The Choice Not Taken (10 page)

In quiet hours of the night, I began to devise different ways to see him–verify if the person I now envisioned in my head was indeed the same man. I even considered enrolling in another course just so we might be in the same building and possibly cross paths.

I didn’t need to do anything, however. Two weeks later I saw him at the drug store.

It really was fate to discover Philip standing in confusion and embarrassment at the end of a personal care product aisle-smack dab in front of the tampons-while I happened to pick up a prescription. He must have sensed the heat of my stare, because he looked in my direction.

“Courtney! What are you doing here?” he smiled with surprise.

“I live nearby. What are
you
doing here?”

“I live nearby, too. I guess it’s strange we never ran into each other before.” Returning his gaze to the shelves, he blushed deeply.

“I’m, um, looking for something for my daughter. She’s staying with me, and she just...um...got...um,” he stammered.

He never mentioned a daughter.

“Oh, okay,” I replied, now equally embarrassed but concealing it. “Well, do you need help or...?”

Giving a relieved nod, he took a willing step back. “She’s twelve, and it’s only her second time,” he bashfully confided.

“No problem.” I bravely selected three products I thought would help her and stacked them in his outstretched arms.

“Wow that was easy,” he said in amazement. “I would’ve been here all night. How about I repay you with a coffee or something?”

I mechanically shook my head yet muttered a quiet “yes.”

We drove separately to a retro coffee shop by the local campus. And after settling into a cozy couch in the corner, I glanced nervously at the college-aged boys seated nearby.

“I like this place. The music is cool, and the atmosphere reminds me of my hippie years,” he laughed.

“You were a hippie?” I immediately became intrigued. His clean shaven features and well-tailored suits gave no such impression.

“Not really,” he confessed. “More of a hippie wanna-be. But I did live in a teepee for three months!”

He smiled, and his already handsome face shed years while those dark eyes mischievously lit up. Yet behind it all, I detected hurt. The wounds were all-too familiar and out of sheer empathy, I wanted to know what created it for
him
.

“Marnie tells me you own the company,” I boldly stated, lifting my cup lid to add two entire sugar packets.

“I do,” he admitted solemnly. “Although sometimes I’d rather be an employee.”

“Really?”

“There’s great freedom and possibility for success when you take charge of your career,” he recognized. “But with it comes immense stress and the potential to lose everything if you take it
too
seriously.” He patiently blew the steam from his coffee before adding, “or not seriously enough.”

“I think it would be challenging to manage so much,” I agreed. “But from what I see, it looks like your business is thriving.”

“Oh, it is. It is. But that didn’t happen overnight. I’ve been working to build this company for twenty years. Only in the last ten has it really paid off in industry recognition and substantial profits. Before that, it was unknown...and pulling me into debt.”

“So what made it work?” Lifting my cup, I realized it was almost empty and wished I’d purchased a larger size.

“Sacrifice. By me, my wife, and my kids.” And in that moment the pain in the back of his eyes came forward and took over.

“How do you mean?” For an unknown reason, I became disappointed at the mention of a spouse. Of course, I knew she must exist if he had a daughter. And even though I wasn’t seeking a serious relationship with this man, the idea of him being unavailable somehow troubled me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you such things,” I quickly apologized.

“It’s okay,” he replied, staring into my eyes with a strange mix of recognition and something else...apprehension. “Our marriage is struggling. In fact, we’re recently separated and quite possibly headed to divorce court.” He sighed. “It seems that though my wife and I shared a goal in wanting this company to succeed and be financially independent, we held different ideas of how that should happen. You see, she wanted the things money and status could bring but didn’t actually want me to travel, work, and be gone to do it. When we had our kids, she began to resent the time I committed at the office to build the business.” He gulped his coffee before adding, “And over those many years, I began to mutually resent her for a host of other reasons.”

“You no longer live together?” I pried.

“No. She’s living in our house here in town while I stay at our cottage over on Mirror Lake. We’re civil and kind because of the kids; they stay with me whenever there are days off school and on weekends. Which reminds me, I need to go. My daughter will be waiting for me, and with her in charge of her brother there could be a major brawl happening, and I wouldn’t even know it.”

“Of course. I need to be going, too. Um, Philip, it was really nice chatting with you. Oh, and thanks for the coffee,” I offered with appreciation.

“My pleasure. You saved me from hours of indecisive torture in that store as far as I’m concerned. A cup of coffee isn’t near enough payment.” He grabbed my hand to shake it.

Initially recoiling, I hastily offered my own hand with the hope he didn’t notice. When my clammy skin touched his warm, soft palm, I cringed and did my best to hide any discomfort.

“Courtney,” he looked to me with timid eyes. “I know this may seem inappropriate so if you say no I’d completely understand. But, I really enjoyed talking with you and wonder if maybe...would you like to meet up again sometime? For coffee?”

“I’d like that, Philip. Let me give you my number.” I shakily scrawled it on a napkin, all the while realizing this was the first time I’d ever given my information to a man. I handed it to him and took his business card with a number printed on the back.

This wasn’t something I wanted.

I wanted simple and predictable and safe. Philip was complicated and unpredictable...and male.

Yet somewhere on a whole other level–one which I couldn’t seem to understand nor fight–he was pulling me to him.

understanding

Another active evening of after-school drama, dinner, and homework, and finally the kids were settled into their rooms for the night. I finished dishes and wiped counters while Alex watched the baseball game. And after everything was in order, I decided now would be a good time to discuss my appointment.

