He pulled out of her, still gasping for air, and immediately apologizing for his lack of stamina. “It’s been a few months for me,” he confessed. Sarah smiled. She tried to take it as a compliment, and besides, she had climaxed twice under direction from his talented tongue. She reassured him that she was fine and all was well.
Later they snuggled, Sarah wrapped in Pawel’s arms, head against his breast. Both were quiet, lulled by the rhythmic rising and falling of their chests as air moved in and out of their bodies. But when it came time to fall asleep, Sarah turned over on her side.
When she awoke in the morning, there was a foot of space between them.
***
The next morning as Sarah was packing up her things to head back home, she sent James a text: What time do you want me tonight?
By four in the afternoon, he had yet to respond. She sent him another text: Is everything alright?
By five o’clock, she had still not heard and she began to worry. Something seemed wrong.
***
Chapter Nine
Rocky
Sarah woke up in a cold sweat. She’d had the mountain climbing dream again, where her blood was splashing onto the rocks below and yet she kept climbing, even with the pain shooting down her leg. Why do I keep dreaming this? she questioned. And why am I so compelled to keep climbing? She was alarmed by the vividness of the imagery and how the breathlessness, the pressure, the pain all stayed with her long after she awakened.
It was one of those times she had slipped into a deep sleep when her original intention was to catch a short catnap. The kids were off to her mother’s house for the night, and she had been waiting to hear from James. I was only going to sleep for twenty minutes... There was something so disorienting about falling asleep in the dusk and waking up enveloped by complete darkness.
She rubbed her eyes and reached for her phone, which had gotten shoved under the pillow on the other side of the bed. Surely he’s contacted me by now, she thought.
Nothing.
James was not a stellar communicator, the fact of which Sarah was painfully aware, but it was unlike him to go radio silent when they had plans. She tried not to panic as she reviewed the possible explanations. I’m sure something came up at work, she decided. Slightly blinded by the brightness emitted from her phone, she fumbled for the switch on the lamp next to the bed. Even before the light filled the room, she noticed the clock said 8:08. She’d been asleep for over two hours.
Suddenly she heard banging coming from downstairs. Her heart leapt in her ribcage as she thundered down the stairs to see what was going on. The sound was coming from the back door and there was a figure outlined against the light colored curtains. Sarah could immediately see it was James. A sense of relief washed over her as she quickly unlocked the door and let him inside.
“What’s going on?” Sarah shrieked, so surprised and happy to see him. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hung on tight. His frame felt stiff and unyielding.
He backed away from her a bit, his expression devoid of his trademark grin. “I’m sorry, my phone is out of commission; that’s why I haven’t been in touch.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing she had worried for nothing. “That’s okay, I’m glad you let me know though. I was starting to wonder about you!”
He kissed her on the cheek. “I can’t stay unfortunately, something came up at work, and I need to go in. I just didn’t want you to worry about me.”
The smile vanished from her face. “On a Saturday night?” she asked in disbelief. She took a step back and found herself butting up against the smooth, cold wall.
“The US Army doesn’t care what time it is,” he smirked. “I’m really sorry.”
She noticed he wasn’t making full eye contact. Something else is going on, she observed. It was like a wall had sprung up. She could sense it in his body language, in the way he was deflecting her warmth and energy.
He read the disappointment on her face and looked away again. “I’ll get my new phone next week and I’ll be in touch then.” He kissed her on the cheek and then turned and left without another word.
Sarah stared at the empty doorway as if he would return any moment and they’d start over again. But after a time, she instead started to wonder if she’d imagined the whole encounter. After all, she had just awakened from that horrible nightmare. Maybe I’m still dreaming? She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, feeling the stark, cold reality seep in. I appear to be pretty lucid. Shit.
Sarah considered that she hadn’t eaten dinner yet and tried to coax herself into the kitchen, but she’d lost her appetite. She stepped into the dark silence of her living room and stiffly seated herself in her wingback chair. She felt numb and suspended as she processed the scene that had played moments before, the tiny details bursting into her mind all at once like popcorn, each kernel of memory exploding and needing to be examined simultaneously.
It was obvious there was more going on than a broken phone and a call to duty. Sarah always trusted her gut in situations like this; after all, her intuition had served her quite well in her thirty-six years. She would have never survived single parenthood or her divorce if she had not trusted herself. Not to mention grad school. That was a leap of faith, she remembered. She set aside those instances and focused on the one at hand, painful as it was. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her that something was awry, something had changed.
Her thoughts began to take shape. The one conclusion she had vehemently tried to deny for weeks was now ringing throughout her mind: I am in love with him.
They never talked about their relationship - not since early on when she suggested the friends with benefits arrangement. She’d explicitly said she didn’t want to complicate his life. Rachel constantly admonished her to keep her feelings in check. She suddenly flashed back to that night she laid in his arms and sensed with startling clarity: this man is going to break my heart someday.
