Faithful (27 page)

Over the next two hours, she made breakfast and hustled the boys through their morning routine, taking a minute here and there to dip into the office and check the computer. Middle school started earlier than elementary, so when he could, Hayes would drop Cole off on his way to work. Phyllis and Hayes had been moving past one another all morning, and when she saw that he was about ready to leave, she called from the bottom of the stairs, “Cole, come on. Dad's ready to go.”

Phyllis made sure Cole's coat was where he could find it and doubled back into the office again. Hayes was on the desktop computer.

Her heart rate sped up. “What are you doing?”

Hayes looked over his shoulder, hand on the mouse. “Checking e-mail.”

“Why aren't you using your laptop?”

“My laptop is packed up. I just needed to find out if my meeting got rescheduled.” He glanced at her again. “You need to use it? I'll only be a minute.”

A minute was all it took for an e-mail from Rod to download. She could see it now. All this time waiting for him to reply, and it would come right this moment.

Phyllis heard Sean calling and left the office reluctantly to see what he needed. Ella was calling as well from her high chair. Five minutes later she heard Hayes open the front door and call Cole again—relief. She didn't know how Hayes would react if he saw a message for Phyllis from a man he'd never heard of. But she guessed he'd certainly ask about it. She preferred to keep her friendship with Rod to herself.

Phyllis grew more and more antsy as the day wore on. Why hadn't Rod responded? He'd probably seen the message last night and spent the day debating whether to respond. Maybe he thought she was contacting him too much. Maybe he decided they shouldn't be friends after all. Maybe he'd ignore her and hope she went away. The maybes were driving her crazy.

By bedtime, she was chastising herself for anticipating his reply all day, but as she lay tucked under the covers, she fought the urge to check one last time—and gave up. She had to see.

She tiptoed down the darkened staircase and into the office. She'd left the computer on, and when she jiggled the mouse, the glow from the screen brought a soft light into the office. She brought up the e-mail and saw
Receiving 1 message
. She'd been through this all day and told herself it was just another marketing ad. Still, she couldn't help moving forward in her chair.

She blinked when she saw it.
Rod Clarke
appeared on the screen. The subject line read
Re: hello
. A double click brought his words into view.

Hey Phyl,
Just got your message. Work was hectic today and after school I had to drive the girls to my parents' house because I'm leaving town in the morning for a science teachers' conference. (Good thing the girls had no school tomorrow anyway.) Maybe we can catch up after I get back in town.
Rod

P.S. I'll wave at you when my plane lands. You're not too far from Chicago, are you?

Phyllis read the message three times. Was he coming to the Midwest? Tomorrow? Her heart beat out a rhythm she'd never felt as thoughts flew through her head, all of them featuring her in Chicago this weekend. How could he come so close and she not see him? Well, it wasn't
close
close, but close enough, much closer than the East Coast. Even if they could only spend an hour together, it would be worth it. She could talk to her new friend, get her mind off her problems for a while, laugh a little. She felt better just thinking about it.

She tapped out a response in the adrenaline of the moment, hoping he was still near the computer.

You're going to Chicago tomorrow? Are you free for dinner Saturday night? I could meet you up there.

She sent it, and he must have been on the computer still, because to her delight she had a reply within minutes.

Phyllis, I was just kidding about it not being too far. That's a long drive, isn't it? And would your husband be down with that? Seems like a lot just to go to dinner. But if it works out, I guess it could be a nice break after hearing sessions on “Exploring the Electromagnetic Spectrum” and “Infectious Diseases and Bioterrorism.” lol Call me Saturday if you're able to make it and we'll figure out where to meet. I'm staying at the Embassy Suites downtown.