Of course the overall content was too personal and confidential to share and, quite frankly, if it was that easy I wouldn’t require a certified professional in the first place. I’d just save the thousands of dollars and vent all my worries and fears to my husband, and things would be just dandy.

However, I did feel a renewed confidence to divulge
one
thing.

Sitting in the other overstuffed chair, I busied myself by reviewing and signing school papers, all the while sneaking sidelong peeks at Alex to gauge his mood.

“Aw! C’mon! That was an easy out!” he yelled to the TV. With a furrowed brow, he glared at his trade magazine and in between brusque turns and cursory glances of its pages, he’d raise his eyes back to the game.

Okay, this is not a good time
, I determined.

Finished with my paperwork, I left the room and placed appropriate pieces in the corresponding backpack so the kids could return them to their teachers. I now had a stack of mail to sort but my desire, yet failure, to come clean with Alex fostered a rare bout of procrastination.

I performed a quick mental run-through of the rooms, and my angst decreased for a few moments, that is until I heard Alex moving about, opening windows in the great room and dining room. With every open sash, my face flushed and blood boiled beneath my skin. Through watery eyes and clenched teeth, I stared out the kitchen window.

Now I would have to start all over
, I cried.

Oblivious to the pain he just inflicted upon me, Alex cheered an apparent team rally from the other room. Briefly considering another attempt, I guardedly poked my head around the door only to witness him once again scowling at the flickering screen.

“I’m going to bed,” I yawned, leaning to kiss his stubbly cheek.

“Okay. I’ll be there in a bit. There’s only one inning left and the Brewers are getting creamed,” he said tiredly.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” I reminded. “And don’t forget to close those windows.”

“I won’t,” he solemnly promised before stacking his magazines and directing full attention back on the game.

I took my time getting ready for bed-undressing and painstakingly putting clothes right side out before adding them to the laundry hamper, pulling a nightgown over my head in agonizingly slow motion, washing my face, applying nighttime moisturizer, and brushing my teeth.

Everything became a draining chore.

Gazing in the mirror, I looked over the many areas of neglect and questioned whether I should even care again. Eyebrows wanted plucking, hair required cutting and coloring, teeth demanded flossing, and nails needed trimming. These were all part of my natural routine, and regular upkeep made them presentable. Tonight, however, they each called for more energy than I could spare.

Halfheartedly grabbing tweezers from the top drawer, I pulled obvious hairs from unwelcome spots above my eyes. There was no pain; my skin felt numb to the violent extrication of wiry hairs embedded in its elusive layers. I did it again and again.

Still no pain.

I eventually stopped out of fear I might pull too many and be forced to draw on hideous imitations like some women. As I replaced the tweezers, I heard a gentle rap upon the bathroom door.

“You look pretty tonight,” Alex said pleasantly before going into the adjoining master closet.

“Humph,” I grunted. “Quite surprising since I’m not quite up to par at the moment.” I glazed minty balm across my chewed lips. “Who won?”

“Not us,” he griped. “It’s gonna be a helluva long season.”

“Well, you don’t have to watch every game, you know.”

“Oh, but I do,” he joked, coming up behind me. “Mm. You smell good.” He nuzzled my neck, and I made a snap decision.

“Alex. Do you think maybe we could talk?”

“And then?” he replied suggestively.

“I thought you were tired,” I goaded.

“Never too tired for you, my dear Court. Never too tired for you.”

“Why don’t you listen to what I have to say before you get all hot and heavy?” I offered quietly.

I followed him into the bedroom, and dim light glowed from the side lamp, making me even more weary. Unfazed, Alex propped pillows against the headboard and patiently waited for me to join him.

“Is this about your appointment?” he asked softly.

“Kind of.”

“Tell me only what you want,” he prompted.

“Well, I’ve been having an alarming recurrence of OCD,” I admitted out loud what he pretty much already knew.

“I’m aware of that. It came on fast, didn’t it?”

“Yes. And I think I know the cause,” I said in an inaudible whisper.

“Is this what you focused on today?” he asked, avoiding the obvious.

“Partly.”

We sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at one another in brutal agony while he helplessly considered the terrible possibilities for my problem, and I feared his hurt and disgust over the reason. Slow minutes passed amidst a dead silence, and I only became aware of them because of the tick-tick-tick-tick coming from Alex’s gold watch resting upon the bedside table.

“I found out last week an old friend died,” my voice cut through heavy, unmoving air.

“Who?”

“Philip.”

Although he tried to conceal it, a hard shadow crossed his face. And even in the darkness, the change was perceptible. I frantically searched his features for some clue of how to proceed. When he released a deliberately low breath, I noticed his eyes remained soft.

The topic of Philip carried equal parts gratitude and heartache for Alex. Well aware of my extensive fear for relationships following the rape, he felt forever in Philip’s debt for helping me past it. But yet, at the same time, there was an undeniable jealousy over the very thought of me ever giving my love to another man.

“How did you find out?” he calmly asked.

“Marnie sent an email to catch up, and she casually mentioned it,” I lied, believing he’d unnecessarily freak if I told him the real truth.

“What happened?”

“Some illness,” I answered, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“And you think this might be causing your OCD to re-emerge?” Alex redirected his full energy back on me, and I got the distinct impression these safer questions weren’t only a display of faithful concern but also a stall tactic.