by Diana Castle
“Giving me what I want.” Lydia’s voice choked and she took another sip of coffee to cover it.
But Saffron must have noted her distress. She placed her croissant onto her plate and took Lydia’s hand. “You did the wrong thing, hon. You know that, don’t you?”
Lydia's eyes widened. “The wrong thing?” She pointed at her chest. “I did the wrong thing?” Her voice rose until it was almost a sob. She stopped and swallowed.
“What about him?” she went on in a quieter tone. “He lied to me, Saff. He lied.”
Saffron waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know. The detective's report. And this woman you heard him talking to on the phone.” She leaned over the table, her eyes narrowing. “But did you give him a chance? Did you really give him a real chance to explain?”
“There was nothing to explain. I heard him on the phone. Telling some ninety-eight year old woman he loved her. It’s obvious that he’s just what Mother said he was. Some kind of gigolo.”
Saffron let go of Lydia’s hand and leaned back against her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bullshit. I mean, come on, we looked him up on the internet. The detective was right. He’s rich. Why would he need to scam some old lady out of her retirement money? Plus this isn't about your mother. This is about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since you met Tristan, you've wanted some excuse not to be with him.”
“That's not true.”
“Oh, yes, it is.” Saffron held up her hand and counted off on her fingers. “One, because you never could see yourself with someone younger than you. Two, because you still feel self-conscious at how sexual you are with him.”
“What?”
Saffron flashed her a dry look. “Because we all know, of course, that only nasty, sinful women enjoy sex.” She went back to counting off on her fingers. “Three, deep inside you’re still that lonely, little girl who yearns for her mother's love and approval and it was driving you crazy doing something she obviously disapproved of.”
“Saff—”
“Shut up. I’m not done. Four, you refuse to get it through that thick skull of yours that you deserve to be as happy as anyone else. You were happy with him, weren't you?”
“Yes,” Lydia admitted. To Saffron and to herself. “I was happy with him. Very happy but—”
Saffron firmly shook her head. “Forget but. But don't matter.”
“It does, Saffron. It does matter.”
“Sorry, no. It don't. But is just a word people use to certify their fears.” Saffron took her hand again and squeezed it. “Give him another chance. Please. As much for his sake as for yours.”
“I can't. I won't. How can I…after…” Lydia shook her head as the tears stung her eyes.
Saffron’s face softened. “You miss him. You miss him so much it's eating you alive. Remember that night he took you on that carriage ride? Lord, have mercy, I've never seen a man look at a woman the way he looked at you.”
“It’s not that simple,” Lydia said.
Saffron laughed. “Nothing ever is, hon, especially if it’s something worthwhile. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But I know Tristan loves you. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. And I seriously doubt you have any idea what it is you’re giving up by not giving him a chance to explain.”
Saffron was wrong. Tristan didn't love her. He'd never once said he loved her. He'd just given her that song and dance about being patient. Patient regarding what? She had no idea. And she still had no idea what he had wanted from her. Sex, she supposed. He had asked her to trust him. And she had. And he repaid her trust with lies and betrayal.
She slowly shook her head and withdrew her hand from Saffron's grasp.
Saffron sighed. “Well, you do what you think is best. It's your life.” She rose from her chair and picked up her keys. “But you're making a big mistake. Probably the biggest mistake of your life.” She leaned down and kissed Lydia’s cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Saffron frowned. “For what? For telling you what I think? Even though you’ve obviously chosen to ignore it?”
Lydia smiled sadly. “Yes, for that.”
Saffron patted her shoulder. “Hang in there, hon.”
“I’ll try.”
Saffron left. Lydia listened to the sound of her car starting and then moving off down the street.
And then, once again, she was alone.
* * * * *
A phone warbled.
Lydia, who had fallen asleep on the couch, groggily woke up. She snatched her cellphone from off the coffee table and looked at the screen. It was her mother. She placed the phone back on the table and let it ring. After the ringing stopped, she picked it up and saw that her mother had left a message. She played it.
“Lydia? Lydia? Are you there? Really, you know how much I hate not talking to a live person. You could at least be there when I call.”
Her mother paused as if expecting Lydia to answer. “Well, fine then. I'm calling to invite you to play bridge with me and the girls next weekend. Saturday at two. I'll expect you there.”
The message ended. She erased it. In her mind’s eye she saw herself sitting around a bridge table with her mother and the girls.
Lydia sighed and placed the phone back on the table. The doorbell rang. She frowned. Now what?
Her heart suddenly leapt. Could it be? Might it be him?
She rose quickly from the couch and hurriedly opened the door.
Her ex-husband stood outside the locked screen door.
She stared at him. After having spent the last few months with Tristan, it was a shock seeing him. It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten about Douglas. She’d been married to him for nearly twenty years. But she was still surprised. He’d never visited her at her new house.
He peered at her through the mesh of the screen door. He looked grayer than the last time she’d seen him. And heavier.
“Is this a bad time?” he said.
