A Delicate Truth

by McKnight, Zoe

  He squints at me as if he’s trying to discern the truth then pours himself another glass, only more.

  “I don’t know what the solution is, but there must be a way we can work this out so it works for all of us, especially Morgan,” I say. “She’s the only one who really matters here.”

  “She is.”

  “So how can we all be a part of her life without having to drag this through court?” The vodka is calling my name, but I resist the urge to ask for any.

  “You know, a month ago, Blair, we could’ve worked it out. It’s important that she know me—as her father. I would have been fine to share custody with you, but you can’t just push me out of the picture. When I saw that that’s what you set up to do, I had no choice.”

  He gets another glass, fills it halfway and hands it to me. “Here, I know you want some.”

  “Thanks. And you’re right. And I apologize for Vaughn’s behavior. It was wrong. If I knew what he was going to do, I would’ve stopped him.” I take a sip and feel my insides warm. “You have to understand that he’d just found out, only days before. He was hurt and angry. He acted out.”

  Dylan loosens his tie and leans against the counter. “How’d he find out anyway?”

  Just the thought of that day sends a shiver down my spine. I never was able to confront Celine and now that Ed’s in a coma I doubt I ever will.

  “I don’t know. One day we were fine, then he disappeared overnight, came back and confronted me.”

  “And you have no idea how he found out?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  “Yeah, but I doubt I ever will. Maybe he was following me, saw us meet up and started to investigate. I have no idea. Does it even matter now?” I say. “What? Why do you have that look on your face?”

  “Nothing. Yeah, maybe he had you followed.” He raises the bottle of Ketel One. “More?”

  I hold out my glass. “So is there any way we can come up with an agreement of some type? To share custody on our own. Without the courts involved?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t know about that—the water is already muddied. Vaughn and I won’t be able to stand in the same room again. He went way too far. I don’t know that I even want her under the same roof with him.”

  “What are you implying? That he’s abusive? He’s not! He loves her.”

  “Not saying that. Saying that the blood is bad. He’s not going to agree to any arrangement. Look at the lengths he went to in order to shut me out.”

  “What if I tell you he’s had a change of heart?” I don’t know where that lie even came from, I just need something to get him to drop the suit. I’ll figure out the rest later.

  “Change of heart? Ha! Nice try, Blair.”

  “He loves Morgan, doesn’t want to see her hurt. He’s had time to think and calm down.”

  “Since Thursday? C’mon now, what do you take me for?”

  “Really. We talked about it, even prayed on it.”

  I can see the slow revolving of his thoughts. He’s weighing his options. He doesn’t want to go through a long, drawn-out hearing. He wants this to work out seamlessly. He just needs to believe that it will.

  “Dylan please, for Morgan’s sake. Don’t let our stupid mistakes affect her. She deserves better.”

  “I don’t know…”

  His phone rings. He answers and spends the next five minutes exchanging pleasantries as if I’m not standing here. He raises an index finger then gestures with all five to let me know he’ll just be a minute. Rather than sit here waiting for him to get off, I go to the bathroom. I head down the hallway and notice the door, to his second bedroom, is slightly ajar. I see a hint of purple wallpaper. Purple? Is Gayle already redecorating up in here? I gingerly turn the doorknob. What the hell?

  In the middle of the room is a white canopy bed with a ruffled bed skirt. It’s flanked by two petite nightstands. Yellow and white curtains line the windows. On the floor is a plush purple rug, shaped like a ladybug. There’s a rocking chair in the corner and an array of dolls sitting on a white oak chest. Morgan’s name is spelled out in stenciled letters on the wall.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I whip around. “What is this?”

  “Why are you in here? I thought you were going to the bathroom.”

  “When did you do this?”

  “Over time.” His grin is sheepish. “A little at a time. I wanted her to have a room of her own here. Wishful thinking, I suppose. One pillow turned into a blanket into a bed…”

  Part of me is angry. Angry that he’s presumptuous enough to have this room set up for her, as if we’re already sharing custody. But at the same time, the care and thought he’s put into it, warms my heart. I can almost see her here. Sitting on the rug, her big brown eyes wide with excitement as she flits from toy to toy. I turn to him and see the wistfulness in his eyes. I wonder how many times he’s stood in this very doorway, dreaming of the day when he’ll actually have her here with him. I’m the only thing standing in the way.

  “Dylan, I don’t know what to say…”

  He’s standing inches behind me. So close that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I smell him, the distinct scent of sandalwood cologne. My words are caught in my throat, because I’m no longer here, in this moment. In my mind’s eye it’s over two years ago, and there is no Morgan, and my marriage is in shambles, and I’m with the man who made me feel alive.

  I turn around, and now we’re standing face to face. My forehead to his chin. There’s less than six inches between us, but we don’t move. He looks down at me and removes his glasses. I look up. My lips slightly part, but I say nothing. He inhales and bites down on his lower lip. Without a thought I raise my hand to his face and trace a finger down his cheek. He places his hand over mine. It’s warm. Familiar. We stare at each other, but still exchange no words. Slowly, he shakes his head, then lowers it towards mine. Our faces inch a bit closer, then stop. Neither of us wants to be the first to initiate the kiss we both know is inevitable. Before I can talk myself out of it, his lips are on mine. They feel the same way they did the first time we kissed. No, they feel better. Soon our lips part and our tongues meet.

