by Jodi LaPalm
Without opening his eyes, he reached blindly into the air. I obediently settled into his arms and prayed he didn’t wake up.
“Love you,” he murmured in the dark.
Against the heat of the fire, my body froze. His speech was garbled, yet I swore I’d heard him say those two words. But, my now awake mind fretted, did he mean them for me...or for someone else?
proof
“Ma’am?”
A coffee shop server hovered over me. Looking no more than eighteen, his use of such a word reminded me I was actually in my forties rather than my twenties.
“Ma’am? Would you like another?” He pointed to my empty cup.
Terribly self-conscious I’d been staring at nothing for a very long time and possibly freaking other customers out with my embarrassing trance, I told him no and made a hasty retreat.
I checked my cell phone and decided it was close enough to lunch so I popped into a run-down deli and purchased a towering turkey club to eat at the inn.
Upon my return, I made a beeline for the backyard garden I spied earlier from my tiny balcony. The narrow stone path wove through carefully manicured plants and flowers, and though many weren’t yet in bloom, I could tell it transformed into a magnificent place in the height of growing season. Relieved to find it free of any other guests, I happily settled into a battered chair situated strategically within a patch of sunshine.
Relishing my sandwich, I felt a budding internal excitement over my memories of the morning and struggled to continue where I left off. Instead all thoughts were of Alex and the kids.
Spasms racked my heart at the very idea of being away from them, and I considered packing up and going home. I was feeling much better, and it would likely be for the best. After all, my appointment with Dr. Benson tomorrow would help clear up any loose ends.
But the awful truth was I didn’t want to go home. For while I missed my family, I didn’t want to deal with them. At least not right now. Not yet.
And I seriously hoped this time alone would change all that–somehow bring me back to where I could deal with everything again.
A full stomach and sunshine made me drowsy, and I leaned back in contentment, closed my eyes, and basked in the heat. This time, without even trying, Philip re-appeared.
***
Philip’s declaration caused my body and mind to stall.
Not truly wanting to wake him, I secretly hoped he’d talk in his sleep again. When he didn’t, I sucked in pockets of wood-smoked air, held my breath, and nudged my arm-ever so slightly–against his.
He remained motionless.
On hands and knees now, I bent over and brought my face so close to his own peaceful one that I could feel his warm breath on my nose.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Out of shock, I inadvertently flinched. And before I could move back to my original position, he half-opened his eyes.
“I love you, Courtney.” Philip sat straight up and, without touching me, waited silently for a response.
I was unable to react. I’d never heard those words from anyone other than a family member. And though schoolgirl fantasies lifted them into some overly-romantic, unattainable dream, this first time...they somehow became nothing–and everything–I’d ever hoped for.
Still leaning into him, I moved closer, impulsively straddling his lap. With arms wound tightly around his neck, my eyes searched Philip’s face. So close I was that I began to believe I could see his soul from within the depths of his equally penetrating gaze.
“Thank you,” I said, simply placing my lips upon his upturned mouth.
And in that moment, I not only thanked him for loving me but also for demonstrating how glorious a man could be. For in the years after the rape, I could only remember the pain a man could bring to a woman. I’d been robbed of many obvious things, but I also felt cheated for never having the chance to love someone before it happened–and find proof it did indeed exist.
Now I believed it was possible, and I willingly forgave Philip for being a man and thanked him for acknowledging me as a woman.
He made me feel known.
When his lips left mine to search for my neck, I pressed into him. Here–against a blazing fire-I wanted him to know me. Trembling, I ran nails along the rolling muscles of his back while he wandered stray kisses along my jaw and into creases of my collarbone.
I grabbed the sides of his face to bring him back to my mouth, but he stopped abruptly.
“Wh-what’s the matter?” I asked breathlessly.
The change in Philip’s expression was readily apparent against the backdrop of now dwindling flames, and my already nervous stomach became even more so as the possibility of rejection surged closer to reality.
“Are you sure this is okay with you?” His arms remained around me, but his hands stiffened while he waited for a reply.
“I’m okay,” I bravely answered. “Are you okay?” A sultry smirk crossed his face, and I became more focused on his lips than his answer.
“I’ve never been more okay,” he confirmed.
Pressing strong palms into the small of my spine, he effortlessly lifted me onto his lap, and I twisted shaking fingers into his soft hair to bring our heads together. When I shifted my hips to get more comfortable, a low moan escaped his mouth, causing my stomach to flip in a manner so powerfully unexpected, I softly whimpered.
In one swift movement my shirt came off, and he gently cupped my now bare breasts. Lifting one to his mouth, he lingered there before repeating the motion with the other.
