Tempted (46 page)

I’m sorry we’ve fallen out of touch and regret that our renewed contact comes in this form.
 
As I’m sure you’re well aware, David has run into some legal trouble.
 
It has only escalated since he fled, and the charges have become more serious.
 
I beg you to please convince him to come back to Italy and stand trial.
 
Extradition proceedings have already begun.
 
I would be very grateful if you could see to it he gets these papers.
 
I’ve tried sending them to him on more than one occasion, but he has refused delivery each time.
 
They are important and require his immediate action.
 

Also, please know you are always in my heart, and I miss you terribly.

Your friend, Gigi

At first I think it’s a joke, but Giselle is not cruel.
 
Plus, there is a mound of legal paperwork attached to her letter.
 
Worried and confused, I ask Alex if I can call him back later.
 
He says, “Of course,” and
,
sensing something is awry, asks if there is anything he can do.
 

“No, I just need to go for now.
 
Something’s up and I want to get to the bottom of it.”

“Fair enough.
 
Let me know if I can help in any way.”

“Thanks, Alex.
 
Hugs.”

I end the video call
,
and start pouring through the pile of legal paperwork.
 
An hour later, I find myself sitting, staring out the window, too floored to think.
 
Now, the conversation David was having with Giselle just before leaving for his trip starts to make sense.

“For the last time, Giselle, I don’t want to talk about it.
 
I’m not coming back and that’s it
...
 
I don’t care about that
...
 
Well then let them
...
 
It’s not like you’re related by blood anyway.”

The thing he didn’t want to talk about is this court case, the reason he came back to America.
 
And the person not related by blood is Giselle’s niece, or rather
,
step-niece.
 
According to the court documents, David is accused of statutory rape with Giselle’s thirteen year-old niece
–
the age of consent in Italy being fourteen.
 
I gasp at the mere thought.

Giselle mentioned in her letter that she was sure I was aware of David’s legal trouble.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
 
David has never said a single word about it
–
not even about why he came back to the states.
 
I can’t help but wonder what else he’s been keeping from me.

I lie down to think, secretly hoping to fall asleep so that I
can’t
think.
 
I am a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts and emotions
,
and I can’t get my bearings.
 
I don’t know what to believe or how to process any of the facts.
 
I am not even sure what the facts really are!
 
I don’t know about Italy, but here in the US, a man is innocent until proven guilty.
 
So the least I can do is reserve judgment until I hear David’s side of things.
 
I’m sure he has a perfectly logical explanation for the whole.
 
God, I sure hope he does.
 
But regardless of what actually happened, it does not look good that he fled the country.
 

Just then
,
my mind goes to Giselle.
 
Poor Giselle!
 
I can’t imagine what she’s gone through, finding out her long-time, live-in love was cheating on her, with her own niece no less
–
a niece who is young enough to be David and Giselle’s child!
 
I shudder.
 
And I cry.

I cry for Giselle.
 
I cry for the thirteen year-old niec
e.
 
I cry for her parents.
 
I cry for David.
 
And I cry for myself.
 
Y
et, after all those tears, I’m still no
closer to having any answers – w
hich makes me cry all the more.

* * *

David is due back around eight
tonight.
 
But after the conference, I’m expecting him to want to relax with his team for a bit, and most likely
to
arrive closer to 11pm.
 
I’m a mass of nerves and very grateful that Alex is ho
lding my virtual hand via video
chat while I wait.
 
I haven’t told him what’s going on, and he is far too chivalrous to ask.
 
But he knows something is wrong
,
and is happy to just ‘be here’ for me.
 
And boy oh boy, do I appreciate it.

We chit
chat about everything under the sun while I pace the floor awaiting David’s arrival.
 
At 11 o’clock
,
I call David to get his ETA.
 
The call goes to voicemail.
 
I try a few more times
,
unsuccessfully
,
over the next two hours
,
then give up to go to bed.
 
Alex has been a dear, and has stuck with me the entire time
–
never complaining that it’s taking too long or that he needs to tend to his own affairs.

At eight
the next morning, I hear David’s car come up the drive.
 
Grabbing only his valise
,
he heads for the door, meandering and whistling like he hasn’t a care in the world.
 
This is not the way I envisioned his triumphant return home.
 
Just a few days back
,
I lay in bed fantasizing about the moment he’d walk through the door.
 
I pictured me in a skimpy negligee, dozens of candles glowing, and Luther Vandross playing to set the scene.
 
But here I am
,
in the stark of morning
,
in Bugs slippers, men’s boxers and a tank top.
 