“What do you want?” She couldn’t keep the coldness out of her voice. She figured she didn’t have to. Not after what he’d done to her.
He frowned at her tone. “I…uh…can I come in?”
She released a heavy sigh. “Is there something you want, Douglas?”
“Please. I need—” His thin lips pursed. “I'd like to talk to you.”
“About what?” She made no move to unlock the screen door.
“Damnit, Lydia. It's freezing out here. Can I please come in? It’s starting to snow.”
Tiny flakes of snow were falling then clinging to his dark, gray-streaked hair. She unlocked the screen door. Once he was inside, she went back into the living room and sat on the couch.
Douglas joined her. He sat a little too close for comfort, but she made herself ignore it. He wasn’t going to be staying long.
“You got anything to drink?” he asked.
“You mean like liquor? No, I don't.”
“Coffee, tea, soda?”
She went into the kitchen and took a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge. She took it back and handed it to Douglas. He had taken off his coat and thrown it over a chair. He frowned at the bottle. “You know I don’t like that stuff.”
She shrugged and placed it on the coffee table. Then she sat on the couch. As far from him as she could.
“How have you been?” he asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”
His eyes hardened at her clipped tone. “That's it? Just fine?”
“What do you want, Douglas? My fucking life story?”
He frowned. “When did you start using language like that?”
“None of your fucking business.”
His eyes were granite. “I just asked you a civil question, Lydia. There’s no need for you to be vulgar.”
“And I answered your civil question.” She knew she was being unpleasant, but all she could see now when she looked at him
was that pair of panties she’d found in her car. The pair of panties that had belonged to Tiffany.
He glared at her. “Where’s that friend of yours?”
“What friend?”
“That boy you were seeing.”
“How do you know about him? And he’s not a boy.”
“Your mother told me. Did you think she wouldn’t?”
She dug her fingers into her arms. She didn’t want to talk with Douglas about Tristan. “He’s none of your business. And he’s none of my mother’s business either.”
“Damnit, Lydia. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I'm not being difficult. I just want to know what you’re doing here.”
“We were married for nineteen years, Lydia. Can't I just stop by and—”
“Twenty.”
He blinked owlishly from behind his silver-rimmed designer glasses. “What?”
“Twenty years. That's how long we were married. I married you when I was nineteen. Remember?” She gave him a hard look. “I’ve been living here for almost a year. Why are you stopping by now?”
He stared at her. He let out a heavy breath and pushed his hands through his hair, but he remained annoyingly silent.
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
“Tiffany.”
Lydia lifted an eyebrow but remained silent. She knew where this conversation was going.
“I'm not happy,” he finally said, the words falling like stones into the silence.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Tiffany is…well, she's just a child. We have nothing in common. My God, she doesn't even know who Jay and the Americans are.”
Jay and the Americans was Douglas’s favorite band. Lydia was tempted to say she doubted anyone under the age of sixty knew who they were.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “You do have something in common with her.”
“Oh yeah and what’s that?”
She blinked in surprise. Could he really be that self-centered? “Your baby. Remember? The baby Tiffany is carrying?”
Douglas’s face shut down.
Unable to resist Lydia went on. “And don't forget the sex. That’s what brought you two together, wasn’t it?”
A frown deepened the lines in his wide forehead.
Lydia smiled but she knew her smile didn't in anyway reach her eyes. “Or should I say the fucking.”
His upper lip curled. “Stop talking like a slut.”
She sighed and shook her head. He really didn't get it. She wasn't his to order around anymore.
“That's what happened, isn’t it?” she said. “You got tired of fucking me, your old, dried up wife and just like your country club colleagues you decided to go and fuck somebody younger.”
He shot her a dark look. “I’d really appreciate it greatly if you’d stop using that word. You sound like a back alley whore.”
“You should know.”
He glared at her. “What’s that?”
She only shrugged. She was tired of talking to him.
“Okay, I’ll admit it. Initially I was attracted to Tiffany’s youth.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. He was being truthful. Never a good sign. “But now?”
“It’s not enough anymore. And well, with the pregnancy I thought she’d want to ease up on the sex.” He wrung his hands. “But she hasn’t. And I'm tired of trying to keep up with her. I'm almost fifty years old. It’s exhausting.”
“You've got your little blue pills.”
“I stopped taking them.”
“Why?”
“I can't take them with the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed me.”
“Why are you taking sleeping pills?”
Douglas grimaced. “I can’t sleep. I stay up all night. Thinking. Worrying.”
“Tiffany can't be too pleased about that.”
“About what? My not sleeping?”
“No, about you not taking your dick-hardening bills.”
“C’mon, Lydia, would you please stop talking like that. You sound like that friend of yours. What’s her name? Basil?”
Lydia glared at him. Douglas had never liked Saffron. “It's my house. I'll talk as I damn well please.”
Douglas stared at her. He looked as if he were going to charge at her again about her language. Instead, he lowered his head and slumped his shoulders. “No, she's not happy about it at all. But she got what she wanted. A baby.”
