Maybe bigger than her.
All the thoughts about what if . . . and who . . . and where . . .
“Be good,” she said, putting a hand to her thigh, trying to look relaxed.
Boone didn’t answer, intent on tucking clean boxers, briefs, and T-shirts into his suitcase.
“Behave,” she added.
He walked to the closet, pulled out a couple of shirts still wrapped in the plastic from the dry cleaners, and hung them in his open garment bag, leaving them in plastic and on hangers.
“And tell the bad girls to stay away,” Sarah added, folding her knees against her chest, feeling childish. Childish and afraid. He was the one who had to draw the line in the sand. Keep the groupies and girls away. At the very least at arm’s length. Because the girls and groupies didn’t care that he was married. They just wanted a sexy man, didn’t matter that he had a wife and kids at home.
“I do,” he said, looking up from the garment bag.
“I hope so.”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“I love you, Boone.”
“And I love you, Sarah.”
She nodded, even as a lump filled her throat, making it hard to breathe.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t what it was like, always being left. He didn’t know what it was like sitting home, waiting. Waiting for him to text. Waiting for him to call. Waiting for him to return, only to start waiting for the next road trip.
The time apart was getting harder, not easier.
If only he’d retire.
If only he’d get a normal job.
If only he’d be like other men, with nine-to-five jobs . . .
But come on, even a nine-to-five job didn’t mean he wouldn’t travel. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t flirt. And it didn’t mean he couldn’t cheat. It just meant he wouldn’t be a professional athlete anymore. His mystique would be gone—that of being the big baseball player—but he’d still be six three. He’d still be handsome. And he’d still enter a room as if he owned it.
The fact was, women would always love him.
The fact was, women would always come on to him.
The fact was, Boone was the only one who could protect their marriage.
And those were all things Sarah couldn’t control.
* * *
Three days down, and three to go before Boone returned. Sarah couldn’t help counting the days as she laced up her running shoes. She wanted him home. Felt far more secure with him home. And yet, when he was home, it felt like he was always trying to escape.
Was he?
Did he feel trapped here with her? Did he wish he was with someone else? He said he loved her, but maybe he said it only to keep her calm . . . so she didn’t freak out . . .
But no. He wasn’t with her because he had to be with her. Boone loved her. He did. He loved the kids and his family . . .
But men could separate family love from sexual love. He could love Sarah as his wife and yet want another woman because she was more sexually desirable . . .
More free, more fun, more of an escape.
Sarah knew she wasn’t much fun. Not anymore. Not when she was borderline crazy.
Stop this.
Sarah stood and pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to silence the noise and chattering in her head. She couldn’t let these thoughts happen. Couldn’t let her mind race, her thoughts wild and scattered and pulling her in every direction.
Just go for your run, she told herself. Run and burn off some of this nervous energy and then get your hair done and everything will be fine.
Sarah strapped her music to her arm, hung the earbuds around her neck, and headed out, into the upstairs hall, which had been sponge-painted in the early nineties the strangest peach color she’d ever seen. It was such a fleshy shade. Just walking down the hall to the stairs made her think of Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs.
The house was quiet downstairs and the lights off. Dad and Brianna had arrived earlier and whisked Ella and Brennan out for the day. Sarah didn’t know their plans but had overheard Brianna talking with Ella about the Oakland Zoo. Sarah was so grateful her dad and sister had come to give her a break.
She needed one. She also needed to get some things done for herself, including a color touch-up and a leg and bikini-line wax. Maintenance was a bitch, but essential. Which was why she was going for a run now before her hair appointment.
The run wasn’t just for her body. Today she was running to burn off some of her endless, nervous energy. Boone had recently made a comment about her being a little too wound up, and he was right. She was tense. She felt as if she could go off any minute. And that wasn’t her. She’d always been ambitious and focused, but she’d never been angry or prone to outbursts. Yet lately she felt like a walking powder keg.