I pushed him off me, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and removed it to reveal a tan, smooth chest. Bringing his body to mine, I held him tight, relishing the sensation of his skin fusing with my own.
His very heat was like a red-hot iron, and it branded Philip’s imprint upon my quivering skin. I’d be marked forever by him, and somehow we both knew it.
Needing to be closer, we feverishly pressed and pulled the other to where we hoped it might bring relief. Nothing satisfied.
Even once Philip was finally, thankfully, and unbelievably inside me, it was still not enough.
Yet then I experienced-for a singular and glorious moment–what it meant to be fully alive as I smelled the soap on his sticky skin, tasted his sweat on my lips, heard his pleasing words uttered into my hair, and witnessed the burning devotion in his eyes.
But I continued to want more. I wanted to be inside of him so this might go on and on, and I could truly live.
***
The light steps of an elderly couple strolling the garden path signaled it was time for me to clean up and change out of the clothes I’d been wearing the previous 24 hours. Amazingly, my half naps left me drained, and I briefly considered sleep over a badly-needed shower.
Streaming cool water erased the oppressive residue from both my body and mind. And with a newly rejuvenated spirit, I inhaled one lasting breath before making the call.
“Hello,” Mitch answered. Despite the after-school hour, the house appeared eerily quiet.
“Honey, how are you?” I asked through hidden tears. Although he wasn’t anywhere near puberty, his voice appeared older to me today.
“Hey, Mom. I’m good. How’s your friend?” he thoughtfully inquired, and I quickly remembered I was helping someone else.
“Good. Good,” I lied and to pacify the guilt I avoided details I might forget later. “Is everyone home?” I slyly asked.
“Yep. Sylvie’s in her room, and Dad’s in the office printing some papers before dinner.” Images of Alex in the basement working, then making dinner, helping with homework, and getting the kids to bed before working some more and finally falling asleep in the living room chair all flashed through my mind.
Another wave of remorse only the ferocity of this one made me sick.
“Was school fun today?” And while he chatted about play try-outs, soccer practice, and how he almost failed his math quiz, I waited for the urge to vomit to pass.
; “Are you going to be able to make it?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“My soccer match Monday?” he repeated.
“Of course, Mitch. I’ll be there tomorrow when you get home from school. There’s no way I’ll miss it,” I promised. “Love you, Sweetheart. Can you get Sylvie for me?”
“Love you, too. Just a sec.” He dropped the phone, and its ringing vibration led me to hold it inches from my ear.
“Hi,” Alex quietly spoke into the other end.
“Hi,” I pulled the phone back to my ear in surprise. I’d hoped to muster enough courage for him during my chat with Sylvie.
“Things going well?”
“Very well,” I announced sincerely. “I’m having a tough time and not sleeping, but I can truthfully say things are moving along. I’m almost excited to see Dr. Benson tomorrow.”
“Great, Court.” He hesitated. “Do you think there will be much more you need to do after tomorrow?”
I instinctively knew his thoughts-how he wished to be supportive of my efforts, yet somewhere deep down he worried just how long those efforts were actually going to take. The fear here was two-fold: he might run out of patience...or I might never fully recover.
“You know I don’t have an answer to that, Alex. I...” and just then I heard Sylvie in the background, begging to talk.
“Okay. Um. Have a good rest of the night and here’s Sylvie.” Alex handed her the line.
“Hey Mom!”
“Hi, Sweetie. How was school?” Again forcing interest, I now grabbed the entire phone-set in my hand, stretched the attached cord its full length, and walked toward the bathroom in case I actually threw up.
This charade was familiar, and I pushed everything down, repressing it into the nether-regions of sub-consciousness so I could listen to my daughter describe her newest school project. Her words came too fast once again, and all I deciphered was something about a talent show.
“I’m going to be one of the back-up dancers, and Mrs. Malloy picked me to do a solo for part of it!” Sylvie’s high-pitch squeal led Rosie to bark in protest from some hidden room.
“That sounds so fun! I just know you’ll be the brightest star,” I cheered.
“Thanks, Mom! I hafta go practice so here’s Dad. See you tomorrow. Love you. Bye!”
“Just wanted to say call if you need anything, okay?” he offered. “I’ll be at the office after the kids get on the bus.”
“Thank you for that. I probably won’t, though,” I answered honestly. “It’s too hard to talk to you and not be there. I miss you guys so much,” I cried.
“We miss you, too, Court. But we want you happy and healthy more. Gotta go. It’s getting to be time to start dinner,” he said. “Actually, we’re ordering takeout,” he added, apologetically.
“Sounds perfect.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more,” I whispered.
