Trouble Won't Wait

by Autumn Piper

  I climb thankfully in the passenger seat, mopping water from my face. I thought he might laugh at the mess I am, but he looks mad.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say cautiously.

  “What the hell are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” He’s driving toward our neighborhood, his jaw set so hard his chin juts forward.

  “I’m cold and wet, but I hardly think it’s life-threatening,” I soothe.

  “Visibility’s for shit right now.”

  “Luckily I only need to see a few feet ahead when I’m walking.” I’m an adult, after all.

  To demonstrate a point, Adam stomps on the brakes. This sends the truck sliding several feet, some of them sideways. “Rain makes roads slick, Mandy. You know how many people die every year because of rain-slick roads?” He’s very angry, and maybe scared, too. “Add in the fact that nobody can see you until the last second, and you’re just asking to get creamed. You’re always thinking of your kids. How ’bout if their mom got killed out here walking?”

  A valid point. My arsenal of arguments spent, I resort to excuses. “It wasn’t raining when I left the house.”

  “You should’ve turned around when it started.” He’s parked in front of my house.

  “Then I’d get home and it would stop, and I’d regret not getting my walk.” The thought makes me feel pouty. “I don’t wanta go home yet.” I consider suggesting he drive around awhile, but the mood he’s in, he’d probably be afraid we’d get in an accident.

  Adam resumes driving and asks, “Don’t you have a treadmill?”

  “No.” I’ve been dreading this time of year when the weather makes it impossible to walk. I have exercise videos, and have considered getting a treadmill. But the truth is I like to be outside. And now I like to see Adam at the end of my walk.

  He’s shaking his head. “You’re soaked. You’ll be sick next.”

  When he pulls up in front of his house, I’m shivering. I doubt sitting in his house in these wet clothes is going to be very warm. Probably should have gone home.

  I follow him in via his garage, where I see he has an old candy-apple red Jag, like sixty-something old. Cool.

  Inside, he hands me his robe and a towel. “You can put your wet stuff in the dryer.”

  “Oh.” I use the laundry room to change, not wanting to see my drowned-dog reflection in a mirror. His robe smells good, like him and Bounce. I’ve made an impression!

  Man robes are a weird length. They end right at the knees. The sleeves are big and floppy, hitting me at the elbows. Ugh. I feel awkward and very unsexy when I slink into Adam’s living room and sit on the hearth in front of the crackling, heavenly fire he’s built.

  He brings me cocoa and kneels in front of me. “Promise me you won’t go out except on the sidewalks when it’s raining like that again?”

  I nod and he kisses my forehead, clearly relieved. The cocoa feels good going down. Scalding hot, but good. I shiver as I warm, placing my cold bare feet as near the fire as I dare. We’re quiet together, and it feels nice.

  He’s looking at my feet. I should polish my toenails now and then, or at least rub some cream on all the cracked spots. My winter feet look kinda haggard.

  “Let me rub your feet and warm them,” he suggests.

  I shake my head, easing my feet toward my body.

  “Come on.” He reaches for them.

  I curl them under me, batting his hand away. “Bad idea. My feet are, uh, highly erogenous.”

  He smiles devilishly.

  Better make him understand. “I don’t get pedicures because I’m afraid of getting turned on at the salon. If I was a hooker, I’d trade for foot massages, and feel like I got the best end of the deal.”

  He moves toward me with that same fiendish smile on his face.

  “Adam, no. Really.”

  His hands have captured my left foot. They’re so warm, it feels like heaven. I know if I let him rub my feet, I’ll end up in bed with him. A guy in college, who I had no intention of sleeping with, seduced me that way.

  “No!” I’m jerking my foot away when he grabs the other.

  “Just let me warm ’em up. Besides, I’d like to see you all hot and bothered.” He doesn’t understand I’m not kidding. He rubs between my toes, stimulating my unwilling body.