Maybe it’s already started, she considered. But why? What has changed? She curled her feet up under her thighs in the wingback chair and wrapped her arms around herself. She started to rock back and forth, ever so slightly, as the tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
I’ve fallen in love with him, but he doesn’t feel the same, she realized. I’m just this woman he can hang out with from time to time, who takes care of his needs, holds him for a while and then sends him back out into the world. I’m this older woman. A mom. I’m a toy he takes out of the box and plays with once a week and then he tucks me away till next time. She was heaving and sobbing now, her head in her hands, trembling with despair at this stark revelation. He would never consider an actual relationship with me, and here I am pining away over him like a fool.
Sarah suddenly stood up and pulled her hair, damp and sticky from her tears, off her face. She took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of wine. I can do better than this, her confidence returned. I don’t need James McAllister I can move on, and if I want to have these feelings for someone, I can find someone who can share them, who can reciprocate.
After two more glasses of wine, her resolve was fortified. She took out her phone and deleted his number, his picture, and all of his text messages.
***
Sarah spent a considerable amount of her Sunday grading papers from her Sociology of Gender class. The more papers she read about feminism, the more strongly she felt about her decision to let James fade out of her life. I am not defined by my relationships, she repeated a mantra she had adopted several years ago. My happiness is dependent on me, not a man.
Then she thought about letting James go: It was a lot of fun while it lasted, she considered, but it’s better to stop now while the heartache will be minimal. Sarah decided not to say anything to Rachel just yet. She just wanted some alone time to focus on getting through the rest of the semester and trying to make the holiday season fun for her kids. Ah, Rachel will be disappointed that there won’t be a th
reesome in her future, Sarah mused.
While Sarah was grading, she would occasionally field questions from Owen about various things. He not only had an intense curiosity about people, relationships, sex, and how the world worked, but he was also obsessed with time and schedules. He was forever asking “What are we doing today? What are we doing tomorrow?”
He had been this way since he could talk. Sarah remembered joking when he was four years old and learning how to read, that she should print out a daily itinerary and post it on his door to aid in his learning to read and to minimize the incessant questions. Two birds, one stone, she’d laughed.
That afternoon he posed a series of inquiries about their upcoming holiday plans. Sarah had given it very little consideration up to that point save for the various traditional activities they always did. She was not quite far enough removed from Thanksgiving to truly embrace the Christmas spirit. But Owen was ready to get on with it, to find their tree - they always bought a live Christmas tree - and to deck the halls with boughs of holly and other decorations.
“I need to get through this week at work, sweetie,” she explained. “But next weekend, okay? It’s not even December yet!”
He looked disappointed but finally accepted her answer and went off to torment his sister. That naturally drew the teenage beast from her lair and into the public space of the house to prowl. Sarah could tell immediately from Abby’s heavy, plodding footsteps down the stairs that she was in a mopey, crabby mood. She heard the refrigerator door open and slam shut. The heavy footsteps worked their way into the living room where their maker stood with her hands on her hips, wearing an exasperated look. “There’s nothing here to eat,” she whined.
“Sure there is,” Sarah replied. “There are leftovers from dinner the other night. There’s frozen pizza. There’s salad. There’s frozen yogurt.”
“Yuck, that all sounds gross,” she adamantly rejected all of her mother’s suggestions.
Sarah didn’t even look up from grading. “I’m sure if you’re hungry enough, something will eventually sound good.”
Abby plopped down on the couch and let out an Oscar-worthy dramatic sigh. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and sighed again, in case the first one had somehow escaped her mother’s notice. Sarah had a feeling the drama was only going to escalate until she initiated a conversation and addressed whatever issue was plaguing her daughter. “What’s going on?” she asked as neutrally as possible, setting her red pen down to show she was serious and giving her full attention.
Abby looked down at her feet, which were covered in brightly striped knee socks. She took a deep breath and then softly uttered, “I’m sad that I won’t be able to go to the Christmas dance.” She twisted her long honey-colored hair between her index finger and thumb and awaited her mother’s response.
Sarah had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes this time. She could see that Abby had taken on the role of Contrite and Pitiful Teen, hoping to gain clemency. Sarah thought the month of grounding was a fairly merciful sentence considering the egregious crimes of lying and underage drinking.
She smiled sweetly at her daughter, whose gaze was dejected and downtrodden. “I’m sorry, honey, but I think you should have thought about that before you made the choice to get drunk and lie to your mother and your boyfriend’s parents.”
The contrite façade abruptly vanished. Even though she had not yet replied, Sarah witnessed the anger boiling up from deep within her daughter, her face reddening and her posture stiffening. Sarah sensed that an explosion was imminent and realized this was a perfect opportunity to teach her daughter that using drama to manipulate her mother’s emotions was an unequivocal fail. “You needn’t get angry with anyone but yourself, Abigail,” Sarah said sternly. “When you make bad choices, you must live with the consequences.”
The magma was soon to reach the mouth of the volcano. Sarah could feel it rising, bubbling from within her daughter’s core, her body starting to tremble with venomous rage. “Yes, obviously you were always the perfect person. I’m sure you always made brilliant choices and never had anything go wrong!” Abby finally erupted.
