I hid in my car and wondered what to do next. If I went home, I knew Sebastian would be waiting for me. I didn’t know what to say, and I was afraid of how much more damage I’d done.
“Are you all right, miss?”
A worried looking man in a Padres baseball cap knocked on my car window, making me jump.
I wound the window down halfway.
“Oh, thank you. I’m fine, really.”
“You were sitting there for so long I was starting to get worried. You sure you’re okay?”
What was it about the kindness of strangers that made me want to weep?
“I’ve just got a few things on my mind, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for your concern. That was very sweet of you.”
He nodded, smiled uncertainly and ambled off.
The car engine started with a roar, and I was soothed by the familiar grating sound the gear shift made as I reversed out of the parking space. I drove without a destination, idly wondering what problems troubled other drivers locked in their glass and metal worlds, individual and isolated. Were they pondering the meaning of life, itemizing shopping lists in their heads, or simply idling in traffic, minds full of happy non-thoughts?
The June gloom of early morning had given way to hazy sunshine as I found myself driving along a quiet stretch of Pacific coast. It seemed as good a place as any to brood. The air was mild and a light breeze stirred the stubby grass that tried to maintain a foothold among the dunes.
I kicked off my sandals and felt the fine grit beneath my toes. My thoughts turned inward as I wrapped my arms around my knees and gazed out toward the ocean. Had I reached a turning point in my life, or was this merely a blip on a long and bleak horizon? Was leaping from a failed relationship to a doomed one the most sensible action for a woman of thirty? Rationally, no. But the feel of Sebastian’s body against mine, inside mine; his sweetness, his gentleness. Could I really say that meant nothing? Were those feelings so abundant in my life that I could count them worthless?
The only real love I’d known in my life had been from my dear, chaotic father. Sebastian hadn’t even had that. He was hungry for love.
Could I help him? Answer: I couldn’t. I would only hold him back from all the wonderful things he deserved from life. So I had to let him go.
But where did that leave me? Contemplating leaving everything I had ever known because of one ill-advised hour of passionate lunacy. If I left David, I was well aware I would have nothing, not even my reputation. I had never lived on my own, never lived on what I could earn, never lived without the say-so of someone else. The unknowingness was terrifying.
I sat and stared until I realized with vague surprise that the shadows were beginning to lengthen around me.
I unclamped my hands and stood up stiffly, watching with fascination as blood flowed back toward my white knuckles. I’d wasted a whole day and resolved little—except that Sebastian deserved better than me.
Dread settled like a toad in my stomach. I didn’t know how I could face David after what I’d done. I’d got away with it in so far as he hadn’t caught us, caught me, last night, but I’d never kept a secret from him before—I had no idea how I was going to start. How could I school my face to stone in the next 30 minutes?
I made it home shortly before six, his usual home-time, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed that the house stood silent, untroubled by either friendly or malign presence.
I threw myself into cooking: spaghetti alla puttanesca—tomatoes, olives, chili pepper, capers, garlic. It seemed appropriate—the Whore’s Spaghetti. Odd to think I’d planned that meal yesterday, when I was still an honest wife.
Hearing David’s car in the driveway brought me sharply back to the present.
Set the table. Place the napkins. Open his beer. Pour it in a glass. Wash the salad. Act normal.
“Hi, supper is nearly ready,” I said as brightly as I could manage, my voice sounding shrill and insincere to my ears.
He ignored me entirely. Oh, of course, he was still sulking. That made things easier.
We ate in silence. I cleared the plates without a word. He retired to his study. Not a syllable had passed our lips.
I was grateful to him. It made things so much simpler.
To my bemusement, I was able to concentrate on writing up my surfing story that I hoped City Beat would publish. The words flowed and it was therapeutic to spend the evening in a happier place.
At 11 pm, David exited his study and headed for the bedroom. I wish I’d remembered to wash the sheets today. Whore.
I observed dispassionately that he deliberately balled up his clothes and flung them onto my side of the bed, knowing I’d have to get up early to press the pants—again.