Of course she did. Tiffany was no fool. She wanted to get her hooks in tight and deep. Nothing like a baby to do that to a man Douglas’s age.
Lydia wearily listened as he went on about how unhappy he was regarding the marriage. At first she felt a creamy sense of satisfaction at how miserable he was with his mistress now wife. But the more she listened to Douglas, the more she thought about how it had been with her and Tristan. Yes, he had been younger than her, but Lydia had never felt the frustration with him that Douglas apparently felt with Tiffany.
Sex had been a large part of her and Tristan's relationship, and the sex had been incredible and wonderful and mind-blowing. But it had been more than that between them. There had been a connection between the two of them that had gone far beyond the erotic.
God, she missed him.
“I'm not happy, Lydia.” Douglas said glumly. “And I hate being married to her. I just hate it.”
Lydia focused back on her ex-husband. He was just like some spoiled brat who opens the Christmas present he’d begged and pleaded for all year and then throws a tantrum when the bike isn’t the exact color he’d asked for.
She felt sorry for Tiffany. She probably had no clue Douglas felt this way about her.
“And you came here to tell me that? What do you want me to do about it?”
Douglas scooted close to her. She could smell his cologne. It smelled like peppermint. It was nothing like the intoxicating cologne Tristan used.
Douglas put his hand on her arm. “I've missed you, Lydia.”
She laughed sharply then moved her arm away from him. “Please, Douglas.”
“It’s true. I have missed you.” He leaned over to kiss her.
She placed her hand firmly on his chest. “Don't.”
“I was a fool.” He slid his arm around her shoulder. “And you’re so different now. So confident. So sure of yourself.” He stared deeply into her eyes. “So sexy. I shouldn't have left you.”
“But you did leave me. For a woman barely out of college.” She tried to wriggle away from him but he held her tight. “And now you’re tired of her. Well, too bad. Did you really think that after what you did to me I’d just let you waltz back into my life?”
“Why not? Your mother told me you’d finally come to your senses and ditched that boy toy—”
She pushed him away and rose from the couch. He got up and took her firmly by the arms. “Lydia, don’t you see? We've both had our little mid-life flings. Me with Tiffany. You with what's his name.”
“Tristan. His name is Tristan.” Pain burned within her as she said his name. “And what do you mean by little? We're divorced and you’ve remarried. With a baby on the way no less. I'd hardly call that a little fling.”
“Okay, okay, maybe not so little. But now we both see the truth. We're too old for either of them.”
She didn't want to hear this. She wouldn't hear this. She tried to twist out of his grasp. “Let go of me.”
“We've got it out of our systems.” He tightened his grip on her arms. “Now it's time for us both to act our age.”
He pulled her toward him, lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers. She felt nothing when he kissed her.
Nothing.
She pushed him away. “Stop it, Douglas.”
“Please, Lydia, I want to come home. I want to be with you.”
“You don't give a damn about me. You never did.”
He frowned, his shoulders stiffening. “That's not true.”
“You're willing to hurt that poor child because y
ou're nothing but a selfish bastard. And you’ve always been that way. I was just too stupid and naive to see it.”
“I love you, Lydia. I want you back. Don’t you see? I've learned my lesson.”
“Learned your lesson? Douglas, this isn't some schoolroom. You're talking about people's lives. My life. Tiffany's life. Your baby’s life.” She pointed towards the door. “Go home. Go home to your wife. If you can't be a husband to Tiffany at least have the decency to be a father to your baby.”
He stared at her. “Is that how you really feel?”
Was it? She could have her husband back. Her old life. She could get revenge against the woman who had stolen him away from her. And she would no longer be alone. Not like she was now with Tristan out of her life.
Tristan.
“Yes, Douglas, that's how I really feel. Go home.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then his face hardened and his eyes grew as bitter and as gray as old ice. “Very well. If that's the way you want it.”
He went to the chair where he had thrown his coat. He put it on, angrily thrusting his arms through the sleeves. “I hope you know what you're doing. You're nearly forty. You had your fling with your young stud.” He looked around her house. “But where is he now? And how many men do you think are going to want a woman your age? And you’re only going to get older. Trust me, no matter how old or young a man is he's always going to want a younger woman.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But that’s my cross to bear, isn’t it? Go, Douglas. Now.”
He headed for the door. He stopped, turned and looked back at her. “This is your last chance. I walk out that door, I won’t be coming back. Not ever.”
She smiled at him and this time her smile did reach her eyes. “Promise?”
He gave her a dark, scorching look, opened the door and slammed it behind him.
As Saffron had once said, good riddance to bad rubbish. She'd rather spend the rest of her life alone then go back to the way her life had been. Married all those years to a man who had never loved her.
She thought of Tristan. Saffron had said he loved her. Had he? If he had, where was he? Why wasn’t he here?
Because she’d sent him away. Told him not to come back. To leave her alone.
The pain, still fresh, still raw, pulsed through her. She held herself tight, her body aching.
