Lifelines: Kate's Story (17 page)

J
ennifer
danced across her bathroom floor in Alain’s imaginary embrace. She’d begged him
to take her dancing, and finally he’d agreed. He’d picked a dinner club with a
band, off the beaten path. An hour from now, she would drift to paradise in
Alain’s arms.

How
could the day be better? An A in her Art History paper, the opportunity to
dance with the man she loved, and the beginning of their life together—because
she’d finally realized exactly what she needed to do.

Alain
loved Jennifer, but his loyalty to his wife wouldn’t let him walk away. The
truth was, both Alain and Wendy were miserable in their marriage, and Alain
deserved better—maybe Wendy did too. Alain deserved a real marriage, the kind
Jennifer’s parents had enjoyed. The occasional argument, but no sneaking
around. Just love.

At
fifteen, she’d been embarrassed her parents still held hands when they went for
a walk. She’d been wrong, because Kate and David’s hand-holding symbolized
everything a real marriage meant. Everything she wanted with Alain.

Now,
finally, Alain would be hers. She’d stopped her birth control pills weeks ago.
Whether you counted fertility by days, or by the thermometer she’d bought,
tonight Alain would make love to her and she would start his baby.

In
a few weeks, when she told him they had a child coming—the child his wife had
never produced—he would leave Wendy.

Alain
and Jennifer, forever.

Alain
arrived precisely on time.

Jennifer
ran down the stairs, threw open the door, and slid into his arms with a kiss
she knew would send his blood pressure through the roof.

“Darling,”
she breathed, because her mother had called her father darling.

“We’d
better get going,” he muttered when he’d struggled free. “I made reservations
for eight.”

“Did
you have a difficult day?”

Jennifer
had heard her mother ask the same question of her father so often, and as it
had with her father, the question seemed to relax Alain.

“Sort
of,” he said.

Half
an hour later, when he parked outside a converted Victorian house on the
waterfront, she heard the music. So beautiful.

“I
don’t think anyone on faculty ever comes here,” Alain said as he held the car
door for her, and Jennifer frowned at this reminder of their adulterous status.

“Are
you ashamed of me?”

“I’m
proud of you. Your art history paper was the best of the lot.” He pulled her
close as they walked up the wide stairs. “We do need to be careful,” he murmured.

When
Alain opened the door, the notes of a romantic waltz washed over Jennifer.

“I
love you so much,” she whispered, but he must not have heard, because he would
have answered if he’d heard.

She
remembered her mother stopping her as she ran into the house with an urgent
question for her father. Leave it until after supper, honey. Your dad’s
exhausted, and he needs to refuel. After supper, Alain would be refueled and
completely loving. Jennifer smiled to herself, because tonight they were
destined to do the most important loving of their lives.

Alain
ordered oysters and she copied him, even though she wasn’t fond of oysters. But
after all, they were an aphrodisiac, which must be why Alain ordered them. They
drank wine—she would have preferred champagne for its symbolism—and Alain asked
her to dance while they waited for dinner.

Jennifer
floated in the arms of the man she loved more than life itself. She’d never
before been so deeply, overwhelmingly in love. After dinner—she ate only two of
her oysters, but he cleaned his plate—they danced again. When the music
throbbed in her belly, she pulled away and moved as seductively as she knew
how. She felt her short black dress shimmer over her hips and upper thighs, and
when Alain’s eyes flamed with lust, she congratulated herself on the new dress,
even though it meant she needed to weasel another two hundred out of her mom
for groceries next week.

When
the music slowed, he danced her onto the balcony. Outside, his hands slid down
to cup her buttocks as his mouth devoured hers with passion.

“Let’s
get out of here,” he growled.

In
his car, snuggled up with his free hand on her breast, she slid her fingers
along his thigh and savored the catch in his breath. Soon they would be naked
together.

Once
he gave her his child, Alain would be hers forever.

As
he drove, she ran her fingers over the hard bulge in his pants. When he cursed,
she cupped him and the profanity turned to a groan.

