“You know what?” he went and tested the water, which he had set to a boiling point. “No service. I tried calling you a few times and then gave up.”
I opened myself up to the possibility that I was overthinking. Who wants to imagine the worst about their partner? If I admit to myself that he’s lying, then I have to open the can of worms that contains the actual lie.
“Oh,” I came in. “That makes more sense. I’m going to crash for a little longer.”
“Okay.”
When I reached to put my arms around his neck for a kiss, he caught my wrists and held me away. “No, honey, I’m rank. I can’t stand how I smell. Way too much sweat, let me clean up.”
“Sure,” I took my hands away and walked back to bed.
Not able to sleep, I was up and around before he was even out of the shower. I made the coffee, started the dishwasher, and laid out all my scrapbooking stuff on our kitchen table.
“I thought you were sleeping?” he asked, coming down the carpeted steps. He seems more himself, dressed for work and smiling genuinely.
“I was, but I couldn’t stay asleep.”
“You’re such an early bird, how do you function so early?”
I put down a stack of pictures. “Look, this is us on our mission trip to Ecuador,” I pointed, and he came to stand behind me. He bent, laying his chin on my shoulder to peer over it.
“Wow,” he reached around me to look through them. “That was a great trip.”
“Wasn’t it?” I stroked his forearm. “I want to go back or somewhere else. I love to travel. Europe would be fun.”
“One thing at a time…” he held my sides. “Baby, bigger house, travel, in that order.”
“You’re the boss,” I joked.
“Boss,” he tested the word. “I like it. You should call me that while we’re baby making.”
I laughed.
“And,” he drew out the word. “I was thinking about what you suggested last Saturday night… about you being on top.”
I perked up at the thought. “Yeah?”
“Let’s do it. It would be fun. Also, think about it, my sperm would just rocket out and up.”
I laughed even harder. “Oh, my God.”
“Seriously, it could help. Let’s make children this weekend.”
I felt excited by the prospect, but also depressed. That hopelessness grabs the ankles of any joy you feel, and it won’t let go. Following like a dark cloud.
“Hey,” he turned me around and held me close. “Don’t get like that…”
“I’m starting to think we should go see a doctor.”
“I told you I’m ready whenever you are. Make an appointment.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“Okay, look at it like this,” he widened his stance, interlocked his fingers behind my lower back and looked up, contriving his words. “We are young yet… but we want to be parents?”
I nodded, unsure where he was going.
“If being a parent is what we need to feel fulfilled, we need to make it happen,” he explained, looking down at me. “If we can make babies, but we need a little help, let’s get the help. If we can’t make babies, let’s get the bigger house, and let’s throw our hat into the adoption pool. That stuff takes time, we need to get a move on.”
I like his initiative. I like that he knows I feel a hollow void and that I need action. “I want us to try this weekend and if nothing happens, I make an appointment.”
He kissed me. “Deal.”
“Can you call in Darrel to do Youth Group? Because I don’t want us to waste any time. Saturday and Sunday need to be sex days. Like, bring your duffle of energy bars and electrolytes upstairs so you can just go and go.”
He laughed. “I will text him at my lunch break today.”
“Oh!” I held his face. “Men’s Bible study! You told me to remind you to pack your notes, and your presentation for the timeline of Abraham.”
“Did I happen to mention where those said things are?”
“Noah!” I gave him a shove. “Why are you so scatterbrained?”
“I have no idea but help me search.”
“No, you need to let me organize your church stuff. You always say it’s organized chaos but hello… no such thing.”
“But you are my helpmate,” he whined, and I tried not to laugh. “It’s like your duty to, you know, help.”
I shook my head at him. “You search upstairs, I’ll search down here. You have half an hour before you have to leave.”
He ran back up to our room and his tiny little office and I started my bloodhound work on the first floor. I checked all his usual spots but came up empty-handed.
Then an idea hit me.
The trunk.
Noah tosses the things he needs to remember for church into the car plenty of times. It’s his way of making sure he doesn’t forget them. I found the keys to his car in his coat pocket from last night, where it hung in our little foyer. I tied my robe shut and pulled my hair back in a ponytail before I padded down our short drive to where the car was parked.
I popped the trunk first.
All the color drained from my face when I looked down. There was a tilting of the earth under my feet and my stomach rolled.
In a wad was his suit, the one he claims he was lending to Lark. If it was for Lark, why was it here, freshly dry-cleaned, but thrown in a pile? It’s not like Lark needed a suit last night, and I know this is the suit because I was the one that took it to the cleaners.
I looked around the trunk and up at the house, but Noah was probably still searching.
When I picked up the suit pants, the violet tie he frantically had me find last night, was hanging out from the pocket. It was crumpled up beyond reason.
I put the pants down and picked up his shirt. After examining it, and finding it clean, no stains… I brought it to my nose.
I’m not completely sure why I’m doing that. I just put the fabric to my face, feeling the coolness of it against my cheeks, chin, and nose. Then I inhaled deeply. The scent that filled my nostrils raised the hair on the back of my neck and I tossed it down as if it burned me.
