KIM FELT SLIGHTLY sick as she flew down the 101. The meeting with Ana had not gone as she’d hoped. The woman acted like Kim had offered Marta a bribe—a new laptop or a spa day—in exchange for her testimony. Kim only wanted Marta to tell the truth. And the truth was that Kim and Jeff weren’t culpable. All Kim had wanted from the meeting was for Ana to pat her hand and tell her it was going to be okay, that she understood. This could have happened in Ana’s home, or any home. Kim and Jeff were good parents. Ana was a pediatrician for Christ’s sake. Where was her empathy?
But Kim couldn’t dwell on this now as she exited the freeway onto Oyster Point Boulevard. Her hands on the wheel were sweaty, her stomach churning with anticipation and anxiety. She was on her way to meet Tony. He had rented them a room in a secluded inn near the marina. They had planned it that afternoon in his car when they’d first kissed. It had been so intense, so passionate that they’d nearly had sex right there in the backseat of his Volkswagen. But Kim couldn’t risk it. What if they’d been caught? Kim would be branded a public fornicator as well as a neglectful parent.
“We can’t,” Kim had whispered, pulling on Tony’s hair to lift his head from its location between her breasts.
“Why not?” He kissed her neck, his breath hard and hot in her ear.
“Not here,” she said. “It’s too risky.”
“That’s what makes it so hot,” he mumbled, his hand finding its way between her legs. Her body wanted to rock against the pressure of his fingers, to build friction and find release, but her mind prevailed. They were in a public park, in broad daylight, for God’s sake.
“Stop. Please . . .” But he didn’t. He could feel her body responding, feel how close she was. “We’re married. We’re parents,” she managed to say. “We have to be discreet.”
This got through to him and he pulled away. He looked at her, his eyes glazed, his chest heaving. He appeared confused and disoriented. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and let a word slip through his lips. “Fuck . . .”
Kim was flattered. He wanted her so much it seemed almost painful for him. It was hard for Kim, too. She wanted to be with Tony, to share that incredible intimacy with him. He had been a comfort and an escape during this nightmare. She felt a gratitude and fondness toward him that was surely bordering on love. And so, she and Tony had hatched their plan.
KIM SPOTTED THE sign—MARINA SIDE INN—and pulled her car into the parking lot. It was quaint (despite its proximity to the airport), and not at all indicative of the debauchery that was about to take place inside in the middle of the afternoon. She grabbed her purse and hurried toward room 108—a cottage. Tony had texted her the number so she wouldn’t have to go to the front desk. As she walked across the hot pavement, she felt queasy. She wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or guilt.
She had thought that Ronni’s accident, followed so closely by Lisa’s litigation, might have brought her and Jeff closer together. They were both being wrongfully accused, both being blamed. It would be normal for them to unite in the face of adversity, to support and comfort each other. But it seemed Jeff had pulled even further away—swimming, cycling, and running harder, faster, longer. . . . How far could you run before you dropped dead? He’d been drinking, too, she was sure of it. That Aussie friend of his was always pressuring him to go out for beers. Jeff came home later and later, heading straight for the shower and chewing gum like a guilty teenager. Like Hannah.
The cottage was a few steps away, and she took a deep breath. There was no backing out now. She reached out and knocked, her heart thudding in her chest. But when Tony opened the door, she instantly relaxed. His presence had that effect on her. “You made it,” he said, stepping back to usher her inside.
“Traffic,” she said, moving into the tiny bungalow. The charm of the exterior hadn’t quite translated inside. A plethora of throw rugs, doilies, and tchotchkes attempted to mask the cheap linoleum floors and chipped Formica countertops. “Cute place.” But it sounded insincere.
Tony chuckled. “It’ll do,” he said, moving toward her and kissing her. So this is how it would work: no jokes about the octogenarian interior decorator, no awkward chitchat about the lost art of crochet, just straight down to business. Tony’s kisses were already passionate and urgent, his hands were already roaming her body. “Let’s go,” he mumbled, leading her toward a bedroom that she correctly predicted would be full of frills.
He lay Kim down on the floral bedspread and went to work on her, unbuttoning her blouse and unclasping her bra. He took her nipple in his mouth and it felt good, she was aroused, but Kim couldn’t stop thinking about the bedspread. They should pull it back and have sex on the sheets. Hotel sheets were regularly washed but not the bedspreads. Had Tony never seen a TV exposé on hotel cleanliness? Had he never seen the blue light revealing the buckets of semen deposited on the typical hotel counterpane? Tony seemed more focused on adding to the collection than worrying about hygiene.
Tony pulled off his own shirt, revealing his narrow, hairy chest. Kim felt a mild surge of lust at his nakedness and the look of hunger in his dark eyes. She just needed to focus on the matter at hand. He unceremoniously yanked up her skirt and dove between her legs. She closed her eyes and tried to go with it. But it was then, with her lover’s head snuffling around in her crotch, that Kim felt a powerful surge of guilt, remorse, and shame sweep over her. No, it was more than that; it was self-loathing. What was she doing here? A girl had been maimed in her home and her response was to cheat on her husband? She could lose her savings, her home, her reputation . . . and now she was risking her marriage. Ana’s judgmental expression replayed in Kim’s mind. The woman had looked at Kim like she was dirt. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Stop.”
But Tony didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. Maybe he didn’t think she meant it. Suddenly, the pressure of his face between her thighs made her feel disproportionately angry. She wanted to hit him, to kick him hard in the face. She shoved his head away. “I said STOP!” She scrambled away from him on the bed, yanking her skirt down as she did. “This was a mistake.”
“You just need to relax,” Tony said. “I brought some wine. Let’s have a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink. I want to go home.”
Tony gave a mirthless laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry . . . but with everything going on, I’m just not into it.”
“You’re just not into it?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I paid three hundred bucks for this room. In cash.”
Kim was already getting up. Where had she left her shoes? “I’d be happy to reimburse you.”
“You’d be happy to reimburse me?” Was he going to repeat everything she said like some angry parrot? She felt Tony’s eyes on her as she searched the room, but he said nothing. Finally, he spoke: “You fucking tease.”
Kim turned toward him and saw his face curled into a mask of hatred.
“You’ve been leading me on for months.” He angrily pulled on his shirt. “I have a wife. I have a family. I was willing to jeopardize everything for you.”
Kim suddenly felt like dissolving into tears of self-pity. “So was I . . . but it was a bad idea.”
“I’ll say it was a bad fucking idea.”