“I
should stop,” she whispered, and slid away to buckle herself into the passenger
seat.

A
muscle twitched along the hard line of his jaw, and he shifted uncomfortably in
his seat. “You’ll drive me mad,” he growled.

Good.

He
parked behind the building with a screech of brakes. When Alain brought her
here, they never entered by the front door, never used the elevator. They
parked in the back, away from the casual eyes of people driving along Roosevelt
Way.

Tonight,
though, he slammed out of the car as if he were oblivious of the possibility of
watching eyes, yanking open her door and pulling her out roughly. She let
herself tumble into his arms, softness impacting against his erection before
she laughed and danced away.

He
hauled her against him and plundered her mouth, his tongue hot. “Right here ... I
want you here, now.”

He
wanted her badly enough to tear at her clothes here in the parking lot. She
craved his unaccustomed wildness. To be devoured here, in desperation. He would
push her against the car, shove her panties aside, yank his zipper down ...

His
sperm would leak out, trickling downward over her thighs.

No.
She needed a bed, and afterwards she would lie still to give those sperm the
opportunity to swim home.

“Jennifer
... God, darling, you kill me.”

She
struggled away. “Please, darling. Someone might see.”

It
hurt that those three words stilled his advance. As much as she needed him
upstairs on the bed, she wanted him to forget the world, especially to forget
Wendy and his marriage vows.

Ten
feet from the stairwell, his key slid into the lock of their suite, but the
mood was already broken. Two minutes ago he’d been on the verge of taking her
in a shadowed parking lot. Now he locked the door and moved to the windows, where
he carefully adjusted the blinds.

Someone
will see.

She
should never have said those words. Now she had to undo the damage.

She
walked to the stereo and pressed a button to free a haunting love song. When he
turned away from the window, she waited until his eyes traveled over the sofa,
the bed, and finally to her—then she slid her hands down the black dress. The
satiny fabric ended before the reach of her hand, and she played her fingers
over her naked thigh. She’d hesitated over stockings, and finally decided on
naked legs.

“Would
you like to dance, Alain?”

When
he stepped towards her, she whispered, “Let me dance for you.”

She
felt nervous; she’d never done this before, but the excitement in his eyes led
her on. When she began to sway her hips, the sensual slide of the dress over
her body gave the movement an erotic power, sending a wave of lust over her
skin. Again, he stepped towards her.

She
undulated away, sliding one strap of the dress off her shoulder. Tonight’s bra
was black lace with push-up cups, and she vowed she wouldn’t let him touch
until she’d slowly stripped to bra and black high-cut panties.

But
when she brushed his thighs, something snapped and he yanked her against his
body. His breath came in harsh cycles as he fumbled with her bra. She slipped
away, desperate to reach the bed.

He
swarmed over her, naked and thirsty, his mouth hot over her tongue.

Now
... Alain, please. Give me a baby now.

A
phone rang. His cell phone.

“Don’t
answer it,” she begged.

He
pulled away.

“Please,
Alain! If you love me, don’t answer it!”

He
rolled off the bed, reached for his clothes.

“Alain
...”

He
lifted his pants, pulled his cell phone from the belt.

“Yes?”
he said, and she closed her eyes.

He
took his cell phone into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jennifer
rolled onto her side and curled herself into the fetal position. In the
bathroom, water ran. Alain, washing her scent off his flesh. Her lover, talking
to his wife.

S
aturday
went wrong for Mac from the beginning. He felt nervous enough about meeting
Rachel that he decided to ask Kate for advice, but she didn’t show up that
morning.

He
told himself he didn’t need advice. He and Rachel would do lunch, and he would
tell his wife he needed time. Kate’s suggestion of baby steps had seemed
mysterious when she made it, but after a night’s sleep, slow baby steps had the
allure of ultimate wisdom.

He
and his wife would date, as if their relationship were new. When they had first
met, Mac dated Rachel for almost three months before they had sex. Three months
... after three months of baby steps, either he’d be ready to move back in, or
he’d know his marriage was never going to work again.