I don’t wear perfume. Scented soaps, like lavender, vanilla, peach, but certainly not perfume, and none that strong. I lifted the pants, it was there too. I picked up the jacket, it smelled the same.
My heart pounded in my ears.
I slammed the trunk shut and just stood there.
On wobbly legs, I walked to the passenger side and sat down. I needed to sit down. Sit or fall, those are my options.
I’m letting my mind search for good excuses for what I just found, but I’m coming up blank.
Then I see his phone on the console.
I’m not a snooping wife. I’ve never logged into his devices and searched his history or his messages. If he’s driving and gets a text, he tells me the passcode so I can open the message. We don’t hide things from one another, but we do respect that we have individual lives.
But my fingers burned to touch and in a moment of complete weakness, I took it and found that it was powered off. That’s why my calls were going to voicemail.
I turned it on, and in seconds, the screen lit up with messages from Lark. I didn’t unlock it with his passcode, that way he wouldn’t know I saw them.
I also averted my eyes to the house.
I could turn back from here and not read the messages. They were all from Lark, not a woman. There was still no hard evidence that I had a reason to be upset. I didn’t have to read these and feed the monster. My knee-jerk reaction is to pray about big decisions, but this time, I think I’ll go on impulse.
I read them.
“Hey, your wife called me.”
“When you turn your phone back on, talk to me first. I had to cover for you.”
“Yo, where are you? I wouldn’t stay the night, wife sounds suspicious.”
“I said we didn’t play ball, and that we watched movies, so don’t tell her that we pla
yed ball. You forgot your bag.”
“Man, just don’t say too much.”
Each message is making me sicker and sicker. What is the secret? Where was he? Lark doesn’t outright say he’s with a woman.
I shut the phone off and put it back so I could just sit there.
“Guess what?” Noah’s voice on the other side of the window makes me jump. He taps the passenger side window. “I found them in my study under the laptop.”
I tried to make my face look surprised. It wasn’t too hard. After all, I am surprised, just not about his Bible Study papers. I opened the car door and swung my legs out. “Awesome, I knew they were… somewhere…”
His smile turns pasted on as he looks over the car and realizes where I am. “Did you search the car?”
I want so badly to ask him. To answer his question with a question.
Are you meeting someone?
But once I ask, I can’t un-ask. It’s an accusation, not a question and I’m not ready to accuse him. “No,” I lied. “I sat down because… I felt dizzy and I was just about to pick up your cell to call mine, so you would come out.”
“Oh,” he folded his body up to crouch in front of me. He held my knees over my robe. “You do look a little pale. Are you still dizzy?”
“I think it’s just too early for me, since I went to bed so late,” I got up and he rubbed circles into my back. “Maybe I should try going back to bed.”
“I think you should,” he agreed. “Maybe don’t do much today. In fact, I threw my sports stuff in the washer while you were out here. Just lay around or maybe do your scrapbooking.”
Red flag number one thousand. “Why didn’t you just put your dirty things in the laundry basket? Laundry day is tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to help you out. Like I said, they were smelly.”
I went back to bed, but after he left for work, I couldn’t find the energy to get up. It’s like someone is sucking the life out of me. I picture this big, green, gunky, blob just sucking all my motivation out.
I can’t call anyone.
I have friends, but they’re church friends.
Half of them would think I was crazy and remind me how amazing my husband is, how in love we are, how much he talks about me. The other half would run with my fears and in the end, it would destroy his position there. If I’m wrong about my concerns, my sharing this with the wrong person could result in his reputation getting tarnished.
Which means, I just have to lay here and stew in it by myself, playing judge and jury in my head.
This is the longest day of my life.
LORENZO
A few nights later, I sat at the desk in the corner by my apartment kitchen and did the bills while Ruby sat on the couch going through a client’s file.
We work in dead silence until her phone vibrates on the side table. She picks it up and from here, all I can see is a blurry name and a line of words. She shifts so her back is more to me and then starts typing. I can tell by how quick her fingers move that it’s not work or a friend.
A few seconds later she gets an answer and reads it with a hardly noticeable smile.
She sits Indian Style and starts typing again.
A blush creeps up her neck and ears.
I revert my focus to the numbers. Numbers make sense.
“Um,” she said after a few exchanges via text. “It looks like I need to run out tonight.”
I sit back in my chair and tap the end of my pencil against the checkbook. “Work?” I ask to go along with the façade we have.
“Yep,” she acts exasperated, sighing and dropping her shoulders. “I need to go to the office, Klein claims my client kept something important from me, and it could blow the whole case.”
“If you gotta go, you gotta go,” I say, pressing figures into my calculator.
“I know,” she grimaces. “I was hoping for a quiet weekend, but…”
I ignore her.
She gets up a few minutes later, packing her things, but there is a lightness to her step.
She loves to hurt me.
I think she gets off on it.
Sometimes I wonder if she would even enjoy these rendezvous if she didn’t have a husband. I wonder if she lays under whosever the man is and just imagines me sitting here knowing and hurting. Maybe it pushes her over the edge. My pain, her pleasure.