  His hands are on the small of my back, pulling me towards him. Our bodies are now pressed together, surging a tingle down the length of my spine. He pulls his lips from mine, slides my blouse aside, exposing my neck and a hint of shoulder. He kisses both. I wrap my arms around his neck then graze my fingernails down his back. He moans. Or is that me? I can no longer tell where he ends and I begin.

  “Blair,” he whispers. “I want you.”

  I don’t respond, nor do I resist when he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me to his room. There, he lays me down onto the bed and gently climbs on top. He unbuttons my blouse and I make quick work of removing his tie then his shirt. When his chest is bare and only the lace of my bra is between us, I pull him towards me. We kiss and move against each other. He rolls me over so that I’m straddling him, then stops and stares as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

  “What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead he flips me back over. “God, you’re beautiful.” More warm kisses on my neck and breasts. “How did I ever lose you?”

  My jeans and his pants soon join the rest of our discarded clothes. He traces his finger down the length of my body stopping only when he reaches my panties. The voices in my head want him to stop. Before it’s too late, Blair they warn. Stop him and get out of here. Now! Don’t make the same mistake twice. I stop his hand just as it snakes beneath my panties. Once I feel his fingers on the flesh between my thighs, I tell him no.

  “No,” he whispers. “We can’t stop now.”

  Although my will is weak, our hands battle for a moment. That is, until he takes my right leg, arches it towards me and maneuvers himself in between my legs. My panties, now wet and defenseless, are the only
thing standing between my waning resistance and his hardness. I want him. Every inch of me wants to feel him.

  “Dylan, no,” I whisper too low for either him or my lust to hear.

  My legs find their way around his waist. My panties find their way to the side, and in an instant, Dylan finds his way inside of me. I turn my head to the side, press my face against the pillow and quiver with shameful pleasure.

  “God, I missed you,” he moans.

  Our hands meet and fingers lock. Our bodies move together in one fluid motion.

  “Did you miss me? Tell me…” he says.

  In between thrusts, I nod yes, but say nothing. Then it hits me. Out of nowhere I’m drowning under an intense wave of guilt. What am I doing? This is wrong! This is sooo wrong.

  “Dylan.”

  “Yeah, Baby?”

  “Stop. We have to stop. Now!”

  “No. We can’t. You feel too good.”

  I press my palms against his chest. “No, stop. We can’t do this.”

  He pulls away. “What’s wrong?”

  “This. We can’t.”

  He lifts himself off of me. “Blair, no.”

  I squirm from beneath him and roll to the side of the bed. I sit up and search around the perimeter for my underwear. “I can’t believe we just did that. This is wrong!”

  He rests on his side, leaning on his elbow. “No, it’s not. It happened for a reason.”

  I find my bra and quickly put it on. “No, I’ve got to get out of here. Where are my pants?”

  He gets out of bed, puts on his boxers then hands me my jeans. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t force you to do something you didn’t want to. I just got caught up. We were standing there and you looked so beautiful and it was like how it used to be…”

  I quickly button my blouse. “I’ve got to go.”

  “No, wait. You can’t run out of here like this.”

  I smooth back my hair and search for my left shoe.

  “Blair, stop.” He reaches for my wrist then pulls me towards the bed. “Sit down, let’s talk about this.”

  Reluctantly, I sit beside him. I eye my watch. I haven’t been here long, but I may as well have spent the night for all of the damage I just did.

  “Dylan, what? I have to go.”

  “We did nothing wrong, okay?”

  “Nothing wrong? I’m married! We’re in the middle of some custody thing. Not a week ago you and Vaughn were fighting. This is all a terrible mess!”

  “I know. But getting hysterical isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s just think this through—”

  “What’s there to think through? I’ve fucked up. Again!” I bury my face in my hands.

  “You’re making a bigger deal of this than it is.”

  “And with no protection … what were we thinking?”

  “Of giving Morgan a baby brother?” he jokes.

  “Not funny!” I cry. “I have to go. Please. Just let me go.”

  “Let me get dressed,” he says. “We’ll have a drink and figure this all out.”

  I bolt from the bed and speed towards the front door. On my way out, I scoop up my purse and jacket and am out on his front stoop before he can pull his t-shirt over his head.

  My cellphone rings continuously as I speed to the highway. Dylan’s number lights up on my dashboard, but I won’t answer. Damn it Blair! What the hell is wrong with you? I had no business going over there in the first place. I pound my palm against the steering wheel. So. Fucking. Stupid!

  I try to call Elle, but the bluetooth can’t recognize my words through the bawling. After two more tries, the automated voice tells me, in its pre-set British accent, that it’s “Calling Elle.” It rings four times before I hear her greeting. This is not the kind of news I can report via voicemail, so I hang up. Two seconds later my phone rings back. In a haste I press “answer,” but it’s not her.

  “Blair.”

  “Dylan, what?”