Mac
intended to leave the construction site at eleven-thirty, but he didn’t get
away until quarter to twelve. He’d just passed the turnoff at Dodge road when
he heard a siren whoop behind him and found an impossibly-young state trooper
on his tail. The trooper kept Mac tied up for ten minutes, most of it while he
sat in his patrol car, supposedly checking Mac’s license and registration. When
he gave Mac a ticket and a lecture for driving twenty-five over the limit, he
figured he deserved both for worrying about Rachel instead of his driving.

By
the time he pulled up at the Breakwater Inn, he’d half-convinced himself his
wife would have left. The thought brought relief and worry in equal measure. He
dreaded this lunch, but if Rachel left angry before he even arrived, he’d have
a hell of a time getting her to see the logic of his plan.

His
stomach clenched when he spotted her car up against the building. He’d already
messed up by being twenty minutes late, so he hurried into the restaurant and
spotted her in a booth at the back. She started to wave when she saw him, then
yanked her hand back down.

“You’re
late. I thought you’d decided not to come.”

“I
got a ticket.” He sat across from her and watched her wonder whether he’d told
the truth. He felt guilt because he hadn’t wanted to come, and anger because of
the guilt. Baby steps, he reminded himself, and muttered, “Sorry.”

She’d
leaned forward, and her breasts pressed against the table. “Richard, I know you
want to make our marriage work. I’m sorry I shouted yesterday.”

He
didn’t know what to say. The notion of baby steps seemed like the complete
answer an hour ago, but staring into her pleading eyes, he felt confused.

“Do
you want lunch?” he asked.

She
nodded and picked up the menu. It occurred to him he’d spent most of the last
few weeks focused on what
he
wanted.

“Rachel?”

She
looked up, and her mouth trembled the way it had the night he asked her to
marry him.

“Rachel,
I—what did you want to tell me?”

She
started to cry.

“Rachel—”
Why the hell couldn’t the two of them have a rational conversation? Here he
was, ready to listen to her, and she answered with tears, which always left him
feeling helpless, baffled, and inappropriately angry. He looked around
uneasily. Nobody seemed to give a damn what they did back here in the corner.

Rachel
sniffled, and he said, “All I meant was—well, what do you want to happen in our
marriage?”

“I
wa—want you home.”

He
thought of the bed he’d bought at Costco the month they married. He’d freighted
it home in the back of his pickup, a king-size Sealy she said she loved. If he
went back, he would lie under the quilt with her, would sink into her, his
ejaculate ... her egg ...

She’d
driven to Seattle, where she laid on a table with her legs up. Did she listen
to music while the doctor worked? She’d done nothing illegal, but didn’t
marriage vows mean she owed him at least forewarning of her plans?

“Richard,
aren’t you going to—won’t you even answer me?”

What
the hell was he supposed to say?

The
waitress appeared at their table. Mac said, “Coffee,” and Rachel muttered,
“Richard,” to remind him that he’d messed up again.

Damn.
According to her rules, he was supposed to let her order first.

“What
would you like?” he asked, and was relieved when she smiled.

Her
trip to Seattle had turned her into a stranger to him, but for the first time
he realized that it had probably also turned him into a stranger to her. They
needed to talk, to learn each other again.

When
she ordered chicken and salad, he said he would have the same, and the waitress
left them alone.

“Rachel,”
he said slowly, “there’s one thing I need to know.”

She
paused with her coffee halfway to her mouth, and set the cup down. “Richard,
please darling ... you won’t go on at me again about what happened, will you?”

She
looked about twelve, and he felt like a bully, but if they were ever to have a
marriage again, he needed to know. He stared at his cup, because he couldn’t
face her tears again. “Why didn’t you tell me before you did it?” He heard her
suck in a breath and hurried to avert tears. “Just explain that to me. Why
didn’t you tell me first?”

“I
couldn’t.”

“Why
not?”

“You
would never have agreed, so I couldn’t tell you until afterwards.”