“I think you know full well that I’ve made both good and bad choices in my life, and when I’ve made a bad choice I have learned to cope with the fallout. That is a life lesson that everyone must learn,” Sarah said as calmly as she could.
“Oh, that’s right,” Abby’s voice grew louder and deeper, bolder. “You did make a mistake...” She paused for effect, then screamed at the top of her lungs: “ME!” She was no longer able to contain her tears. They began to spew out of her face along with her words: “I know you were drinking the night I was conceived. And you don’t even KNOW who my father is!!!” With that, Abby stood up and began to turn toward the steps, preparing to return to her lair.
Sarah was seething. Abby had been told that her father was Sarah’s college boyfriend who had decided he was too young to be a father and chose not to be involved in his daughter’s life. She had no idea where Abby’s rage was coming from, let alone the accusations she was making. “Get back here, Abigail. You are not leaving the room in the middle of this conversation.”
Abby reluctantly turned around but didn’t step back into the living room. Sarah glared at her expectantly but she was stiff like a statue. She took a deep breath and found her calm voice again, “Sit down so we can talk this out.” Abby complied.
“Please tell me why you said that just now,” Sarah requested gently.
Abby rolled her eyes and didn’t even try to stop herself. She crossed her arms and kept her focus straight ahead, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “I heard you talking to Rachel about it a long time ago.”
“A long time ago?” Sarah felt a knife stab through her heart, cutting deep. Abby has been carrying this burden for a long time? she processed. The weight of it seeped into her body like droplets of lead. Oh my god, I am a terrible mother, she realized with horror. I can’t believe this is happening.
Abby nodded. “At least a year ago. You guys were in here talking and I don’t think you realized I could hear you from the kitchen. Rachel was a little drunk I think.”
“Tell me what you heard,” Sarah said. “Please.”
“Well,” Abby began, “first you were talking about Dad.”
Sarah visibly stiffened at that word. She’d almost forgotten Abby had called her ex-husband Dad, even though he had never formally adopted her, despite years of promises. “You were talking about your track record with men and Rachel was teasing you.”
Sarah gasped, the conversation suddenly accessed in her memory bank. Rachel had said something like, “Well, I may have awful taste in men but at least in college I didn’t get drunk and high and fuck all my boyfriend’s friends.” Those words rang in Sarah’s ears like the sound of a fatal collision echoing miles down the highway. She tried to imagine how those words would sound in a fifteen-year-old’s ears. They’d gone on to discuss the camping trip where Abby had been conceived and everything that had gone on that night, at least what Sarah was able to recall.
“Oh god, Abby,” she finally said before her daughter could relay any more of the story. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that, especially in that way, and especially not coming from me.”
Abby looked up at her through teary blue-gray eyes. “So you really don’t know who my father is?”
Sarah clasped her daughter’s hands into her own. “I made some bad choices and I was older than you and should have known better. My group of friends during college...well, we were very open with each other. We also smoked a lot of pot. We drank a lot of beer. We were good students, but sometimes we had more fun on the weekends than we should have,” Sarah confessed.
Abby’s eyes were so wide, Sarah thought they might pop out of her skull. I don’t think she ever expected me to confess to smoking pot, Sarah determined. She considered toning down the story, maybe sharing a euphemistic, sanitized version, but she had gotten this far, and, ultimately, she did
want her daughter to know the truth. With any luck, I can make this a learning experience, Sarah hoped, ever the educator.
“So, that summer, about a month before we headed back to campus, a bunch of us decided to go camping up in the mountains,” she continued. “I went with Matt, my boyfriend, a few of his friends and a couple of their girlfriends. There were seven of us all together and only two tents. Well, the other girls were drinking pretty early while the guys and I were hiking and rock climbing. The other girls didn’t want to go and I think one of the guys stayed behind too. The three of them passed out at like eight o’clock that night in one of the tents. They were sick and hung over. Probably had alcohol poisoning.”
“Eww,” Abby interjected, engrossed in the story.
“The other guys, my boyfriend and his two friends, and myself...we were drinking a little but we were also smoking pot. Matt had his guitar and we were just all sitting around the campfire singing and talking and just having a good time under the canopy of stars, mountains all around us. They were making fun of me because I was jumping at every sound coming from the rocks. I kept saying we were going to get eaten by mountain lions.” Sarah laughed just remembering it all, such a crystal clear memory that she could nearly hear the crackle of the fire and the echoes of laughter.
“So eventually,” Sarah continued, “the guys lured me into the tent, saying they were going to distract me from the mountain lions. I was drunk and high, but I knew what was happening and, looking back, I don’t feel like I was coerced. I mean, I had as much of my faculties as they did, maybe even more so because Matt was pretty messed up at that point.” Sarah paused, searching for a way to tell the next part of the story. Abby was completely engaged, sitting on the edge of her seat expectantly, her tears dried up and taken over by intrigue.
The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 13
