Cathy nibbled on her bottom lip. She supposed it was time to call it quits between them. She had known the day would come, hadn’t she? If she had already recognized the inevitable, then why did she now feel this depression? On the other hand, she thought, there were too many reasons not to end the affair. First and foremost, just as she had feared, the dependable transportation provided by Michael was a powerful factor. She hated the crassness, but she had to be practical. What would she do without the Lexus? She couldn’t very well expect to keep driving it if she was no longer going to be with Michael.
Going to be with Michael…Her mind flashed back to the last time that they had been together, how they had ended up banging wildly in front of the dresser mirror. Cathy shivered at the memory. She hadn’t heard from him since he had flown out, but she felt it would not be many more days before he returned to town. Her insides involuntarily clenched with anticipation. She drew in her breath and forced herself, muscle by muscle, to relax. “Focus, Cathy. Think about what’s best for Chloe.”
Frowning, Cathy thought about all of the ramifications of severing her arrangement with Michael. No, there was no question about it. She needed the Lexus, now more than ever. She had to put Chloe first, and that need demanded she have dependable transportation. The additional income provided by Michael would not come amiss, either. Medical bills didn’t simply stop just because the patient was sent home. The monthly stipend that Michael faithfully deposited to Winter’s account was always useful. Useful? Cathy grimaced, knowing that she was being less than honest with herself. Winter’s income was sometimes the only thing that made keeping up with the bills even remotely possible.
Transportation and the money to pay bills, yes. Two very compelling reasons to continue her liaison with Michael, she thought. She was more reluctant to examine the explanation for her depression at the thought of ending the affair, but she faced it with spare honesty. The panic attacks. She was able to defuse the debilitating episodes by submerging herself into the mindlessness and pleasure of sex. Cathy smiled to herself, a little sadly. God, it felt so good. When she was with Michael, she was able to forget everything else.
Cathy let her head fall back against the chair cushion, closing her eyes. When had sex become so integral to her? When had it become a necessary crutch? The past two and half years had seared away many self-delusions, so that she was able to examine herself with almost pitiless objectivity, and her reflections became brutally introspective. She gradually realized, with dawning horror, that it wasn’t just about sex. When she was with Michael, she was able to actually become something other than who she was. She could be just an ordinary woman who was living an ordinary life. Well, all right, it wasn’t exactly ordinary to be someone’s mistress. Other than that small, tiny detail, though, she was able to pretend that tragedy and overwhelming stress were not part of her life, that they belonged to someone else, because Michael knew nothing about her.
She actually needed—needed—Michael.
Coldness seeped under her breastbone. If he ever discovered how much she relied on him, on their times together, he would undoubtedly interpret it as an emotional attachment, one that he didn’t want from her. He would drop her without a qualm. She was certain of that, and she literally couldn’t afford that right now. It wasn’t all because of the financial advantages, either. Cathy bleakly accepted the truth of that.