The Fifth Stage Part 29

All the little oddities were starting to come together to spell something other than coincidence or simple misunderstandings. Over the past few weeks, she'd gotten phone calls at odd hours from people I'd never heard of, after which she'd be distracted and aloof. She'd been having trouble sleeping and often wandered to the guestroom in the middle of the night, claiming she could rest better in the other bed.

At first, I'd blamed fatigue. Lora had made a s.h.i.+ft in her practice, seeing only her regular adult clients and accepting disturbed children as new patients. After a while, she'd complained it was too much. On those now infrequent occasions when she did open up to me, she'd cry for the kids, for the s.e.xual and physical abuse they endured, the verbal torment.

Many came from the foster care system where they'd been pa.s.sed around, never knowing a real home, or if they found a good, loving place, they'd soon be uprooted again.

She worried herself to death, growing pale and losing weight. More than once she'd said if something didn't change, she didn't know how she'd make it, so I'd encouraged her to go back to adult therapy full-time, where her clients would at least have some power to overcome their problems, but she'd brushed me off. If she didn't help the kids, who would?

But these other things, the phone calls, the lying, pointed to one thing, and I began to suspect the unthinkable. Lora was having an affair.

Why else would she lie about being with June? Why else would she take 189 the afternoon off and not tell me? What else would cause her to be so distant?

A sickness whirled in my stomach. I choked down a swallow of strong coffee and tried to collect myself. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't solve anything. I couldn't convict Lora of infidelity without real proof, so that's exactly what I set out to get.

I left the office at two o'clock in case Lora came home early.

Visions of her meeting me at the door with a chilled gla.s.s of champagne had been replaced with horrible images of her sneaking out of town to meet some moneyed-up elitist lesbian in a limo. Thanks to that mental picture, my turkey-on-rye from the deli across the street hadn't settled well.

But the drive home calmed me down. Things were like they'd always been. The red light on Commerce Street caught me, just like usual. And before I could cross the tracks on Industrial Drive, I had to wait for a locomotive pulling carloads of coal to pa.s.s. At East Side Elementary, kids played on the swings while they waited for big yellow busses to cart them home.

Things began to feel more normal. I had decided to give her a chance to tell me on her own about taking the afternoon off, but when I pulled into the garage and her car wasn't there, I almost lost it. Where the h.e.l.l was she?

I went into the house, and an emptiness swept over me as if Lora were already gone. I dropped my briefcase and purse by the kitchen door and collapsed on the sofa. What was I going to do? I couldn't breathe without her, couldn't feel my own heartbeat, but if my suppositions were correct, did I have the power to keep her? Had a stranger taken my place?

I went to the kitchen and downed three gla.s.ses of ice water, but still couldn't cool off, so I opened the freezer door and stood as close as possible to shelves full of Lean Cuisine and Banquet TV dinners. After a minute, I headed toward the bedroom and let Jitterbug out of the guestroom as I pa.s.sed. She darted down the hall in front of me, into our bedroom, and back out. I changed clothes, and as I hung my suit in the closet, a sudden urge overcame me. I went straight to Lora's jewelry box and opened the lid.

I rifled through her pins and brooches and earrings. Everything I touched held a memory, a piece of her. The gold hoops I'd given her for 190 Christmas ten years before, the pearl studs she'd had mounted from her grandmother's antique choker, the one-carat diamonds she wore on special occasions. They all said Lora, all reminded me of what I was doing: digging through her things to justify not trusting her.

I looked into the dresser mirror, but the reflection wasn't me, not level-headed Claire. The woman staring back was a crazed hag.

I spoke out loud. "G.o.d, Claire. Get a hold of yourself."

But as I started to close the lid, something caught my eye. It was a neatly-folded slip of paper tucked in the back corner of the velvet-lined box. I pulled it from its hiding place and straightened it out. Scratched in handwriting I didn't recognize was the letter Z , followed by a drawn heart. Below that was a phone number, and I recognized the exchange right away. It was for an exclusive gated community tucked among the western hills of town.

Lora and I lived in one of Spring City's better neighborhoods, among doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs, but Forest Hills was a whole different ball game. If you weren't worth at least five million, you couldn't even get in the gates.