  I hurry to set my cocoa mug down on the stone hearth and try to crawl away, even as he gives chase, still holding the left foot. It’s hard crawling on one leg, especially in a robe. I give up, flopping down on my belly. Maybe just this once, I can relax and enjoy the foot rub for what it is, maybe…no! Definitely not. It’s like the ignition key to my big sex engine. I can feel it roaring to life, and I can’t stop it.

  “Stop it, stop. No.” I cover my face with my hands, and try to kick my foot free, but he’s strong and barely notices. He goes into the deep massage on the ball of my foot, and I’m crying. I’ve asked him to stop, and he won’t. He knows why I don’t want this, but he’s not stopping. I’m suddenly back in my bedroom, and Mike is tearing off my clothes. “No. I said no!”

  He rolls me over. “Mandy, hey! I stopped, okay? Hey.”

  I’m crying hard. Maybe harder than I ever have before.

  He pulls my hands from my face, trying to see into me, figure out why a foot-rub would turn me into such a psycho. “You’re terrified. What the hell happened?”

  I let him put my head in his lap and hold my hands, until I calm down some. My feet are curled protectively against my bottom inside the robe.

  Now things come clear again. What the hell am I going to tell him? I know what he thinks. He thinks I was raped.

  “I need to, um, go. I’ve gotta go, Adam. Rachel will be home. I have to go.” I’m talking fast, so fast, as I scramble up.

  Adam shakes his head, pulling me back to his lap. “It’s only two thirty.”

  I push against him, struggling. Let me go! I think it over and over. I’m back there again, flailing, wanting it to end. “I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!”

  He loosens his arms and I heave myself up, running for the laundry.

  My clothes aren’t completely dry, but they’re warm. When I’m finished dressing, he’s standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

  “Sorry,” I tell him.

  He stares back, eyes wide and blue, brows drawn down.

  “I’m okay. Will you drive me home?” The warm clothes are cooling off fast. They’re much wetter than I thought.

  He hasn’t moved, staring at me like I’m a new species. “You can’t treat me like a rapist and not explain why.”

  “Fine. I’ll walk then. There are sidewalks.”

  Adam moves closer, but he’s nervous about it. “Goddammit, Mandy. Trust me with something, will ya? Or go to the police and report whatever happened to you. A counselor or somebody.”

  “There’s nothing to report, Adam.” I stare at the wood floor, wondering how much to tell him. How much will be enough to get him off my back? How much will bring even more questions? “It was an almost-incident, but it didn’t happen. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you sure seemed fine five minutes ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” I am very sorry I made him feel like I fear him.

  “You’re not sorry, you’re fucking traumatized!”

  “God. Please don’t yell at me.” I’m crying again. Why does my life have to be so complicated? Is this my punishment for carrying on with Adam while I’m still married? I slide down the wall, put my head on my knees, and hide my eyes. “He almost did it. I’m not sure if he would have. I’m not sure if I could have screamed to get the kids’ attention, or if I would’ve kept quiet so they wouldn’t know. I’m not sure. But he stopped. He stopped.”

  That’s all that matters, right?

  “Mandy, you have to get out of there. Do you hear me? Get out of there. Come here. Go to your brother’s, a hotel. Anywhere. Just leave.” He’s so freaked out. This is why I would never, never have told him.

  “It’s okay. I lock the
door now. Two doors. It’s okay. He won’t try it again, anyway. It wasn’t like him, he’s not like that. He was…well…desperate.”

  “You think he’s not more desperate now?”

  I shake my head. “He’s accepting it now.”

  “Yeah, that’s why he got assaulted by your brother at a school function.” His arms are still crossed, but at least the hands aren’t in fists anymore.

  “Will you take me home? I have to change. These clothes are still wet.”

  He helps me stand.

  “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry. I know you’d never–I just can’t stop it when my feet are rubbed. I couldn’t control it.”

  Adam’s jaw tightens and he nods that he understands. He grabs a towel and puts it on the truck seat so I don’t get soaked by my previous wet spot.

  His kindness in the face of my insanity makes me feel even worse.

