“Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t picked her up yet.” I’ll smile. “I’m only now getting in.”
He’ll ask me whom I saw, cocky as ever, assuming I spent the night crying over a bottle of Cabernet with one of my girlfriends. Again, I’ll don a Cheshire cat grin. “Since you went out with your lover, I decided to find one of my own.” He’ll step from the stream, uncertain whether he actually heard me above the waterfall. “Well, I mean, since you unilaterally decided that we should have an open marriage, I figured I better get with the program. And you know what? Best orgasm of my life last night! I didn’t know sex could be that good.”
My fantasy fails me after that. In an ideal world, Jake would shut off the faucet and stumble from the shower, soaking wet, blinking in shock. I’d repeat my words for him for maximum absorption and then watch him shrivel from arrogant jerk to penitent spouse. He’d beg my forgiveness, tell me how sorry he is for making me feel this wrenching pain that he suddenly understands so well. He’d call up Colleen and end things over the phone while professing his love for me and our family over and over.
But my husband is not so easily broken. More than likely, Jake would argue that his affair is somehow more virtuous than my actions. I can imagine his case: what he did was selfish and cruel, but he never meant for me to find out and get hurt. I, on the other hand, slept with someone deliberately to skewer him. Intent is nine-tenths of the law.
Tyler murmurs something. Here, with my head against his chest, listening to the familiar whoosh of the sprinklers beyond the window, I can almost convince myself that Jake’s reaction won’t matter. I loved my husband. Probably I still love him. But much of my adoration isn’t unique to Jake. I thought I loved Jake’s arms around me at night. What I love, in fact, is the presence of a strong man in my bed. I thought I loved dressing up for Jake and seeing that impressed spark in his eye. But Tyler had that look tonight, and I loved it then too. I thought I loved talking to my spouse. But when was the last time Jake and I really had a good conversation?
Tyler murmurs again, more distinctly this time. He’s saying something. His eyes are half open, lit by the moon slipping through the cracked window.
“Hey, you.” I prop myself on my elbow and slide my naked torso up his side a couple inches.
“The sprinklers,” he moans.
I lift my head to peck his lips. My kiss lands on his neck.
“It must be midnight.” He scoots back toward the fabric headboard. “What time do you need to get back?”
My lips travel down his neck to his shoulder, licking the salt from his collarbone. I don’t want to go back. This room, this man—they exist outside of time and space. As long as I am within these walls, I am not a shamed wife with a waiting infant but a valued, vibrant, sexy woman. “Vicky is at my mom’s all night.”
“What about your husband?” He sits up straighter. My lips head for the triangle of his hip bones. “You’re not going to tell him?”
I sit on my haunches and lean back, flaunting my nakedness. My breasts are engorged to a cartoonish size on my lanky frame. This is the closest I will ever come to resembling a lingerie model without plastic surgery. I grab his hand and place it on my full chest. “I don’t want to talk about Jake.”
“But won’t he ask where you were if you don’t get home before him?”
I lean forward for a real kiss. He rolls to the side. His legs swing onto the floor. “This is serious.” He grabs his boxers off the hardwood and shoves a leg inside. “We have to talk about what you’ll tell him.”
I scoot back against the headboard and fold the sheet over my body. “I don’t know.”
“Are you thinking of confessing that you also cheated?”
I grimace. “If your marriage is over, is it cheating?”
“You’re still married.”
He pulls the boxers to his waist. The moon and the ambient light from the buildings outside highlight his muscular back as he bends down, searching for something. His clothes are in the closet. Is he looking for mine?
I rise from the mattress and stand in front of him, spotlighted by the window. “I’ll tell him the truth. I know he’s been cheating on me and I don’t know if I can forgive him. And . . .”
I reach for Tyler. He grasps my hand before it can land on his bare side. “And?”
I take a brave breath. “I’ve met someone.”
My hand falls as Tyler retreats from me, backtracking beyond the window’s direct light. “He’ll ask you who. He booked the appointment.” A charcoal filter obscures everything. I see the outline of Tyler’s body crouch to the ground and then rise as though he’s said a quick prayer. “He knows I was treating you. If you say my name, he’ll put two and two together. I could lose my license.”
The darkness prevents me from reading Tyler’s expression. Still, I can feel the intimacy in the room dissipate. On the bed, I was warm. Now I’m freezing in the air conditioning. Instinctually, my arms fold atop my chest. “I won’t say you. I’ll tell him it’s none of his business.”
“He won’t let you get away with that.”
“He’ll have to.”
“Beth. He’s a prosecutor. He’ll keep badgering you until you give him a name. He’ll be jealous. Angry. It won’t matter that he’s done the same thing or that he pushed you to this. He’ll make you the villain. He’ll come after me and my practice.”
In my mind’s eye, I can see Jake do all these things. He won’t take my revenge lying down, even if he wants me back. Tyler would be the perfect target for his anger. “What do you want me to do?”
He steps back into the light. A hand lands on my forearm, urging me to abandon my defensive stance. As my arms fall, Tyler pulls me into him and hugs me, rewarding me for my deference with the return of his physical affection. “You should go home, wait for him. Confront him about the affair. Don’t tell him about tonight.” He brushes my hair away from my face with his fingertips and tilts up my chin so that I can look into his eyes. “You have nothing to gain by telling him. He’ll say you’re as bad as him.”
“I want to be as bad as him.”
His look chides me. “No, you don’t.”
“But I want to see you again.”
He releases me from his embrace. “Beth, I think you’re great. You’re beautiful. Smart.”
“But?”
“I have my daughter to think about. If I lose my license, how will I support her?” He shakes his head. “I am so sorry. I saw you and . . .” A loud exhale fills the room. “I let other things get the best of me. I didn’t act professionally. There are rules against—”
“I’m not your patient.”
“Even former patients.”
“I’m not pressing charges.”
“Your husband could. He could argue that I influenced you to end your marriage for my personal gain, abusing my position as your psychiatrist.”
His reaches out toward me. The light hits the shiny spandex blend fabric in his palm. It’s my dress, balled up like used tissue. My underwear is hidden inside, no doubt. “I can’t see you again.” His voice is gentle yet firm. It’s a shrink’s tone, borrowed from years of books on positive discipline. “You should go home to your husband.”