“Yes. It would help me in some way to believe she really did love me, after all. Even though I’ll never have the chance to know what it feels like for her to love me totally and completely, I would know that at least she wanted to try. That for once she chose me over herself.”
“And you think Nina can help answer that for you?”
“Maybe she can, or maybe she can’t. I have to try.”
“What about you? Does she describe you in the same ornate way she describes Nina in all these?” He tapped the journals, opening and flipping through the pages of a few of them.
Layne’s earlier journals, the ones penned prior to her affair with Nina, were less detailed. She documented her transition from the East Coast, her home, to Chicago after receiving her graduate degree, along with the pressure and intensity of earning her PhD. Regarding me, she noted that she had become a part of the board at We Are One, and stated that she had met a “nice young lady who is nothing like me.”
“Her descriptions of our dating phase include none of the loving, delicate metaphors and similes she devoted to Nina,” I answered sadly.
He leaned back again. “This sounds crazy. You may uncover some things you may not want to know.”
I placed a hand on top of the journals. “What could be worse than reading, in her own words, my wife’s profession of her love for another woman?”
His eyes, the color of a russet canyon at sunset, the same shade Jenna had inherited, appeared sad and distressed. “I don’t want to see you get hurt further. It’s obvious what this Nina is capable of. She couldn’t possibly mean any good to you or for you, Taryn. You should leave this alone.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Just tell me you support me.”
Against his honest feelings, Ron gave me his blessing. “If you need me for anything, just call. I’ll be praying.”
I placed Layne’s journals back inside the tote. “Thank you. I will.”
Ron hugged me tightly, his body temperature warm through his clothing. “May God bless you,” he whispered.
On my way out, Cassandra handed me a card with the names, addresses, and phone numbers of five boys and five girls from their church. Ron must have had her prepare the list as a cover for the real purpose of my visit.
“Pastor wants to know if these kids can volunteer at the annual fund-raising game,” she explained.
“I’ll be in touch first thing Monday,” I told her before leaving.
I was close to home, having just turned left on the smooth tar-black road of our upscale community, when I saw a black Mercedes about a quarter of a mile in front of me. Red brake lights struggled to shine against the fall sunshine as the car halted in front of my driveway. The tires turned right, and the car disappeared behind the tall, orange and yellow leaf-filled trees shielding the drive. I sped up, my heart banging against my chest as I raced to meet Nina’s car just as she was parking in the same spot she had that morning. We exited our cars together.
“Nina,” I said, unsure about what had brought her back, and nonetheless thrilled that she had returned.
She stood before me, her fitted black dress clinging to her body like her own skin. Her emotions showed: red spirals circled her damp chest like a spider-spun web. “I thought of something, something I didn’t mention earlier today, that maybe you should know.”
My head dipped to the right, and I readjusted the tote on my arm. “About Layne?”
“Yes. About our conversation the morning she died.”
“Come in, please.”
Nina followed closely behind me as I walked up the stairs and into the house. She observed the tote bag I held.
“Is that them?” she asked anxiously, softly.
We stared at the stack of journals, the newest journal on top, less tattered, worn, and dingy than the ones beneath it.
“Yes, these are Layne’s.”
Nina stared into the tote bag, her expression solemn and intrigued, her mouth flat, her eyes wide, as if attempting to extract the words from the pages.
“You took them somewhere? Has someone else seen these?” Her calm tone faltered slightly.
I didn’t want to tell Nina that someone other than the two of us and our dead lover knew of their affair. Especially with that one person being Jenna’s father, the man whom Layne had known nothing about.
“I went to the park to read. Sometimes I reread them to see how I missed what was right in front of me,” I replied accusingly.
I also didn’t want to confess to Nina that I had become obsessed with the journals, and enchanted with and drawn to her before we even met. By the time I had finished reading about year three of their relationship, I no longer had the desire to burn the pages I read, but instead I had curled up on the couch or in bed with the journals day and night, seduced by Nina through Layne’s words. It was absurd and embarrassing, and yet it was true.
I set the tote bag down on the table in the foyer and took off my coat. Nina’s eyes lingered in the direction of the tote.
“Come,” I told her and led her into the family room, to the couch. We sat comfortably facing one another. “What happened to you and Layne the morning of the accident?”
“Before Layne died, I had a feeling she was going to end our relationship. Before you all went on vacation, she told me she didn’t think she could do it anymore, said she couldn’t grow old loving two women in her life.”
It hurts to hurt those I love. . . .
Nina went on. “She told me that in my office, and the look in her eyes wasn’t convincing that it was me she wanted. The morning she died, she called and said she needed to talk to me. I assumed she had made a decision while on vacation with you.”
“What exactly did she say?” I wanted to know. Maybe Nina would solve the mystery sooner than later.
Nina clasped her fingers together. Her thumbs twiddled and circled over and under one another. She spoke rapidly. “The truth is, I had taken the day off because we were supposed to spend it together. Her tone seemed off, she was not her usual self when she called, and she didn’t seem to be interested in the plans we had previously made for the day. She told me that you had just left for work and that she needed to talk to me. That’s all she said. I told her I’d be waiting at home for her, and she never showed. I knew not to call her when she was late or didn’t show, so I didn’t know of the accident until the next day at school.”
