I rolled over on top of him and sat up, straddling him. “Let me take it from here.”
I leaned over him, my hair forming a waterfall around us, and began at his stubbled chin, working my way down while unbuttoning his shirt, massaging his chest muscles, licking my way around his belly toward the top of his zipper. His stomach muscles flinched with each tongued caress and the sound of the zipper pulling downwards sang through the silence.
My hand found his swollen member, my lips met the beaded tip, his moans escalated, he intertwined his fingers in my hair. I’d almost brought him to climax when he bent forward, pulling me up to the top of the bed, hovering above me in all his hard masculinity.
Pushing up my dress, he pulled down my underpants, massaging my clitoris with his thumb. I was already floating toward delirium, wanting the release my body craved. With wide-open eyes, I met his stare, grabbed the sides of his shirt, pulling him down to kiss me. I opened my legs, anticipating his entrance.
My renewed passion thrilled and surprised us both. I arched my back and he slid inside and upwards, taking me higher with each increasing thrust. I cried out his name, he buried his face in the side of my neck, his body shuddering to stillness.
We slept on and off through the night, in between lovemaking. Our world shifted back to the past, how we’d been before our lost child.
Labor Day passed in a whirlwind of walking along the beach, eating, resting, and making love at every opportunity. Sunday night arrived in what seemed like minutes, and I found myself once again driving him to the airport for his flight to New York. We kissed and hugged until the time came for his departure, silently acknowledging we were back together again and on the same wavelength.
I’d thought of telling him about Edward over the short weekend, but was afraid of ruining what little time we had together. I didn’t know whether he would forgive me for my transgression. Our relationship had been shaky at the time I met Edward. That didn’t excuse my behavior but I didn’t want to admit to what I’d done right before telling him goodbye before he flew off to New York. We wouldn’t be able to work on our relationship from a distance. We’d already experienced what could happen when so many miles separated us from daily contact, the constant arguing and misunderstandings.
I drove back to Alameda contemplating when would be best to confess my one-night stand. It was like walking a balance beam. If I told him over the phone while he was in New York, I’d run the risk of our never having the opportunity to salvage our marriage. And if I kept it from him much longer, he’d wonder if my waiting couldn’t be construed as devious and deceptive and our marriage would be damned.
But after my journey to the edge of the planet, I was on my trip back home. I felt right again, smiling, remembering our short time together over the holiday. And I was already looking forward to his returning home for Christmas vacation, happy I’d reconnected with my husband after months of shunning him. I guess I wouldn’t need a referral to a counselor after all!
I surmised the best time to reveal my indiscretion would be when Weston returned permanently from New York, after the New Year. Then we could deal with our issues together, not over the phone, with no time constraints. And I was prepared to live with the ramifications of my actions whatever they might be.
Chapter 9
I continued revising my novel, about a young woman whose husband dies and she finds love and a new life after settling in a fictional town in California. Brent had connected with the editor he’d told me about last time we’d spoken and Brent had sent him a copy of the first several chapters of my manuscript.
Brent and I spent a good deal of time on the phone haggling over character behavior, the use of slang, plot. We argued over everything, but it was an infusion of lifeblood for me. I loved the process almost as much as writing the book, knowing it was never easy getting your novel published and a spine of steel was always necessary. And I was happy I wouldn’t have to write a sequel. Brent had made that clear to the editor upfront.
Every now and again I’d think of Edward and our one night of passion; but not too often anymore. I called his law firm from a public telephone once, just to see whether he was still in town; he’d mentioned the possibility of a transfer. I was told he’d moved to Washington State where their newest satellite office had opened.
Now I could return to Peet’s for my daily caffeine fix, but I hadn’t been adhering to my jogging routine. I’d been tired and strung out, worried about what the editor would say about my book, on edge about how Weston would react to my indiscretion.
I was caught in a Catch-22 with not enough energy to exercise which exacerbated my exhaustion and I felt more tired than ever. The tension continued to build up inside me with no release. No exercise, no sex, just sitting on the phone with Brent about my manuscript or typing on my computer, editing and revising. It was physically and mentally fatiguing.
Weston and I talked on the phone several times a week. The bridge span project was coming to fruition and would be finished in January. Having made the decision to wait until he returned home for good to tell him about Edward, I was excited about the upcoming holiday. We’d have plenty of time to talk in January, and I was sure we could work it out then. The “me” Weston knew and loved would never have had a one night stand and I trusted he’d forgive me for my aberrant behavior.
Cecilia was preparing the account books for her husband’s company, Saxton Inc., which reduced our time together to snippets of talk on the phone every now and again. Between my book and her accounting, we didn’t get an opportunity to see each other often.
Weston was scheduled to arrive on December eighteenth for a week’s vacation. I managed to squeeze in some shopping, knowing our time together once he came home would be filled with visiting friends, Christmas parties, and just relaxing together.
The night before his arrival, I’d awakened during the night with a bad case of vertigo, the room going round like a carousel. I fell back to sleep and when I woke up again at seven a.m. I felt a little better. I had a piece of toast for breakfast and felt almost like myself again. However, knowing I could have a spell of dizziness while driving made me uncomfortable, so I called Cecilia to ask her a favor.