My blood froze. So that was it. Despite all my hard work, I hadn't done enough. My lack of real money had come to haunt me. Lora, who always said that having me was worth all the gold in Fort Knox, had been swayed by the mighty dollar. I had to give her credit, though.

She'd landed a whale. A guppy like me could never compete with the Forest Hills set.

I tucked the paper back where I found it and sat down on the bed. I could've sworn the framed four-leaf clover on the nightstand blew me a raspberry. I was first hurt, then mad. I jumped up and paced through the house. Lora was everywhere, her grandmother's handmade rag quilt on the bed in the guestroom, her mahogany-framed diplomas hanging on the wall in the study, our pen-and-ink portrait done by a local artist in the hallwayit all reminded me of what I stood to lose. That lopsided grin, those knowing eyes, her gentle hands.

I fell onto the sofa in the den, numb from pain and disbelief. I must have sat there for three hours before I started to cry. I wept for the sting of betrayal and the agony of imagining her with someone else, but the real hurt came at the thought of her leaving, of watching her pack up her things and walk away.

I couldn't bear it.

When the sound of the garage door opening startled me, I forced myself to stop crying. I would pretend nothing had happened. If she 191.

wanted to play me for a fool, I'd let her. It was better than living without her.

Lora sauntered into the room, Jitterbug dancing around her heels.

She stopped and stared at me. "What are you doing home so early?"

She looked different. The color had returned to her cheeks, and when she smiled, it was the famous Lora Tyler smile that had won my heart so many years before.

I sniffed back the remnants of my tears. "I had a sinus headache, so I came home a little early."

"You don't look so good. Did you take something?" Lora slipped out of her linen jacket before coming to me and touching my forehead with the back of her hand. "You don't seem to have a fever."

"I'm okay now." And I was. Lora was home where she belonged.

"How was your day?"

"Nothing special. Yours?"

"The usual."

Lora sat down close to me and slipped off her shoes. "When did this headache start?"

"I don't know, a little after lunch maybe." I pinched the bridge of my nose. My sinuses really were clogged from crying.

Lora put her hand on my thigh and leaned back as she closed her eyes. After a long silence, she said, "Do you think it's possible to be in love with two people at the same time?"

"What?" Tears returned to my eyes, but Lora wasn't looking.

"Being in love with two people at once. Do you think it's possible?"

"Why?"

"One of my adult clients is having an affair. Claims she's in love with both men."

"Does she love them both?"

"I suspect she loves her husband because he's always been there for her. They have a history and all that." She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "But this new guy, he's different. He gives her things her husband can't anymoreexcitement and pa.s.sion."

"What do you think about it?"

"I don't know. Love is a chemical thing, like a drug. After you get used to it, it takes more to get the same high. Remember when we first started out, how exciting it was? We don't feel that anymore. We probably never will again, not with each other anyway."

"I still love you."

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She patted my hand, but didn't look at me. "I know you do, but it's not the same. Love changes over time. The initial thrill doesn't last forever, but it's not to say you don't still love the person."

"So just because you don't get a buzz, you have to go out and find someone new?"

"It's not up to me to judge the right or wrong of it, just to help her get through it." Lora stood, picked up her shoes, and headed down the hall.

I jumped up and followed her. "So what do you think? Can someone love two people at the same time?"

Lora turned her back to me as she unb.u.t.toned her blouse. "I guess it's possible. People are complex and we all have a lot of different needs.

Maybe it's too much to expect one person to fulfill all of them."

"So every time we get a little bored, we should go off and have an affair?"

"I didn't say that." She went into the closet and returned a moment later, wearing a pair of loose shorts and a tee s.h.i.+rt. "What's for dinner?"

I plopped down on the bed. "What about you? You said our spark is gone. Does that mean you want to have an affair?"

She whirled on me, looking cornered. "Where the h.e.l.l did that come from?"

"You're the one who brought it up. I'm just wondering how you feel about it."

"Honey, I've had a long day. Can't we drop it and get some dinner?" Lora took my hand and tried to make me stand up. I pulled her toward me, wrapped my arms around her waist, and buried my face in her stomach. I needed her worse than I ever had, needed to touch her, to know she was mine.

She squirmed away and turned toward the door. "Don't we have some steaks in the freezer?"

"Lora..." I couldn't ask the questions that were pounding away at my sanity. All I wanted was for her to stay with me. This time, I couldn't stop the tears.