In spite of the impending dinner hour, pangs of self-reproach left only a sour stomach and little appetite. Spontaneously, I moved to the balcony and gazed across the yard, searching for clues to unlock this personal mystery. When none came, I returned to the corner chair and replayed my conversations with the kids and Alex.
Deception and remorse over our interactions were nothing new, yet things I hadn’t experienced for years.
Not since Philip broke the news about his wife anyway.
***
After our incredible evening on the lake, Philip and I remained discreet but inseparable. Now, however, it was as if he needed me even more than I needed him. He clung to me.
Yet, my need for him-and my love-only continued to grow every moment we spoke, met, or made love. His constant affection was only surpassed by his unwavering patience. For though we’d found each other so easily that first night, doubts over his real intentions and misgivings about his true feelings remained.
Too often, I questioned the very reasons for his desire, instead believing he viewed me as a random woman with which to satisfy his own needs. And whenever this paranoia graciously disappeared, I’d worry his love for me would end.
That he might go away. And leave me forever...
But neither of these fears materialized. Surprisingly, it was an entirely different problem-one I never anticipated-which would ultimately threaten our relationship.
Enjoying coffee one weekend morning at our favorite shop, we shared the paper and munched flaky maple scones. Contentedly plucking off strips of white icing, I savored the sugary sweetness melting in my mouth.
“Courtney?” Philip said with a seriousness I never noticed before.
Holding the scone in mid-air, I stared with wide eyes. “What?”
“I have a dilemma. And while I don’t want to involve you, I have no choice but to involve you.” He nervously sipped his coffee.
“So tell me,” I boldly demanded.
“My wife wants to reconcile.”
“What do you want to do?” I calmly pressed, pretending his words didn’t sting.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled and peered at the hands resting upon his lap.
“You don’t know? How do you not know?” I quietly hissed. “You’ve been apart for almost fourteen months! She’s got papers all written up, just waiting to be signed. How can you not know?”
I’d never pushed Philip in any dealings with the divorce or his children, rather preferring to leave it as a personal matter between him and his family. And yet, today, hearing him state he didn’t know what to do about them–or us–made me positively livid.
“Courtney. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have a lot to figure out here. I mean, all along I’d come to the conclusion this divorce was only a matter of time. I’d disconnected myself from her as my wife, but I never disconnected from her as the mother of my kids,” he paused. “And when I think about them going through the finality of divorce, spending the rest of their youth hopping back and forth between two homes...it breaks my heart.”
What about my heart?! I silently raged. I entrusted the whole thing to you, and if you leave I’ll never truly get it all back...
“So what are you saying? You want to get back with her? Break this up?” I frantically motioned between us.
“No! Courtney, I just want you to know where things stand with everything in my world. I need you to be aware in case some days I’m struggling.”
Forget that world! my thoughts choked. Forget the entire world, damn it! I’m here. Make ME your world!
“I understand, Philip. I really do. Yet somehow I get the distinct impression you’re seriously considering this reunion?” I asked, tenderly this time though inside I fumed.
He again looked to his hands and fidgeted, and I fought an overwhelming urge to slap them, effectively forcing him to focus on my face.
“It’s something I have to consider,” he revealed, “if I hope to do what’s best for my children. And despite the beauty and pleasure and joy you bring into my life, Courtney, it’s my duty to put their needs ahead of my own.”
And though one of the many reasons I loved him so madly was because of his dedication as a parent, in that precise moment I became so thoroughly pissed off, I grabbed my purse and walked out of the shop, leaving him alone.
We had previous plans for dinner that night, and I finally broke down, calling him right before he’d pick me up. He answered before the first ring finished its connection.
“Philip.”
“Courtney! I’m so sorry, I should have never told you. It was unfair and insensitive and...” I shushed him before he could finish.
“Philip. I appreciate your need to do this, and I’ll support whatever decision you make,” I stated.
“You don’t have to.”
“I love you, Philip. And I love you enough to let go if that’s what you must do,” I wept. “I’m not going to beg you to stay with me, but I’m also not going to tell you to leave her. This is your mess. You make the final decision.”
“I un
derstand. And thank you for that,” he whispered. “I just wish it wasn’t such a difficult choice. I feel like I’m losing a part of me no matter what I do. I can’t win.”
“It’s not about winning, Philip. It’s about making the hard choices and living the life you want.”
And though I sounded brave, I so badly wanted him to pick me–to say, “Courtney, you are what I want and the life I choose!” Because somehow I knew if he left, I’d forget how to live all over again.
I canceled our date, but after a few days apart we met again for a night out. We agreed to avoid any discussion of his problem, yet our strained conversation became infected from its undeniable weight. I drank more wine than usual to ease my nerves and prevent inadvertent spouting of hurtful things, and by the evening’s end, I was practically back to my old self.