“Do you think you could pick up Weston at the airport this afternoon? I think I have a touch of the flu or something and don’t feel myself.”
“What are your symptoms?”
“It was as if I’d just gotten off the TiltaWhirl at Santa Cruz! The room was spinning and my stomach felt weird. I’m fine now but I’m afraid to drive in case I have another dizzy episode.”
“Don’t think anything of it. I’ll pick him up,” she insisted. “Anything to take me away from these damn numbers and columns. I’m going crazy stuck at this computer all day. Just take care of yourself. I’ll come by for the flight info in a little while.”
She was a lifesaver, going out of her way to help me out and a great friend, always there when I needed her. By the time she dropped Weston off later that day I was feeling better, ready to enjoy the holiday with him. That evening we both fell asleep early. He was jet-lagged and I wasn’t completely back to normal after the previous night’s episode of vertigo.
The next day Weston planned to Christmas shop. I was overly tired and couldn’t shake it, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I didn’t understand why I felt under the weather, but underneath it all, the stress from everything that had happened in my life had taken its toll.
Losing my child, my subsequent spiral into depression, the one night with Edward—all these had happened in such a short time, wreaking emotional havoc on my body. I surmised I was experiencing some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. My periods had always been erratic and since losing Christine they’d become more irregular so I called Dr. Farney to ask her about it. She agreed my menstrual history coupled with the emotional toll of losing Christine and postpartum depression would explain my not menstruating on any set schedule.
When she asked if I
could be pregnant, I paused, recalling Weston’s return home for Labor Day weekend and our nights of passion. We’d made love more times than I could count. I hadn’t used protection, hadn’t given it a moment of thought, and wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. Was there a possibility I could be pregnant? It would explain my missed periods, the vertigo, and the exhaustion I’d been experiencing.
Suddenly I had to know. I jogged to the pharmacy around the corner to buy a home pregnancy kit but when I returned, I came down with a bad case of “cold feet,” put the kit in my bottom drawer, and decided if I woke up on Christmas morning and felt funky, I’d use it.
Weston and I stayed up late on Christmas Eve, catching up on each other’s stories, the New York bridge project, my novel. We watched Miracle on 34th Street for the zillionth time, falling asleep on the couch by ten o’clock. I was tired, he was jet-lagged, and tomorrow we’d decided to have Cecilia and Perry over for Christmas dinner.
On Christmas morning I experienced a light case of vertigo again but after getting out of bed it seemed to dissipate. In the back of my mind, though, I’d made myself a promise and knew what I had to do.
Weston fixed breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast and my favorite decaf latte. My appetite had returned since yesterday and I felt fine by mid-morning. But while Weston was on the phone with Perry I ran upstairs to find the pregnancy test kit, followed the directions, set it behind my make-up bag on the countertop in the bathroom, and ran back downstairs.
“That was Perry,” he said when I sat down next to him on the couch.
“What did he want? They’re still coming for dinner aren’t they?”
“Yeah. We were just saying hello. I haven’t talked to him much since I left in July. He wanted to know what time dinner was.”
“You told him four, right?”
“Yep…Hey, Santa seems to have left you something under the tree. Did you see it?” He pointed to a box underneath the green branches.
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t know he’d stopped by.” I laughed. “Should I open it now?”
He gestured toward the ten-foot spruce. “I think you’ll like it.”
“How would you know?” I looked at him seriously. “Did he tell you what it is?”
Leaning over, he gave me a chaste kiss. “He and I are best buds. Go ahead, open it.”
I walked over and picked up the small box wrapped in shiny red paper with a curly white bow. Sitting back on the couch, I slipped off the ribbon and discovered a dark blue velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold bracelet.
“Oh my God, West, it’s gorgeous,” I said under my breath.
“Look at the inside edge,” he prodded.
I read it out loud, “I’ll love you forever.” Turning toward him, I kissed his clean-shaven chin, working my way up to his mouth. He ran his hands up and down my back in a soft caress.
I was melting under the warmth of his hands but my mind was too preoccupied with the pregnancy results. “I’ll be right back,” I said, pulling away from his embrace. “Your present’s in our bedroom.”
I ran up the stairs like a flash of lightening, took a deep breath, and pulled the stick out from behind my make-up case—a plus sign. I was pregnant! I had to return to Weston and give him his gift. But which one? The soft leather jacket I’d bought for him while in San Francisco earlier in the week? Or the little box containing the blue plus sign on the stick?
My being pregnant would bring us around full circle, to when I found out I was carrying his child last time. I took the stairs slowly, my mind a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts and feelings about my condition. I sat down next to him and handed him the white pharmacy bag.
He took it tentatively. “You can’t afford wrapping paper?”
Cupping his face in my hands, I looked him in the eyes. “This is for both of us, West.” He looked confused, his eyebrows drawn down in a deep vee. “Go ahead and open it.”
He unfolded the paper bag, shook out the small stick. “You’re pregnant?”