Phyllis formulated a plan that minute. She didn't care if Hayes would be down with it or not. She'd tell him she needed some time to herself to think through this last week and a half and get her head together. That was actually the case. And a Chicago trip wouldn't seem extreme. Hayes knew she thought nothing of road trips, didn't mind driving even when they traveled as a family. As she thought about it, most of her time
would
be spent alone. She had a four-and-a-half-hour drive each way, plus she'd have time overnight to put this season of her life in perspective. It could be quite fruitful. In the middle of it all, she'd have dinner. With Rod.

Just so happened that that was the only part of the weekend that truly excited her.

Twenty-one

D
ANA TRIED HER
best to stay focused on the task at hand. She was in the home office on the lower level, typing up the minutes from the PTO meeting. She'd finished the first section with the list of attendees and the treasurer's report, and was starting on the principal's report when her fingers left the keys and found the mouse, clicking open the Web browser.

A couple of clicks later, she was at the Web mail page for a pharmaceutical company—Scott's employer. Just looking at it made her anxious, so she switched back to the document, finished the principal's report, then typed the next heading,
Faculty Report
—and switched windows again to stare at the Web page.

She had told herself not to do this again. Two days ago she had figured out how to access Scott's e-mail account at work. It was fairly simple. All she needed was his password, and Scott was never big on creativity when it came to passwords. After a handful of tries, she found out he was using the same one he'd used on their old desktop—
Markenzie
, a combination of the children's names.

Once inside the account, she'd run though the names in his in-box from the last couple of weeks, looking for Heather's, but she didn't see it. She was sure the girl hadn't gone away, and checking Scott's text messages wasn't easy since the phone stayed glued to his hip. This was the next best window into what was happening . . . other than asking him directly. But she didn't want to talk about it with Scott. It would only aggravate the wounds. This was a relatively pain-free way, she told herself, to keep tabs on them.

But it wasn't guilt-free, which was why she had decided not to do it again. She didn't feel right afterward, like she wasn't trusting God.

But today was Friday, the day Scott and Heather had rendezvoused for three weeks straight. She didn't think Scott would sleep with Heather again, but she didn't put it past Heather to try to see him. It wouldn't be hard to play on his feelings. They'd shared an intimate oneness, an act that had bonded them emotionally. It would take a lot of strength for Scott to walk away and never look back, strength he'd have to maintain constantly. If Heather said she needed to talk to him face-to-face one last time, he might agree in a weak moment. And who knew what she might try from there.

Dana had to stay on top of the situation. If Heather made a move, she wanted to know about it.

Despite the gnawing at her conscience, Dana typed in the password and saw a series of e-mails from this morning alone about test batches, an upcoming FDA conference, questions about the expiration date for a drug. She kept scrolling down, moving into yesterday's messages, and saw one that stopped her cold.
Heather Anderson
.

Fear dropped its cloak over her, causing her arms to tremble and her mind to race. The e-mail was marked at seven thirty last evening. Had Scott checked his e-mail last night from home? Certainly he saw it when he arrived at work this morning. Why hadn't he told Dana about it? This was something he should have shared.

Dana opened the message, her stomach clenching as she read.

Hey Love,
It's been almost two weeks and you haven't returned my calls. Haven't we laid low long enough? I miss you. All of you. Let's at least meet tomorrow for lunch at our favorite spot. Twelve sharp.
Heather

Dana's eyes darted to the clock at the bottom right of the screen. 12:10. She snatched the handset from the base and punched the numbers for Scott's office. When she got voice mail, she pushed 0 for the receptionist.

“Hi, is Scott Elliott available?”

“I'm sorry, Scott left for lunch a few minutes ago. May I put you through to his voice mail?”

“No. Thanks.”

Dana paced as she dialed Scott's cell number, suspicion and dread flooding her being. She didn't know what she would do if voice mail— “Hello, you've reached Scott Elliott . . .”

Dana threw the phone across the room. The back flew off and the battery skittered into the wall.

“I
hate
her!” She yelled it so loudly her throat hurt. Hey
Love
? Is that what she called him? Is that what he called her? She bent down and glared at the screen again. What was this about lying low? Did they have an agreement? Pretend it was over until Dana was lulled into believing it was so?