  At my driveway, he puts his truck in Park. “If it happens again, I’ll kill him. Call me when you go to bed?” Dead calm, that voice.

  I nod, thinking it sounded pretty creepy.

  He waits for me to make it inside, punches it and speeds away.

  * * * *

  “Hey.” It’s eleven PM, and I’ve just dialed Adam. “Sorry it’s always so late when I call.”

  “I’m usually up late working in the studio anyway. Everything okay at your house?”

  I really hate for him to know about that. He was worried enough before. All evening I’ve tried to think of a way I could’ve avoided his finding out. Of course, if I hadn’t been at his house in the first place… “Yeah. Two more days until the kids are out for Christmas, and they’re psyched. I have to take them shopping one day next week.”

  “I have a meeting with Building and Planning at the courthouse in Glenwood tomorrow. Come meet me for lunch.”

  I turn this invitation over, weighing the odds of being recognized versus getting to eat with him. Well, it is only lunch.

  “What time?”

  We agree to meet at the restaurant. Mexican again, but he won’t hear me complaining.

  “Mandy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sleep well. I’ll wait ’til I know you’re sleeping.”

  He’s worried about me, and to know that makes something tighten in my chest.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 10

  I’m dressing in new black slacks and a scoop-neck purple sweater I haven’t worn before. I feel good. Good makeup, great hair. My eyes look very blue against the deep purple top and an amethyst necklace and earrings I’ve had for years.

  Mike and I had a counseling session scheduled this morning, but Baldwin called to cancel. He sounded mighty hung over, but said he was sick. Fine with me, either way.

  Mike schlepped off to work, looking disappointed after finding out our appointment was off. Could he possibly believe there’s still a chance we might work things out through therapy?

  On the half-hour drive to my lunch date in Glenwood Springs, I think about how hard Mike has been trying to reconcile. We really have a lot going for us as a couple. Self-doubt makes me worry I’m making his one infidelity into a bigger wrongdoing than it is. Is that because I want to be with Adam? How will I tell Mike after Christmas that I’m in love with another man? It’s going to be a huge shock for him, to face that I’ve had no intention of working things out through therapy. God, am I a shithead for leading Mike on this way?

  I haven’t ever told him I wanted to work things out, though. I tell him at nearly every turn what a jerk he’s been, and how I’m not getting over it, ever. He just refuses to accept it.

  * * * *

  I wait for Adam in my Durango in the parking lot, going over the remainder of my Christmas lists, making a note to wrap the gift for Rachel’s teacher tonight. I look up in time to see Adam walking toward me, and my breath catches. He’s dressed for business today, in a suit. A very nice suit, obviously tailored. My heart races, and I want more than anything to pull him into my vehicle and get some long, wild kisses out of him before we eat. I’m flushed with the idea when he opens my door for me. His eyes search out mine, and our gazes lock together for a bit. God, it’s like when we first met. I think he said hi to me some time ago.

  “You clean up good,” I tell him in a sensual voice I’m not forcing a bit.

  His eyes widen a smidge. Looks like he’s had a lascivious thought. Maybe because he was looking at my chest–push-up bras are the best!

  I swing my legs out, then the rest of me, and he closes the door. I’d love to hold his hand walking in, but it’s a bad idea.

  Adam asks for a “quiet” seat, telling the hostess this is a business lunch. Since it’s still before noon, we’re given a table in a corner, far away from any other occupied ones.

  Over his menu, he says, “Nice sweater.”

  I can feel myself blush again, like a girl on her first date.

  “Is your meeting over?” I ask in between chips. I shouldn’t be eating them again. This is how I ended up with rolls around my middle.

  He nods, and then we place our orders.

  “I finished your books.”

  My eyes roll involuntarily. Way to blow a good lunch–embarrass me.

  “What did you think?” I might as well ask. He appears eager to offer his review.

  He looks over at me for some time. “You’re a romantic.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Do I seem that bitter?”

