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 towards 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 drive 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.
He returned from the bathroom marching with stiff, military precision in his ironed PJs. I had an almost irresistible urge to laugh.
The sheets were thrown back with disdain and he turned sharply, hauling the bedspread onto his side. How marvelously childish.
Smiling to myself, I slid between the sheets and dared myself to feel hopeful.
By morning I knew I couldn’t put off facing Sebastian any longer. I suspected that if I waited at home long enough, he’d appear. I probably had a few minutes to dash to the store to buy milk, vegetables and candy.
I didn’t linger over my purchases, but even so, when I turned into the drive, there he was, sitting huddled in my porch. At least he was hidden from the road.
My stomach flipped over.
His eyes lit up when he saw me and he made to stand. I shook my head quickly and luckily he understood.
As soon as I opened the door, he slid inside unobtrusively. I still hadn’t planned what I was going to say to him. I wasn’t even sure it was possible to plan.
We stood looking at each other, the door unyielding against my back.
“Are you okay?” he said at last.
I nodded slowly. “I guess. You?”
“I… I had to see you.”
“Come in,” I said, somewhat reluctantly, pointing towards the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”
He shook his head.
This was harder than I’d expected and I’d barely said a word. I sank into a kitchen chair while he continued to stand.