She paced the room again, so angry she couldn't cry, an anger that worsened by the second because she didn't know where they were. She couldn't be more sure that Scott was with Heather. Right in some restaurant, proving by his very presence that he cared, that she had a hold on him.

Dana picked up the phone and battery, pieced them together, and dialed his office again. She got the receptionist.

“Hi, this is Scott Elliott's wife, and I need to reach him. Did he happen to mention where he was going for lunch?”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Elliott, he didn't. Should I tell him you called?”

“No. No, thank you.”

She placed the phone on the desk this time and moved her deliberations upstairs, stopping in the foyer. What could she do? She stared at the wall and it came to her.

Stephanie
. If she knew Heather well enough to invite her to the wedding, there was a good chance she had her number.

Dana grabbed the kitchen phone and dialed.

“You're trying to meet for mentoring today, aren't you?” Stephanie said.

“Stephanie, I need Heather Anderson's cell phone number. Do you have it?” She found a pencil on the counter and snatched a telephone bill to write on.

“Why?”

Dana sighed. “Steph, it's private, but I really need it.”

“She's the one Scott had the affair with, isn't she?”

Why did I call Stephanie?

“How on earth did you jump to that conclusion?”

“There's something about her. I've never really liked her. I invited her to my wedding because she hangs out with some friends of mine, but I wouldn't be shocked if she bedded a married man. And if you're trying to get her number, that has to be it. Why else would you be calling her?”

Dana didn't have a quick response, so Stephanie spoke again. “I don't see what good it'll do to call her, Dana.”

Dana wasn't in the mood for a lecture, least of all from Stephanie. “Will you give me the number or not, Steph?”

Stephanie paused. “Let me find it. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

She gave Dana the number, and Dana stared at it as
Hey Love
looped through her mind, rekindling her anger. She stabbed the numbers with the pencil eraser and seconds later heard a “Hello” that sounded confused.

“Heather, this is Dana Elliott.”

“Dana?”

“Dana. You know, Scott's wife.”

“And you're calling me because . . .”

“I'm calling to tell you to stay away from my husband. Don't call, don't e-mail—”

“Oh, how about ‘Don't go to lunch,' because he's sitting right here.” The phone shifted. “It's for you, love.”

Dana could tell she was smiling.

“It's your wife.”

“Dana?” Scott sounded hurried and anxious, as she'd expect him to sound when he was caught. Again. “Dana!”

She let the phone fall, mostly because she couldn't help it. Her body was trembling so badly she dropped to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest, folding her arms tightly around them. The tears came now, a flood of them. How stupid she'd been to trust Scott! He must have missed Heather as much as Heather missed him. Dana was sobbing so hard she began coughing. He and Heather could have each other. She was through.

When the waves of tears passed, she came to her feet, walked calmly to the bedroom, and started tossing Scott's clothes from the closet onto the bedroom floor. She wanted him out by nightfall and she didn't care what they told the kids. Let
him
come up with a story.

She'd been thankful up to now that Mackenzie and Mark were oblivious to his affair. They'd been in kids' church during his announcement, and though she'd braced herself for the church chatter to reach their ears, God must've had a shield around them, because it hadn't happened. But now they'd know—and maybe they needed to know the truth, that their father was a liar and a cheater. Dana took two shoes at a time from the shelf and threw them across the floor. The tears had started again, angry tears. She snatched a few silk ties from a hook and—

“Dana!”

Scott had entered the bedroom, greeted by the tornado of a mess she had made. When she saw his face at the closet door, she threw the ties at him, though they landed short of the target.

Scott rushed to her and held her tight. “Oh, baby, I can't believe this.”

“Believe it.” She wrestled to get free. “I want you out.”

He lifted her chin with a finger. “Baby, it's not what you think.” He held her again. “Oh, Dana. Sweetheart, you've got to hear me out.”