I hear her get in the shower, and my hand tightens on the pencil.
She’s making herself ready for him.
Shaving for him.
Washing her hair for him.
I usually block it out better than this, but tonight is a bad night.
When Ruby comes out of our bedroom in a pair of tight jeans and a fitted black button-up shirt, she shoulders her purse and comes to put her fingers in my hair.
I’m stupid.
I’m stupid for letting her. For relishing her touch.
“I’ll see you later,” she bends to kiss the top of my head. “Wish me luck.”
LYDIA
Saturday night was odd. We spent the entire day together, but he expected sex because I just told him I was ovulating.
I found every excuse in the book to put it off until the night.
While I was putting on my nightgown, I started to feel sick. The question had been eating at me since I found his suit.
I looked at myself in the mirror and started combing my hair. This is a tiresome job considering it’s so long. I didn’t realize I was raking it like a manic until Noah knocked on the door.
“I’m checking my work email in the office, I’ll be right back,” he said.
Lie.
Now I think that everything he says and does is a lie.
Checking his work email on a Saturday night? I can’t remember if he usually does that or if I’m just now noticing.
There are a lot of things I am just now noticing.
He doesn’t charge his phone by the bed anymore, he charges it in his office.
He is taking more time to get ready in the morning. He’s already handsome. He’s always made women’s heads turn. That’s why I always found it such a mystery as to why he fell in love with me. I’m plain, I always have been. But not Noah. Why is he grooming so much? Why is he strategic with his clothes?
He insists on showering directly after one of his unchartered trips.
Lastly, his routine, which has been his main staple for years, is suddenly different. He’s out after work hours with youths that are ‘troubled’ and he has to help at the church or meet up with Lark.
All that has been going on for a while, but I never paid it any mind. The night before last with Lark wasn’t new… why am I just now piecing it all together?
I came out of the bathroom and sat on the bed. The nightgown I’m wearing is satin and has spaghetti straps. I love the way dresses like this look. I get nightgowns as replicas because then I get a taste of how being dressed inappropriately feels without the danger. I love putting them on, most of all for Noah.
Yet, tonight, as I look down at myself, I’m feeling sick again.
“Sorry about that,” he comes in and shuts the door. “Had to check but, there was nothing.” He’s in PJ pants, no shirt, looking so handsome it hurts.
He holds the underside of my chin and raises it so he can look down into my eyes. “You look beautiful.”
I put both hands on his wrist. “Question…”
“Yeah?”
“W-why,” I swallow the giant lump in my throat. “Why me? Why did you pick me to be your wife? I’ve always been so… I’ve always been just me… what about me drew you in long enough to fall in love with me?”
He looks down at me, bewildered. “Your heart.”
“Yeah, but you can’t see my heart, Noah. What about me physically?”
Noah stood taller and let me go. “You might not put a ton of paint on your face or wear inappropriate clothes, but you are beautiful, and I don’t like those things anyway.”
I snorted.
Oops. I’m showing my hand before I’m ready.
“What was that about?” he asked me in a hostile way.
Whoever he is meeting with obviously wears lipstick, obviously wears heavy perfumes, and if she does that, I bet she wears short things and low-cut things. If she’s my opposite, then how can he want us both?
“I just want you to answer the question,” I snapped.
“You were and are very devoted to our faith—”
“That isn’t what I’m asking!”
Both his eyebrows flew upward. “What are you asking? Because I have no idea where this is coming from.”
“What about my appearance, made you find me attractive?”
He started and stopped a few times. “Lydia, you have natural beauty. How many girls can say that? How many girls can walk through rain and still look amazing? You have a pouty mouth with a beauty mark here,” he touched just above the corner of my upper lip “Pretty eyes, a small nose, gorgeous hair,” he felt the waves of brown that were over my shoulder. “You have an incredible body,” his tone changed, thick and sensual as he tried to soften me with a kiss. “Look at you, small waist, narrow hips,” he came forward on the bed so that I had to lay back.
My hormones distracted me. Filling me up with want instead of feistiness.
“You’re every woman’s ideal size,” he smoothed his hand up my stomach and over my breast. I’m nearly flat-chested when I lay down, but my nipples are sensitive and seeking his attention.
“You make me proud,” he whispered into my neck. “Every time I see you, I’m proud. I don’t need you to wear tight things or revealing things,” he held my gown by the hem and started peeling it up until it was over my head, off my arms and discarded. “Because I know what’s underneath any clothes you wear,” he said. “And it excites me all the time.”
Now I feel pretty, singular, loved.
I give myself over to his words and arch my back while his other hand feels between my legs.
“And you’re mine,” he said it sweetly. “Only mine, to touch and see,” his last words, supposed to ignite only lust, made the sick feeling come back.
He claims me as his property, but he is supposed to be my property also. Yet, there is this chance that he is sharing this intimacy with someone and if he is, how dare he speak about mine?
The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5) Page 4