“We’re pregnant, West.” I paused. “Are you happy? I’m happy.”
“Do you even have to ask?” He took me in a huge hug, lifted me off the couch, and swung me around in a circle then placed me back on my feet. “Of course I’m happy.”
“Maybe it’s too soon after losing Christine but I think it’s a sign, West. We were meant to have a child. This baby brings the two of us back around to each other again, from the bad place where we were after she died.”
His smile went from one ear to the other. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Should we tell Cecilia and Perry?”
“I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Perry said they’ve spent thousands of dollars trying in vitro.”
“And it didn’t work.”
“You know Cecilia better than I do. How do you think she’d react?”
I thought about it for a second. “She’d be happy for us. If she thought I didn’t tell her because of their experience with IVF she’d be mad.”
“Then let’s celebrate with them.”
We had a great time at dinner and they joined us in a toast to my being pregnant. The food was delicious; we exchanged small gifts, concluding the evening by watching a movie on the Hallmark channel. After they left I remembered to give Weston his leather jacket. He tried it on right away and modeled it for me and he looked terrific. It had been a great Christmas, one I’d remember for the rest of my life.
Chapter 10
I made an appointment with Dr. Farney for early January, after Weston returned to New York. The nurse ushered me into a patient room where she took a blood sample then I dressed in a paper gown.
Dr. Farney came into the room, a smile on her face. “So you think you’re pregnant, Brandy?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not?”
She laughed. “As a matter of fact the blood test agrees with your assessment. I’m concerned you didn’t make an appointment earlier, though.”
“I took a pregnancy test on Christmas Day and made the appointment immediately, doctor.”
“Well, I’d say you’re four months along already, Brandy. Didn’t you realize you’d missed your period?”
I shut my eyes, trying to count back four months. “So I got pregnant when?”
“My best guess is early September sometime.”
“Labor Day?”
She looked at the calendar on the back of the door and flipped back the pages. “Yes, I’d say that would be pretty accurate.”
I was thinking about my time with Weston over Labor Day weekend. “Yeah…”
She placed her hand on my forearm. “Is this good news, Brandy?”
I looked up sharply. “Oh, sure. It’s great news. I was just thinking about Labor Day when Weston came home from New York for the weekend. Wow! I guess we were lucky.”
“I’d say so,” she agreed. “Now, why don’t you get dressed and have my nurse give you the information you’ll need regarding vitamins and make another appointment for one month from today.”
I slid off the table and got dressed, thinking about my past pregnancy, hoping this one would have a happy ending. That evening when Weston phoned we discussed my appointment, sharing our surprise I’d conceived so quickly. The project in New York was scheduled for completion on January fifteenth. He’d be flying home on January twenty-second. We were counting down the days until his return.
Traffic at five p.m. to San Francisco International Airport was worse than I’d expected. I should have listened to Cecilia. She’d told me any flight arriving at SFO after three o’clock in the afternoon would mean driving on the freeway in gridlock traffic. And that’s where I found myself at 5:15 on Friday evening. I had planned to park and meet Weston when he disembarked from his flight from New York, scheduled to arrive at 6:15 p.m. Now I wasn’t sure I’d be on time.
I’d spent most of the afternoon getting ready for our big night, my dark auburn waves held up on the
sides with tortoise shell combs, jaggedly-cut bangs hung just below my eye-brows. I’d applied my makeup with a subtle hand, brown eyes lined in smudged pencil, mascara graced my thick black lashes, a dash of pink lipstick.
I wore a short black dress with a not-too-modest V carved down the front. I was five months pregnant but the weight I’d gained was all baby. Cecilia had told me I looked the same as always if she was looking at me from the back.
The traffic eased up considerably a few miles from the airport and I easily negotiated the Mercedes into the main parking complex, screeching to a stop when I found a space near the elevators. I was familiar with the terminal, and was able to find Weston’s arrival gate in minutes. The big clock on the wall said it was 6:11. His plane would not have arrived yet.
I slowed down, took a few deep breaths, and found a comfy chair to sit in, away from the madding crowd hovering in front of the arrival gate. I was anticipating Weston’s surprise at my wearing the new dress I’d bought for his homecoming. This was reminiscent of the early days of our relationship, when he’d show up at the door to take me out for dinner.
They announced the arrival of his flight and my heart did a little dance. We hadn’t seen each other since his departure after New Year’s, and our phone calls were often short, late at night, both of us exhausted and sleepy. I looked forward to cuddling up next to his big warm body, an experience I’d gradually begun to miss during the months he’d been away. I couldn’t wait until we could be alone together. There were so many things I’d taken for granted and I wanted to prove to him how much I wanted him home for good.
Passengers streamed off the jet way, making their way toward family and friends waiting for them in the lobby area. Most looked tired from the long flight from New York, along with the fact they were functioning on East Coast time. After a large group hooked up with those waiting for them, moving down the escalators to the baggage claim area, the flow of people slowed to a trickle. Then I noticed the captain and co-captain laughing and power-walking toward the crowd, probably scheduled for another flight, and thought I’d written the information incorrectly.
Moon Over Alcatraz Page 6
