, a hand towel—before stopping at a short-sleeved white collared shirt. It was the one Lee had worn Sunday night. The night he went out with the guys. Surely someone had bumped into him and left a trace of their perfume or cologne or whatever. Nothing was out of the ordinary in this picture—except for a stranger's smell.
A sudden sense of nakedness came upon her. She reached into the basket and—regardless of its cleanliness—put on the first shirt of hers she could find. She shut the laundry machine lid and walked away.
When she walked into the hall she could hear Lee talking in a near whisper. She paused, stretching her back against the wall. Her head was tilted at a slight angle. She closed her eyes.
"Okay, forty-five minutes. Right. Bye."
Amanda tugged at the bottom of her shirt and continued through the dining room, turning a corner into the kitchen.
"The pizza should be here in a bit," Lee exclaimed, turning his body to see Amanda pouring a glass of water and taking out a bottle of aspirin. "You feeling okay?"
"Just a little headache. It was quite a long day," she said before slipping the pill into her mouth and chasing it with her drink.
"Well, for me it gets even longer." Lee walked to Amanda, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand—no fever. "Frank called from the bar. It seems he got in another fight with Margie. He's feeling a bit down in the dumps so I figured I might take the reins from the bartender for a while… if you don't mind."
Amanda placed the empty glass in the sink. "Oh. No. Of course not."
Lee went to their room. "I won't be out too long hopefully. You never know with Frank, do you?"
Amanda smiled. What a fool she was being. She had absolutely no reason not to believe Lee. He never lied to her before. Why would he begin now? He wouldn't—end of story.
"Well," she said, slumping into the couch. "Send him my best."
***
The lights of the restaurant were brighter than on Sunday and Wednesday—almost as if they were altered for the slightly older Saturday crowd. Lee walked in with a cheery, almost weightless air about him. He stepped up to the bar, an empty seat to his left.
"Well well," came a voice from his right. "If it isn't Lee Stetson." Lee looked up. The tuft of the man's blonde hair fell over his brow, an inch above his emerald green eyes. Lee pushed the lock away with his index finger and dropped his hand onto Jack's left thigh.
***
Lee eased himself into bed. The red glow of 2:45 from the alarm clock blushed against his white undershirt. He slipped beneath the sheets slowly and closed his eyes.
"You smell nice." Amanda remained still.
"I smell like smoke," Lee replied.
"No," she turned toward him. "Is that new cologne?"
"Yes." He pulled the sheets closer to his chin and left his hands against his neck. The feel of his pulse intensified at his palms. His breathing grew shallow.
"Oh." She wiped a finger beneath her eye. "What's she called?"
Lee's movement ceased altogether. "You mean the cologne?" His heart began beating faster.
"No, Lee. What's her name?"
He stammered. "What—uh—what are you talking about?"
Amanda sat up. "Don't play stupid Lee. I know you're not what you take me for." Her eyes were minuscule oceans of tears, the moisture surrounding even smaller islands of brown.
Lee raised himself. "Amanda, there is no one." His arms shook beneath his weight. He was beaten.
She was crying. "Please, Lee. Please. Every time you go out you come back smelling like a different person. One night you're out with the guys, the next night it's Frank, and tonight it's your cousin—whom I took the liberty of calling."
Lee's eyes widened.
"Yes, Lee. I called John and do you know who picked up the phone?" No response. "John did!" She slapped at his chest. Lee raised his arms above his torso. "Please, Lee. Just tell me her name."
He did not respond.
"Please," she cried.
"Jack."
She pulled away slightly. Tears had etched into her cheeks and gathered at the base of her chin.
"His name is Jack." Lee was crying. He covered his mouth and sobbed. "Amanda, I'm so sorry." He reached his hand out to her but she pulled away.
"No." She said. She stood up and hurried into the bathroom, slamming the sallow door behind her.
Lee dashed to the door and attempted to turn the iron knob—locked. He slumped against the door.
"I never wanted things to turn out like this, Amanda." He could hear her sobs through the door. "I tried telling you so many times. But I couldn't. I just couldn't say it." He beat his chest. "God, I still can't say it." He palmed the door and spoke softly. "I'm so sorry, Amanda. I'm so sorry."
***
The door opened at 8 that morning. The light from the bathroom met with what came through the window—slicing into each other over Lee's crumpled body.
Amanda knelt down and placed her hand on Lee's shoulder. He stirred and looked up at her sullen face—her eyes were moist, her cheeks red, and her hair mussed. Lee sat up and wiped at his mouth. His voice was frail.
"What now?"