The Dance (12 page)

Pulling out flour, oil, eggs, and my secret ingredient, vanilla pudding, I focused all my energies on baking. As I cracked each egg into the cranberry red KitchenAid mixer, I imagined dark brown eyes full of slut lust. While the cake baked I stayed busy cleaning the kitchen and then set things up to make the frosting. I flipped the switch on the mixer and watched as the butter, powdered sugar, and cocoa churned together while I figured out what to say to Will. I was so lost in thought that I jumped at the sound of his voice.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Will said.

Flipping off the mixer, I turned around, almost bumping into his chest. Not sure of my reaction I took in a deep breath and braced myself before looking into his chocolate brown eyes. I lifted my eyes and saw the same disconnect I’d seen last night.

My gaze bounced up and down nervously. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Obviously.” He backed away.

I couldn’t tell if the tension in the room was a joint effort or my own creation. After all, Will didn’t know I saw him last night. Maybe I was sensing the guilt he was experiencing for what he’d done. I stayed silent as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. Leaning back against the counter, he twisted the top off the bottle and took a swig. His gaze aimed in my direction but not at me.

“Did you have a good day at work?” My words sounded forced and trite.

“It was okay.” He took another swig of beer.

I came up with at least seven different approaches to bringing up the subject while baking. But every last one of them vanished from my brain now that Will was standing across from me. If he would start with one word or sentence to get the conversation rolling, I could piggyback off of it. I was just too scared to be the first to mention it.

Finally, Will looked at me. “Could you make me a sandwich?”

“For supper?”

“Yeah, I gotta lot of work to do tonight. I’ll just eat at my desk.”

“But you just got home from work.”

“What can I say? Dad’s prepping me for when I take over.” Pushing off from the counter, he walked toward me. He placed an obligatory kiss on my forehead. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

As he turned to leave, I momentarily lost my balance. Falling one step back against the counter, my eyes widened as my mouth fell open. Will wasn’t the most perceptive when it came to feelings.
Typical guy
. But I was amazed at how clueless he acted. I had a hard time believing he didn’t sense the tension in the room.

My chest tightened with a stifled sob as I realized how important it was to me for him to bring up last night. I wanted him to fess up, explain, and ask for forgiveness. Tell me I had nothing to worry about. That it was a one time lapse in judgment. I wanted him to take me in his arms and say how much he loved me. That no woman, cyber or otherwise, could ever take my place. I wanted our connection to be so strong that he intuitively knew something was bothering me. I needed all of that but what I got was the sound of his footsteps heading up the stairs.

Abandoning the frosting for the time being, I took the ingredients for Will’s sandwich from the fridge. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed the black bag he carried to work sitting at the end of the counter. In the bag was his laptop.

Will’s showers took between fifteen and twenty minutes, depending on his stress level. I’d have plenty of time to check his internet history. Commit a few of the website names to memory and do more investigating on my computer later when I was alone.

I breathed in deeply, my bottom lip captured between my teeth. Curling and uncurling my fingers, they hovered over the black zipper as I contemplated whether or not I wanted to step over this line. With a thumping pulse echoing in my ears, I unzipped the bag and slid the laptop out. Adrenaline pumped through my veins heating up my body. I quickly powered up the laptop and entered the password. It was the play that won Garrison High the football championship our senior year. Will always said it was the best moment of his high school career.

56 89 25

Denied.

A knot formed in my stomach. With my nerves, I could have entered the numbers wrong. I retyped the password slowly, paying close attention to the keys my fingers were landing on.

56 89 24

The screen came to life as I realized I was one number off. The laptop automatically connected to our WiFi network. Before opening the browser I noticed a folder marked
Personal/VL
. I placed the cursor over it and clicked.

Access Denied. Password Required.

I tried to open the folder again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My stomach constricted as beads of sweat popped along my forehead.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My finger came down harder and harder each time it landed on the key, thinking somehow that would help me gain access.

Aware of my limited time, I gave up on the folder, opened the browser, and quickly searched the history. With my hand over my mouth, I read the list of websites Will frequented. There were a few construction related but the majority of the sites had the word porn in their address. One address that came up a lot was for a website called Virtual Life. I quickly put two and two together, figuring this was what VL stood for on the folder I couldn’t open.

The sound of footsteps and throat clearing jolted me into action. I powered off the computer and put it back in the bag, making sure the bag was exactly as Will left it. I sprinted to the other side of the kitchen and began making a pastrami sandwich. I prayed that by the time Will reached the kitchen any physical evidence of my nerves would be gone.

As Will rounded the corner, I stole a quick glance in his direction. He had changed into his favorite pair of worn jeans and blue T-shirt. I loved when he wore simple causal clothes. Somehow they made him look like the boy I knew in high school.

