Covet (24 page)

daniel

Claire didn’t respond to any of my texts, and all my calls went straight to voice mail. Fearing the worst, I made myself wait twenty-four hours and then I started calling the hospitals. I got lucky on the first try when the woman who answered the phone at Shawnee Mission Medical Center confirmed that there was a person admitted the day before by the name of Claire Canton. They couldn’t tell me anything other than she was a patient, but I still felt relieved. The obvious reason for her dropping off the radar like that was her diabetes, but if she’s under medical care, then at least I’m no longer thinking the worst.

That was two days ago. Now I’m waiting for her to call me. I know she will as soon as she’s able. Part of me wanted to go down there, find out her room number, and see for myself that she was okay. But I couldn’t do that to her because as far as I know, her husband still doesn’t know about me.

And I sure as hell don’t think he’d understand why I was there.

claire

I wake up the next morning when a nurse comes in to take my vital signs. Chris is still asleep, slumped over in the chair. My mom walks in a few minutes later and my spirits lift instantly.

“Hi,” I say. I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Chris. “What time is it?” For some inexplicable reason, my room does not have a clock. I’ve lost all sense of time, especially since I can’t remember parts of my stay here, and I sleep in frequent, random intervals.

“A little after eight,” she says, bending down to give me a kiss. “Your dad will be here with the kids in about an hour. He’s taking them to breakfast at McDonald’s. Did the doctor say what time he’d be discharging you today?”

“Chris talked to him last night, while I was taking one of my many naps. I should be able to go home around noon.”

Chris wakes up when he hears us talking, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rises from the chair and approaches the bed. Resting one hand on the rail, he bends down and gives me a quick peck on the mouth. I like the kissing. It reminds me of before: before Chris lost his job, before I lost Chris. He used to kiss me all the time.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good. I’m ready to get out of here.”

“I’m going to run home and take a quick shower. I’ll be back to get you.”

“Okay.”

Chris returns an hour later, in time to listen as the doctor goes over my discharge instructions. When he tells me I’m free to go we start to gather my things.

“I brought your phone,” Chris says, handing it to me. “The battery was dead, so I plugged it in while I was in the shower. Looks like you’ve got enough of a charge to check your messages. I’m sure you have some.”

My stomach drops and my heart starts pounding as I pocket the phone, wondering whether Chris looked at the text history or the call log. He wouldn’t normally, but maybe he did this time because of the circumstances. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, though; he’s acting quite calm. Because he was gone so often I never really worried about Chris seeing a message from Daniel, and therefore, I never really had to face just how duplicitous it was. I realize I wouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling right now, wouldn’t feel the guilt and shame, if Chris knew about my friendship with Daniel. If I’d told Chris about him instead of hiding everything. “Thanks,” I say.

He smiles at me and we ride the elevator down to the lobby.

“Stay here,” he says, pointing to a bench near the door. “I’m going to bring the car around.”

“Okay.” I watch him walk away and then I pull my phone out of my pocket. After I punch in the code I listen. The first five voice mails are from Daniel. His voice sounds progressively more panicked as I listen to, and delete, each one. The last one says he’s called the hospitals and knows I’m alive. “I’m really scared, Claire.”

There are also seven missed calls and six texts from him. I tap out a quick reply.
I’m okay. I’m so sorry you were worried.

He responds immediately.
Are you home?

Not yet. I’m about to leave the hospital. I’ll call when I can.

I’ll be waiting. Take care of yourself.

I won’t be able to see Daniel anymore, and I’ve known this since he told me he wished I was his. You can’t go back to simply being friends after a declaration like that. And if my precarious mortality was the wake-up call Chris needed, the things he told me in response were mine. It will take both of us working together to repair this relationship.

Maybe I should come clean about my friendship with Daniel. Get it out in the open. Accept whatever ramifications come my way. But I know Chris will not understand my friendship with Daniel. Neither would I if he told me there was a woman he kept in nearly constant contact with. A woman he laughed with. A woman whose words brightened his day. A woman he told his secrets to. A woman who knew of his heartache. Would he believe me if I tell him that Daniel was just a friend?

I may have never physically cheated on Chris with Daniel, but I wanted to and that’s almost as bad. What’s worse is that I gave Daniel the things I should be giving only to my husband, whether he was giving them back to me at the time or not: my emotions, my attention, my adoration, my desire. I have to be one hundred percent present in this marriage, and I can’t be if I’m sharing my time with Daniel. If I’m sharing anything with him at all.