Nina slowly moved forward until our knees and shins touched. I fought to keep my eyes off the skin of her exposed thigh.
“What would have happened when she got to my condo, I’ll never know. We’ll never know,” she added, as if she was mimicking me, as if she experienced the pained craving I had inside to understand what felt like Layne’s last will and testament of love to one of us. “Maybe, Taryn, there is something for you and me in all of this,” she suggested.
“Such as?”
Nina explored me with her eyes. She reviewed my feet, a small seven against my long legs. She studied the crease of my jeans that accentuated the triangular shape that led to the place that ached for attention. Finally, she met my gaze once again, and I saw in her eyes the look I had both yearned for and feared.
“I think you’re a good person, Taryn. Better than me and Layne, actually, and I’m sorry for what we did to you. I’d like to make it up to you.”
I snickered involuntarily. “How can one make up for seven years of lies?”
“I’m not sure I can fully heal the hurt you have. But I’d like to be there for you in any way I can. If you let me.”
She’s irresistible, as enchanting and sinister as the sweetest forbidden fruit....
“Yes, okay. I’d like that,” I answered, surrendering foolishly, but still aware of my actions and intentions.
She smiled delicately. “So you will be calling me, then?”
“I need to visit the university next week,” I replied. Layne would soon be honored with a memorial, an
honorary plaque that would hang in a hall at the school, and there was some paperwork I needed to return. I had decided to return the forms in person. “I would like to visit you then,” I told her.
“My office? I’d love that,” she responded. She rose. “Until next week.”
I stood next to her. “Until then.”
We walked to the front door, I behind Nina, inhaling her fragrance as it swirled in front of me. She left the house, and again, I watched her enter her car and leave my property. I absorbed the quiet, the lifelessness of the house, as I had most days since Layne’s passing. I was alone again. Since Jenna had left for school, there had been no one to talk to, no one to laugh with or watch a late-night movie next to on the couch. Mostly, there had been no one to hug or kiss or to satisfy my womanly desires. I felt lonely and in need. I went back for the tote, dug for the journal I had read more than the others, and returned to the family room.
I inserted a CD of old songs that brought back intense childhood memories. It was the music my mother and father would play the evenings he planted a kiss on my mother’s cheek over a fist. Sometimes after Grandma went to bed, I’d creep up the back staircase to their unit and watch my mother on her hands and knees while my father thrust into her from behind. Over the music I could hear her scream, but then she’d smile her extraordinary smile, and I was happy. Unlike the usual embarrassment I felt at those particular flashbacks, in that moment I felt only a connection. I felt the rush of their passion—pain masked by frenzied lust. I was indeed my mother and father’s child.
Standing next to the couch, I removed my turtleneck and lowered my jeans until I was able to step out of them. I unsnapped my bra, took off my panties, and then released the bun that held my hair together. It fell down my back. I lay on the couch and opened the journal to a page I had folded over. That page began an entry in which Layne documented one of her and Nina’s sleaziest, most passionate exchanges. I had read the scene many times, as it had become one of my many favorites.
I envisioned a crowd of men and women surrounding a metal table upon which I lay, my arms bound above my head with chain-link cuffs. I was completely naked, as Layne had been, my legs spread, my moist middle ready for Nina. With my first and second fingers, I patted my stiff, swollen pleasure spot the way Nina had gently swatted Layne with a leather flogger. Layne, skeptical, had doubted Nina’s ability to bring her to orgasm in that manner, but Nina, focused and skilled, had proven Layne wrong. Up and down Layne’s body, Nina flogged softly and forcefully, bringing Layne to shivers. My hips rose from the couch, my body hungering for Nina’s slaps against my breasts, my waist, and my wetness. I screamed at climax, the way Layne had described her own cry of ecstasy, curious if I had become my own sadist, inflicting both pain and pleasure upon myself.
Chapter Four
“I never liked her.”
Next to me sat Ms. Sheila, in her early seventies now and still a volunteer at the center. She was expressing her disdain for Layne while we both sat in Jimmy’s office the following Wednesday. We had been discussing my wish to leave early for the day so I could go to the university.
Ms. Sheila was a wide-hipped woman who covered her full-figured body with colorful dress-like smocks and sweatpants every day. On her feet she wore white orthopedic-style shoes. Her daily attire was most fitting for a day-care center or nurse intake role. Today she had on a red Mickey Mouse print.
“She always came in here acting so proper and arrogant, like she couldn’t stand to touch the table or sit in the chairs, and snubbing everybody, like we were beneath her. Lucky you’re a pretty girl, Taryn, or I doubt she would have looked twice at you.”
“Sheila, I think that’s enough. A bit inconsiderate, don’t you think?” Jimmy squinted his left eye, while the right opened wide into an awkward, intimidating stare behind his glasses, a tactic he artfully used on disruptive kids to quiet them. Ms. Sheila shrugged her meaty shoulders like she didn’t care but said nothing further.
“Layne was very good to the center while she served on the board. She was wonderful with Jenna too,” he affirmed. I noticed he had omitted me from his statement. “Thanks for letting me know you’re taking off early. Never a problem.”