Her eyes narrowed as she sat beside me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "Honey, what's wrong? You look like you've lost your best friend."

Still no words came, blocked by the knot in my throat. I fell into her embrace.

"Honey, please talk to me. I've never seen you like this. Did something happen at work?" Her hands found my neck, and she did that little ma.s.saging thing that got rid of my worst headaches.

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I kept sobbing. How would I get rid of those migraines when she was gone? How would I do anything without her?

But she wasn't gone yet, and I still had a chance. In desperation, I latched my lips onto her neck, suckling too hard as my hands pawed her body.

She pushed me away. "What are you doing?"

I finally managed one word. "Please."

The look on my face must have been pitiful because she wiped the tears from my cheeks and smiled. "Easy." Kneeling between my legs, she unb.u.t.toned my blouse and unhooked my bra. "Isn't this better?" Her tongue circled my nipple.

Better yes, but not enough. I had to have her, had to show her what she'd be missing without me. I pulled her to her feet and shucked her shorts down to her ankles. She stepped out of them and straddled my lap.

"What's gotten into you?" she gasped as I pulled her closer, teasing her from behind with my fingers.

I growled the words into her ear. "You're wet. You want me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"I want you."

"Make me believe it."

Her hair fell in my face as she pressed her lips on mine. We fell backward onto the bed, and she tugged my pants down to my knees.

"Touch me," she said as her hand moved between my thighs.

Then I touched her, every inch of her. I touched her with my hands, with my lips, with my body. A strange l.u.s.t raged between us, something we hadn't shared in years. Long-forgotten needs somehow resurfaced and demanded satisfaction. Two hours, three o.r.g.a.s.ms, and about a gallon of sweat later, we lay spent and ravenous. Let some rich b.i.t.c.h from Forest Hills beat that.

Lora's head was on my stomach, her still-damp fingers tickling my skin. I stroked her hair. "I was beginning to think we'd forgotten how to do that."

"Guess it's been awhile."

"It's not my fault. Every time I look at you lately, you make up some excuse to get away."

Lora's body tensed. "Stress," she said, rolling over and picking her clothes up off the floor. She didn't look at me as she dressed. "I'm starving. What's for dinner?"

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Watching her walk away, I wondered if the other woman knew her like I did. Did her new lover know how she snored in winter but not in summer? Did she understand what Lora meant when she c.o.c.ked her right eyebrow and frowned? Could that woman ever know the cheerleader, the pizza parlor waitress, the tireless student?

Maybe she couldn't. Maybe that was the attraction.

CHAPTER 36.

I wake to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. I expected to feel guilty after sleeping with Rebecca, but the morning-after blues have ambushed me harder than I ever dreamed.

Lora knows. Wherever she is right now, she knows. It's as if she's sitting here, giving me that I-told-you-so look and saying, "Ha! I knew you couldn't hold out. I knew you'd f.u.c.k up."

Now I'm mortified, almost the way I felt the morning after swilling nine margaritas at a party and making a complete a.s.s of myself in front of our friends. It wasn't me, I kept thinking, it was the liquor. I'd never behave that way.

This whole charade with Rebecca hasn't been so different from that drunken fiasco. Just like the tequila, the more I had of her, the more I wanted, and before I knew it, I was drunk.

But this time alcohol isn't to blame. I was stone cold sober when I invited Rebecca to spend the night. To sleep with me in our bed on the linens my lover paid for. It wasn't my intent to have s.e.x with her the second or third time, but once we got here, I couldn't stop myself. Good G.o.d, I even went down on her, something I thought I'd never do with anyone else.

I allowed my weakness to take over, talked myself into it, let myself believe it would mean nothing, but now that I've tasted her wine, it's time to sober up and face the inevitable hangover. It's going to be a bad one. It would be so much easier if I had gotten drunk on alcohol and danced on a table or something. A public spectacle is one thing, but what I've done is my own private shame, another scarlet letter emblazoned upon my flesh.

Three years ago, I meant it when I said there'd never be anyone else, begging Lora to stay, pleading for her to come back. I'd never touch anyone else, never consider it. My pledge didn't make any difference, didn't absolve me of my crimes, or commute their unbearable consequences. I swore to G.o.d, and now the vow is broken. A disgrace, that's what I am, an out-and-out liar.

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