Each stop was different, yet each was the same. We texted back and forth. Made secret arrangements to visit each other. Depending on whose room, one of us would make our way down the hall, or to a different floor. Check the hall for others from the orchestra. Knock, and then slip into the room.
The secrecy was maddening. And necessary. Because we could dress it up any way we wanted, the fact was we were having a secret affair. And it would remain a secret until I worked out whatever the hell was going on with Karin. Because that was a lingering question I didn’t know how to resolve. It wasn’t as if I could sit here and even pretend that what I was doing was morally right. And that sometimes devastated me, because I loved Savannah, I’d always loved her.
I’d asked her to be mine in secret, for just the summer.
But I wanted so much more.
And I didn’t know if that was going to be possible. I didn’t know what kind of future we could have when our beginning was founded in a lie. And that ... was my fault. Sometimes I felt as if I’d completely taken leave of my senses. What could I have been thinking? Every time I looked at our situation, all I could see ahead was heartbreak.
But I couldn’t stop. When I saw her, when I touched her, when I even thought of her, I was lost. And so, we kept on. It was beautiful. Exquisite. And sometimes it broke our hearts.
Generally, as one of the senior musicians on the tour, I had a room by myself. But not always ... in Casper, Wyoming, neither of us had a room by ourselves. That night we snuck off together, reserving a room at the Sunburst Lodge, a bed and breakfast on the side of Casper Mountain. The drive up to the mountain in a rental car was fantastic, the sun shining through openings in the forest as we rode higher and higher into the mountains. Both of us had been tense, distracted. This chance to get away, to not hide for a few hours, was priceless.
The lodge was open pine construction, with a huge fireplace in a large open living room where all of the guests gathered in the evening. That night, away from the pressures of the tour, the pressures of our lives, we both succumbed to the fantasy that we could be together. It was beautiful ... and bittersweet. Sitting in overstuffed chairs next to each other by the fire, we drank wine and laughed and felt free. Because, for a few hours, we were out of cell phone range, out of touch, with no connection to our lives.
“Hey.” Savannah gave my hand a slight squeeze, pulling my eyes away from the flames. The warm amber light reflected flecks of yellow dancing through her irises. It looked choreographed and made me catch my breath and ache to take her to bed.
“What is it?” I asked.
She tilted her head in a way that told me she was struggling to ask a question.
“What’s going on? You’ve seemed distant.” She leaned forward and placed her glass on the thick maple table in front of us. Resting back into the brown leather, she wrapped her arms around her legs as she pulled them to her chest.
I shrugged. “Why don’t we just enjoy our time together?”
Her now sad eyes met mine. “I enjoy every second with you, Gregory. That’s not an issue.” A quick smile came and left before she continued. “I know that what we’re doing here is … limited. I know that nights like this won’t happen much more, if at all. But, I … I still care about you. I’ll still care about you when this summer is over and … I care about what’s going on in your life.”
I considered her words with each rise and fall my thumb took over her knuckles. Instinctively, I’d been reluctant to ever discuss Karin with her. My wife occupied a separate part of my life, a distant and sad and lonely part of my life. I’d kept all of that closed off, walled away. But for the last few days the implications of what I’d learned from Madeline had been constantly running through my mind. And I’d discussed it with no one.
“You can trust me, Gregory.” She misread my hesitation and cast her eyes to our locked fingers.
“Of course I trust you. That’s not it.” I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I said, “I’m just … reluctant to … taint our time together. With all of that.”
“All of what?”
I swallowed. Then I said, “She wants to have children. My wife. I do not. I never have. And ... it appears that she decided to take action on that without discussing it with me.”
Savannah’s eyebrows worked as she puzzled through my awkward wording. Then she said, “Are you saying she stopped taking birth control?”
I nodded. “Yes.” I realized as I answered the question that my hand was shaking.
“Jesus,” she mumbled under her breath, throwing her head back against the chair. “How did you find out?”
I snorted. “She got drunk and told Madeline she was seeing a fertility specialist. Apparently despite her desire to have children, she is not ... she can’t …” I rubbed my hand over my face, squeezing my eyes shut.
Savannah took her free hand and pulled mine away from my face. “I get it. I’m sorry … for her.” Savannah’s face softened and she looked conflicted. Hurt, almost. “What’d she say when you talked to her about it?”
“We’ve not discussed it. I refuse to have this conversation on the phone.”
“Wow …”
“What?” I sat forward.
“You … you need to talk to her, Gregory. I mean, I know you know that, but …”
“But what?”
She ran a hand through her hair and left it resting on the back of her neck. Her head slowly shook side to side as she spoke. “I know this is going to make no sense at all, what does, really? But, I feel just … awful right now. There are reasons why you’re hurting. Angry. And she has things going on, too. I know we’re having an affair, but ... you need to sort this out with her. Not for me. But for you.”
I thought about her words. About the potential implications of the discussion with Karin. I’d considered it, imagined it, repeatedly. I couldn’t see that conversation going anywhere good. I’d dreaded it, and perhaps that’s why I’d put it off. Because it went to the core of what was wrong with us as a couple. The one thing I’d never wanted was a child. And she knew that. And despite the fact that I was, in fact, betraying her every day ... I still felt ... incredibly betrayed.