  “A romantic doesn’t consider living out her life with somebody who broke her heart, just to avoid divorce.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard ‘Love conquers all’? That’s a romantic’s notion, isn’t it?” I’m not getting angry with him today. Time together like this is too precious. “Please let’s not go there today. I made my decision. And yes, I’m a romantic. But I could write romance if I wasn’t.”

  “Not like that. Your books are very good. I think you should be making a lot of money.” He leans forward, his forearms flat on the table in front of him. “Do you have an exclusive contract?”

  He really did want to talk business! But what does he know about publishing books, and do I want him in on this? “No. My first novel was accepted by this publisher, and then the second. They expect more books from me, and I expect that they’ll buy them.” It sounds pretty wishy-washy when I put it that way.

  Adam shakes his head. “I have, er, access to a publisher. Would you be interested in seeing what they’d pay you for your next novel?”

  “It’s not finished. I seem to have trouble concentrating lately.”

  Our plates are being served, and I look meaningfully over the rim of my glass at him. His returning look almost melts me, it’s so hot.

  He hands me a business card. “Contact him. He’s expecting your call.”

  The guy on the card is a senior editor. Adam knows him?

  “Okey dokey. Thanks?” This is just weird. I don’t even know what to think now. Probably nothing will come of it, but I’m willing to shop around. Maybe this guy knows Adam from college or something.

  “Enough business.” Fork in hand, he openly stares at me and says, “You should have a sweater like that in every color. I’d like to come home every day of the week and find you waiting for me in a new color of that sweater.”

  God, I’m supposed to eat with him saying things like that? I can’t even breathe! What does he mean, anyway?

  “Sorry.” He must think he scared me. “That was probably a bit much for somebody getting ready for a divorce. You just look really good. Really…well, really good.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I liked it when you said that. I know I’m nuts, but I liked it. And I’m glad you enjoyed my books. I’m always afraid people won’t like them, and then they won’t like me.” I’m tempted to tell him Mike hasn’t read my books, but I don’t want to spoil our lunch by mentioning Mike.

  Adam shrugs. “It’s art. If you didn’t like one of my sculptures, w
ould you think of me differently?”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “Only if all of them were wildly different from my taste. I guess nobody would read my books if they were only into horror stories, huh?” Just like that, the simplest explanation ever, and I feel so much better about my work. Why the hell was I so self-conscious about it before? Light-bulb moment.

  I stick out my tongue at him, and his dimples are all-out. I wonder, if we made babies together, would they have those dimples? I always wanted more kids, but Mike only wanted two, so he went off and got snipped after Rachel was born safe and sound. My feelings were hurt, but I figured Mike’s opinion mattered as much as mine did, and he felt very strongly about it.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Ha! I can’t tell him I’m thinking about making babies with him, that’s for sure. There’s one guaranteed way to distract a guy: mention his penis.

  “Remembering the peep-show you gave me when you were sick.”

  Success. He turns red and looks across the room. Now I really am remembering that view.

  He tosses a chip at me. “Not much longer until you can do more than remember, you horny thing.”

  Which reminds me. “I have a little surprise. Mark arranged for my mom to pick up my kids the twenty-sixth, and take them to Arizona until after New Year’s.” I let him think of it some, absorbing the implications of my week of freedom.

  “I’ll probably keel over sometime the next week from anticipation, and never see my fantasies realized.” His dire prediction makes me laugh out loud. “After three weeks of waiting–”

  “God, has it only been three weeks?” I guess it has. “It feels like months.” I feel like I haven’t had sex in a decade, especially now, sitting right across from Adam. “I think I need to go now. I have a lot of, um, energy to burn off today.”

  When he puts me in my Durango, I tug him in by the tie to steal a kiss. “Mmm. Makes a meal complete, somehow,” I murmur against his smooth, Drakkar’d cheek.

  He kisses me again, hungrily, and I picture myself putting his hand on my breast, then between my legs. My moaning stops him, and he looks at me with eyes wide and dark. I hold his hand until he pulls it slowly away and shuts the door, still staring at me with that lusty look. If coveting is still a sin, I’m going to hell. Straight to hell.