He’d recently gotten his hair cut. Not quite a buzz cut but close. At first I wasn’t sure about the new style but had to admit it looked good along with the scruff peppering his strong jaw. At this moment everything about him looked sexy, cozy, and comfortable. As if on cue, my heart fluttered, brushing away my doubts for the moment.

“Is my sandwich ready?” He asked.

I placed the slice of rye bread on top and cut the sandwich in half. “Yeah. I was just getting ready to dish up some potato salad. Go ahead to your office. I’ll bring the food in to you.”

Will slid the plate with his sandwich away from me. “That’s okay. All I want is the sandwich.”

“I’ll bring you a piece of cake after I finish frosting it.”

He grabbed a napkin and another beer. “Don’t worry about it.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he left the room.

I didn’t see or hear from Will for the rest of the night. I thought about getting on my laptop and investigating what the Virtual Life site was all about, but decided it was better to do my snooping when Will was out of the house and I was alone. So I cut a big piece of cake, crawled into bed, and flipped through the TV channels trying to find anything that would redirect my thoughts and keep my imagination from running wild.

As soon as Will left for work the next morning I hopped on my computer and searched Virtual Life. From what I could tell, the user created a persona and then role played anywhere on the site. The real person controlled every aspect of their character—the actions, the words, and the feelings. There were different scenes and worlds a character could step into. Since I wasn’t a member and didn’t plan on becoming one, I had limited access. I did notice there were areas on the VL site marked
adults
only. I decided to do a Google search on cyber-sex. Within seconds I had a screen full of websites, articles, and videos on the subject.

I clicked on a short documentary titled
Wired for Sex
. I watched in disbelief as a husband told the filmmaker how his wife of ten years had ignored him and their two children for months as she developed an intimate relationship with another man through VL. Sometimes spending as much as fourteen hours a day online with this man. A man she had never physically met. The rest of the film showed how these virtual characters can do whatever their creators want them to do, including having full-on graphic sex. The technology was so advanced that the appearance and movements of the characters were extremely realistic. By the time I’d finished my crash course in virtual adultery I felt like I needed to disinfect my eyeballs as well as my body.

I spent the rest of the day with my head in a stagnant fog. As I robotically ran errands to the post office, dry cleaners, and grocery store I tried to figure out my definition of cheating. Was it simply the act of having physical sex? Virtual sex? Or sharing intimate thoughts and feelings? When I pulled into my driveway that afternoon my mind was made up . . . all of the above.

After putting away the groceries I got started on dinner. Tonight was going to be a quick and easy zucchini pie with a garden salad and cooked apples. I took a mental break while preparing the meal. Two full days had already gone by since I caught Will in his office. Two days of me overthinking. Two days of me searching for just the right words to start the discussion. Two days of me wondering where the man I married went.

I decided to wait until after we ate dinner to talk. I figured that would give Will enough time to decompress from the long work day, putting him in a better frame of mind. As had become the norm, Will got up from the table and headed straight into his office while I cleaned the dishes.

With each step toward the office my mouth dried up, my pulse sped up, and bile traveled up into my throat. Closing my eyes, I took a calming breath and lightly knocked on the door. There was no answer but I could hear tapping on the keyboard. I knocked again.

Will cleared his throat and abruptly said, “Yeah?!”

“Can I come in?”

“Just a second.”

Just a second?

My nervousness turned into annoyance with a hint of anger and suspicion. Was he explaining to the screen slut he’d be back in a second? That his wife was waiting for permission to enter a room in her very own house? Gripping the doorknob, I twisted it.

Locked.

Within seconds the lock clicked and the door opened. Will’s large frame took up the entire doorway.

He looked down at me, a slight chuckle escaping him. “I don’t know why it was locked. I must have hit it by mistake.”

“We need to talk.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Now? I have a lot of work to do.”

At this point the work excuse was played out.

Pushing past him, I walked into the office. “It’s important.”

I noticed that his laptop was closed as I crossed the room and sat in the overstuffed burgundy leather chair in the corner. Will swiveled back and forth in his chair. He was trying to come off as nonchalant but I sensed a little nervousness. I rarely bothered him while he was in his office.

“Bryson, can you get to the point? I need to get back to what I was doing.”

I looked down at the fidgeting fingers in my lap. “I think we need to go to counseling.”

“What kind of counseling?”

I stared at him for a brief moment, not believing he asked that question. “Marriage counseling.”

His brows knitted together. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You don’t think things have changed between us?”

“Of course things have changed, Bryson. It’s called being an adult.”

“I came in here to have a serious discussion with you about the state of our marriage. You don’t need to be snide.”

“Is it your time of the month again? You always get so needy during that time.”

My neck muscles tensed. “Do not blame this on hormones. Haven’t you noticed that we’re spending less and less time together?”

“I can’t spend every waking minute with you.”

“I’m not asking you to. But lately, we basically eat dinner and then you lock yourself in here for the rest of the night doing god knows what.”

Will gripped the edge of the armrest. “I’m working my fucking ass off so you don’t have to.”