Chris pulls up in front of the hospital and walks in to get me. He picks up my tote bag and puts his arm around my shoulders. Smiling down at me, he says, “Ready?”

I smile back. “Ready.”

claire

Chris spends the next week by my side. He works but he does it while he’s sitting next to me on the couch, my feet in his lap. He closes the laptop while we watch a movie. He talks to me, hugs me, kisses me. He sleeps with me in his arms.

Daniel hasn’t texted. He must know that the reason I’m not calling is because I’m not alone. The space he gives me, the demands he doesn’t make, make me feel even worse for what I’m going to do.

I wish everything could remain status quo, but it can’t.

It isn’t fair to Daniel.

It isn’t fair to Chris.

And I should have never let it go on so long.

Finally, when Chris has gone back out on the road and the house is empty, I pick up my phone and call him. “Hi,” I say when he answers.

“Hi.” Even over the phone, I know he is smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “How are you?”

“I’m much better,” I say.

“I’m so glad.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.”

“Don’t be.”

“What days are you off this week?”

“Thursday and Friday.”

“Can I come on Thursday?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“I feel like you’re coming to tell me good-bye,” he says.

It’s hard for me to get the word out. “Yes.”

“Then let’s make this last day count. Can you do that?”

The tears start falling. “Of course. I can do that.”

On Thursday I slide behind the wheel of my car and back out of the garage. The sun is shining brightly but the air still feels brisk. When I first met Daniel it was summertime. We haven’t come full circle yet, but warmer weather is on the horizon.

Every other time I’ve driven to Daniel’s it seemed as if it took forever, but today’s drive is over in no time at all, and soon I’m pulling into his driveway. My heart feels as heavy as my footsteps when I park the car and walk up the steps. He waits in the open doorway, watching as I approach. He’s smiling, but it’s a subdued smile.

I smile, too. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says. I put my arms around him and hug him tight. His arms encircle me and we stand like that for a minute, not speaking. Finally, we let go. He closes the door behind me and I follow him to the couch. My favorite blanket is folded neatly and draped over the arm. I’m not surprised; I’m the only one who ever used it.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” he says.

“I know,” I say. I tell him what happened, explain about the DKA.

“Is he taking care of you?” Daniel asks. “Making sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. He stayed home for a week. He’s back at work now.”

Daniel nods and looks away. I know what he’s thinking: If you were my wife, I would never leave you home alone, especially after something like this. But he would. He just doesn’t know it. Chris didn’t want to leave either, but I told him he had to. The world doesn’t stop spinning because I got sick.

I take a look around the room I’ve spent so much time in. It’s a room where there are no lost jobs or marital discord. No one discusses paying the bills or argues about whose turn it is to take out the trash. We brought the best, the most uncomplicated, aspects of our world into this room. Who wouldn’t want that? But we fooled ourselves into thinking that our relationship was uncomplicated because of it.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” he asks. “It might be a little cold.”

I smile. “Going for a ride is exactly what I want to do.”

So we go. It’s not a long ride, but I hold him tight and try to remember every detail: The way the sun shines down on us. The air that smells like fresh soil as the hard ground softens and readies itself for the grass and flowers. The way his shoulders feel when I lay my head on them. When I look back on this day I want to remember it all, no matter how much it hurts.

When we get back Daniel parks the bike in the driveway. I climb off and wait for him to do the same. We both know it’s time for me to go. He stands in front of me and I look into his eyes.

“If things had been different, I would have given my whole heart to you.”

He nods and gives me a smile. “I know.”

My eyes fill with tears. “Good-bye, Daniel.”

“Good-bye, Claire.” He doesn’t walk me to the car the way he always has before.

I’m almost at my door when I stop and turn back around. To hell with this reserve, this formality. I want a messy, emotional good-bye, to let everything that’s been pent up inside of me out.

I could have loved this man. Maybe I already do.

It’s as if he knows what I’m going to do because he opens his arms at the exact moment I start to run. He catches me when I jump, and I wrap my legs around him and hug him tightly. The tears start to fall. When he finally sets me down and both of my feet are back on the ground, he holds my gaze and I know what he’s going to do, but I don’t stop him. He takes my face in his hands, leans down, and slowly presses his lips to mine. The kiss is brief, gentle. Filled with love and longing and what will never be.

“I don’t regret a single minute that we spent together,” he says.

“Neither do I.”

He wipes my tears and this time I make it all the way to my car. When I pull out of the driveway I head toward home, and I don’t look back.