I stood to leave, and just as I reached the door of his office, he addressed me again. “Taryn, Cassandra called and asked if there was room for the list of kids she gave you to volunteer at next Friday’s basketball game. I didn’t know you and Pastor Ron had a meeting.” He shot me the exact bullying gaze he had just dished out to Ms. Sheila.
The list. How had I forgotten? After Cassandra gave it to me, I had tossed the piece of paper in the tote bag with Layne’s journals and hadn’t thought about it again.
“Yes, we had a short meeting Saturday afternoon.”
“On the weekend?”
“Yes. I had come to the center to grab something I forgot in my office when I remembered Ron had mentioned kids volunteering at the game. Because I was on this side of town, I went by the church.”
“I was here Saturday. I didn’t see you.” His right eye stretched open even farther.
“Oh, I was in and out so fast.”
“What time?”
“Around one,” I said.
Jimmy acknowledged my lie with a low grunt.
“I’ll arrange it all and reach out to Cassandra and let her know there’s room for the kids. Thanks,” I said, then hustled out of his office before he could question me further.
I wondered if Jimmy had ever noticed Jenna’s resemblance to Ron: their matching brown hue, their stunning reddish-brown eyes, their similar mannerisms, even though Jenna had grown up without Ron’s presence. When Jenna laughed, she released the same loud bellow from her belly as her father, and both of them rocked and slapped their right knee when elated. Had Jimmy figured out Jenna was a mini, female replica of Ron?
At my desk, I logged off of my computer and retrieved my purse and keys. As I approached Jimmy’s office while exiting from the rear of the center, I overheard him still in conversation with Ms. Sheila, who had remained in his office. I slowed and listened outside his door, where they couldn’t see me.
“No matter how you feel about Layne, there’s no need to mention this to Taryn,” he told her in a hushed tone.
“I’m telling you, that woman wasn’t good enough for Taryn. She may have had all the money in the world, but that don’t mean a thing with a hollow soul.”
“It’s too late to be bringing this up, don’t you think? Let it go, Sheila. We’re talking about a dead woman. Let her widow live the rest of her life in peace.”
“Okay, but it’s hard to look her in the face these days, knowing what I know.”
“It would be harder if you broke her heart.”
I bit my bottom lip while tears warmed my eyes. How many people knew of Layne’s secrets? I wiped my eyes, lifted my chin, and walked past his office.
“See you tomorrow,” I called to both of them, without slowing my strut or glancing inside.
Inside my car, I questioned how Ms. Sheila could possibly have any inside information about Layne’s indiscretions. They lived in two different realities, worlds apart. If Ms. Sheila had had information regarding Layne’s betrayal while Layne was alive, wouldn’t she have told me? We had never been best friends, but we’d been close enough over the years at the center that, I wanted to believe, she wouldn’t have knowingly watched my wife betray me. Was I the only one who had been naive about the dynamics of my and Layne’s relationship, she the queen, free and reigning, and I her pawn, limited in mobility? What would they think of my actions now if they were aware that I had befriended the woman who had made love to my wife for seven years without my knowledge?
After I parked in a visitor stall inside the university parking structure, I walked past what used to be Layne’s assigned space. It had been granted to someone else now, a Ms. Pierce, the sign read, and her conservative Ford Focus rested where Layne’s flashy 735i used to sit. It was the place where she and Ni
na had daring sex right under the nose of campus security and against campus policy.
I walked toward the main campus hall, where both Nina’s office and the office of Charles Henry, the faculty dean, were located. Layne’s former office was several blocks across the campus, in the English building. It was now my understanding that a couple of times a week, rain or sunshine, one of them would trek to the other’s office, where they would either have sex or connect or confirm their evening plans at a secret location. They never sent text messages or e-mails; the only written documentation of their affair lay in Layne’s journals.
I was walking down the hallway in the direction of Dean Henry’s office when suddenly both he and Nina appeared after exiting another room. They headed toward me, in conversation with one another, leather portfolios in each of their hands, which suggested that they had just left a meeting. The expressions on all three of our faces altered when they saw me. I bit my bottom lip, my worst nervous habit, unsure about whom to greet first. The smile on Nina’s face flattened, and the grin on Dean Henry’s lips disappeared, flipping to form a sorrowful curve.
“Taryn,” he said as we approached one another. When we stood face-to-face, he reached for my hands, held them in his, and kissed my cheeks. Dean Henry was old. He was fragile and pink faced, with sparse white hair. I imagined that before the wrinkles, in his younger years, he had been handsome. “How are you doing?” His aging blue eyes showed concern.
Nina stood still next to him, fascinating in an azure dress with a squared neckline. Her breasts again sat high, like two ripe apples awaiting my bite.
“I’m okay, Charles. Thank you,” I answered. “I wanted to bring the papers for Layne’s memorial to you.” I reached inside my briefcase and handed a manila folder to him. He flipped through the pages quickly, his face dented with wrinkles as he read. He closed the folder.
“Looks good.”
“Layne would be so happy to know the school will be honoring her.”
Les Tales Page 17