  “Why did you run out of here?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

  “What’s there to talk about? It was wrong.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Dylan, please.”

  “Come back, okay? Just so we can talk.”

  “I can’t … that never should’ve happened.”

  “You’re right. But it did. And we just can’t act like it didn’t,” he says, “Blair, are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come back so we can talk, okay?”

  I shake my head. I head towards the entrance ramp of the highway but a small part of me wants him to say something that will convince me to go back. Something so convincing that I can’t say no. I pass the entrance and pull over on the side of the service road.

  I hear my mother’s voice. You’re playing with fire, Blair.

  “It’s not a good idea,” I say.

  “C’mon, I won’t try anything, I promise.”

  What is the harm in talking to him? I tell my mother’s voice.

  Then my conscience whispers in my ear, You’re going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

  “You don’t have to come back here,” he says. “We can meet somewhere. Um, at the Panera on South twelfth.”

  Out in the open, at a restaurant is safe enough, isn’t it? No dim lighting, just the smell of bread and coffee amidst a room of strangers. There’s no harm in it. I can’t believe I’m even considering it.

  “C’mon,” he says. “I’m leaving the house now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I want to hear what he has to say. But I’m afraid of the effect his words will have on me. Back there, at his house, when he touched me, something awoke in me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. What if it comes back? What if he touches me again? In the state I’m in, a graze of my elbow might push me over the edge.

  “Blair?” he says. I can tell he’s outside now. On his way to meet me.

  I put my car in drive and pull onto the highway. “Dylan, I can’t. We have to pretend like that just didn’t happen, okay? We’ve got too much on the line now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’ve got to go.” I hang up and merge into a bevy of rush hour drivers.

  By the time I’ve pulled up into our circular driveway, I have six missed calls from Dylan. Thankfully he’s left no messages. I can’t bear to hear his voice. When Elle returns my call, I don’t answer her either; I’m too ashamed to repeat what happened. That was so weak. I should’ve had more self-control. You’d think after everything I’ve been through I would have enough sense to keep from causing more trouble. My mistake was in going over there in the first place. Well, maybe not entirely. Before that happened, he was coming around. I could see it in his face. He was willing to compromise. But no. I had to be so stupid and go into that room.

  No sooner than I close the front door behind me, I’m confronted by Vaughn.

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  My stomach churns. I feel as though he can smell Dylan on me. As if he somehow knows where I’ve been and what I was doing. Logic assures me that he doesn’t. He hasn’t been particularly interested in my whereabouts since learning the truth. And I doubt he’d expend any effort in trailing me. Still, I’m frightened by the look on his face. Enough to stumble over my words. I have no alibi prepared. I never thought I’d need one.

  “Uh … Tommy was having a happy hour thing in Montclair. For his birthday. I promised to stop by for a quick drink.”

  He appraises me, and I instantly regret my lie. How does it sound, me going to a happy hour while we’re in the midst of a crisis. But it’s the only thing that I know would sound half-way believable. Tommy, my hairdresser, was the best I could come up with. Vaughn seems satisfied. He grunts, turns and heads upstairs.

  The water is hot. So hot I can barely stand it, but I don’t dare lower the temperature. Nothing will wash away the evidence of what I’ve done, but I
scrub harder. I can barely see through the billows of steam. My tears wash away before they can even reach my cheeks. Here I am again. Back to the place I was, almost two years ago to the day, when I was terrified that Dylan would out me. I remember night after sleepless night. Every time the phone would ring, my heart would beat into a frenzy. Whenever I heard a car in the driveway or discovered a piece of handwritten mail, my palms would sweat and my thoughts would scramble to fabricate more excuses and lies. It went on that way for months. And here I am again. Nervous beyond belief and utterly disappointed with myself. I’ve risked everything—again.

  I collapse onto my bed wrapped only in a towel. Not only don’t I have the energy to dry off, but I can’t concentrate long enough to even select a nightgown from my drawer. For the first time I’m grateful for our new sleeping arrangements. Tonight I relish the solitude. I wouldn’t be able to explain the tears or the outbreaks of sobbing that come and go each time I allow my thoughts to wonder “What if?” What if Dylan tells Vaughn? Then what? I’m completely out of ideas. There’s nothing I can do except deny it, but I’m so tired of the lying. So tired of always thinking two steps ahead and trying to fill the cracks between my tiles of lies.

  When a knock on the door wakes me, I sit up and feel around in the dark for the lamp. I hear a hoarse version of my voice, say, “Come in.”

  “Are you up?” Vaughn asks.

  I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

  He tells me it’s a little past one and approaches the bed. Only when his eyes come to rest on my chest, do I remember that I went to bed undressed. I pull the comforter up over my breasts and tuck it beneath my arms. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  His presence in the room feels bizarre, but it becomes downright unnerving when he sits on the edge of the bed.

  “How come you don’t have any clothes on?”

  I draw the comforter closer to my bosom. “I got out of the shower and fell right into bed. I was so tired.”

  “Tired from?”

  “Just everything.”

  He nods. “Yeah, me too. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.”

  I tell him I’m sorry again. But I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for sleeping with Dylan a couple of years ago or a couple of hours ago.