And he’s in a tailored suit, albeit one that looks like he’s still wearing it from the night before.

I decide to take the high road and hug him immediately, with a warm, soulful, ‘I would never judge you’ sort of hug.
 
He opens the door
,
and before he can say a word
,
I wrap my arms around him.
 
He folds me into his embrace and heaves a heavy sigh that sounds like relief.
 
I breathe in his heavenly David scent, only to find the mingled aromas of stale alcohol, marijuana and various perfumes.
 
I look up into his face
,
searching for answers.
 
As he smiles down at me
,
I notice peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt, where his neck meets the shoulder, a deep red hickey.
 
Now I’m the one who sighs, but it’s from a feeling much different than that of relief.

I pull him by the hand to the couch to get him seated before telling him about the
delivery
from Giselle.
 
I ask if I can get him anything to eat or drink.

“Just you,” he says rapaciously, growling and pulling me onto his lap
,
as he begins to ravish my neck with kisses.

“David, a package came for you.”

“Oh?
 
Was it lacey underwear and a room key?” he asks playfully.
 
But, in light of the hickey and ‘professional party girls,’ the joke is lost on me.

“No, actually it was from Giselle,” I say, not looking him in the eye, and trying to maintain my cool.

After a long pause he gets up.
“On second thought, I’ll have a beer.”
 
He goes to the fridge and cracks a
Peroni
.
 
I walk over to him and hold out the FedEx packet.
 
He declines to take it, so I place it on the breakfast bar between us.

“Any idea what you’re going to do about it, hon?” I ask, trying to sound supportive and not accusative.

“So you’ve been reading my mail when I was gone, huh?” he finally asks.

“No, David, never.
 
It wasn’t like that.
 
She addressed it to me.”

He takes a long draught of the beer.
 
“Just as well.
 
It’s a bitch trying to keep secrets anyway.”
 
And he takes another swig.

“David
...
you know I
...
” but before I can finish he cuts me off.

“Claire, I just came home to give you the good news.
 
I found out last night the houseboat is finally finished!
 
I’ll be moving in today.
 
I knew you’d be excited
,
so I wanted to tell you in person.”
 
He looks at his watch.
 
“Yikes, I’m late to go meet the contractor for the final inspection.
 
I’ll call you later to set up a time to come check it out, k?”

I sit stupefied and slack-jawed, without a clue as to how to respond.
 
He finishes his beer, gives my cheek a peck, my arm a squeeze, and heads for the door.
 

Like a scene out of a melodrama
,
he opens the door and turns back to speak.

“For the record, I thought she was sixteen.”

Then, without a single word of explanation in his own defense, he flashes his signature make-you-melt smile, winks, whispers,
“
Ciao, Bella,” and walks out.

I have endured my fair share of dumb blonde jokes over the years, and generally gotten a kick
out of them.
 
Even when ignoramuses
at a bar tried to level me with such low grade blasts in my youth, I was tickled by the humor, and heartened by the fact that my IQ is most likely sixty points higher than theirs.
 
Still, despite having what most consider a keen intellect, I am incurably g
ullible and
often frightfu
l
l
y slow on the uptake.
 

An average girl with average smarts would have figured out very quickly that David was gone and that he was not intend
ing to come back.
 
Me?
 
It took
weeks to clue in.
 
April would’ve caught on right away and shaken me till I wised up.
 
But best friend, voice-of-wisdom April has a life of her own, on the other side of the world now.
 
She and her
clan
have been shipped off to China for two years for her husband’s work.
 
And while we say we will Skype every week, we never do.
 
I don’t know the last time I talked to her.
 
Now tha
t Mom is gone – and Danielle too, come to think of it –
I really miss having a close female confidante.

Under my female-friendless circumstances, I have been all the more grateful to be back in touch with Alex.
 
Throughout the entire David debacle, Alex has been a rock.
 
I didn’t tell him right away that David had gone, but I
got the feeling
he knew something was up
,
and was just too tactful to say anything.
 
I am appreciating his friendship right now immensely.

I never hear from David.
 
He phoned on a Monday night while I was at my ballet board meeting, when he knew I’d be gone, and left a message saying he was coming by to pick up his stuff and would have me over to the new place as soon as he ‘decorated’ it.
 
He said he wants to do it himself and have it be a surprise.
 
Whenever I call him
,
he’s always very friendly
,
but in a rush to get off the phone.
 
He tells me that he’s swamped at work and the place is nearly done, and
his
dog
Matilda
is on her way
,
so he needs to be there to get things ready for her and blah blah blah.