Faithful (5 page)

“Exactly. What if he does? Then what? Do you want that image in your mind? Is this the best way to handle it, Dana?”

Dana glanced in the direction of her house. “What am I supposed to do?
Ask
him if he's having an affair?” Her legs fired up again. “There
is
no ‘best way.' I just need to handle it.” Over her shoulder she pleaded, “Cyd, please come with me. I really don't want to do this alone, but I will if I have to.”

Cyd started after her and began to huff as Dana cut between two houses and upped her power walk to a light jog along a walking trail. She had to be moving on sheer adrenaline, because Dana, who had kept a little weight after each pregnancy, never jogged, and didn't walk either if it looked too much like exercise. Cyd was the one who got a regular cardio workout, but it seemed her heart had forgotten, palpitating the way it was, and mules and slacks were not her exercise gear of choice.

Dana left the trail and dashed across a grassy knoll, her attire much more suited to the mission—loose-fitting capris, a short-sleeved button-down shirt, nice and airy-looking flat sandals. When Cyd caught up to her, wet and dehydrated, Dana was poised at the door to the lower level, key in the lock, hand trembling.

Cyd covered it. “You don't have to do it, Dana. I just don't think—”

A finger flew to Dana's lips. “Shh.”

She turned the key and pushed the door open, plunging them both inside a nightmare. Cyd could feel it. Though her mind still couldn't fathom catching Scott in an indiscretion, chill bumps rose on her arms, despite the beads produced by the heat. Her eyes darted here and there, as if in a haunted house, waiting for something to pop out and spook them.

She didn't know what she'd expected, but when things looked normal, she gathered herself. She saw the sectional sofa and chairs, the foosball and ice hockey tables. Nothing spooky at all. Cyd was sure they would comb every inch of the house and find it clear. Dana would feel silly, but she'd be satisfied.

Dana took off her shoes and motioned for Cyd to do the same. After peeping into the guest bedroom on the carpeted lower level, they moved to the stairs. Heads angled to the side, they took each step gingerly, coming at last to the top stair, which led to a spacious hallway off the foyer. Cyd's heart lurched and she put a hand to her chest when she saw a light in the kitchen. But she chastised herself. It was
just
a light. Goodness. Could have been left on this morning.

Dana elbowed Cyd as they approached the kitchen, pointing to the granite counter. From where they stood they could see a take-out bag. Stepping into the kitchen, they found two clear containers side by side on the kitchen table, one with remnants of a salad, the other of a sandwich. Dana gestured at the evidence and put a hand to her hip.

Cyd shrugged, whispering, “What? Scott can't handle a salad and a sandwich by himself?”

As Dana moved over to the door that led to the garage, Cyd grabbed a glass from the cabinet and tilted it under the spout on the refrigerator door, anticipating the cold water that sloshed the sides. Dana whirled toward her, putting a severe finger to her lips again, eyes wild as if Cyd had blown the mission.

Cyd stared back at her, unfazed. The mission would've been blown anyway had she collapsed on the floor from heat exhaustion. Dana should've been happy she didn't use the ice dispenser.

She let the glass fill and gulped water as she joined Dana at the opened garage door. No car inside. They peered over the kitchen sink and out of the window. No car in front or in the driveway.

Cyd was relieved, but when Dana tiptoed out of the kitchen and headed upstairs, Cyd could feel her heart pounding. She placed her empty glass in the sink and followed.
Lord, if he's in there with some woman, please make them disappear. Can't You do that, Lord?
Just, poof ?

They passed the children's rooms, sun streaming toward them through the open doors, offering lightness of heart—which Cyd would have gladly taken if it were streaming from Dana and Scott's room as well. Why was the door closed? Did they typically close their bedroom door during the day?

And even if Scott was in there with someone, why close the door? He wouldn't be expecting anyone. And if someone came—
like his wife
—what would he expect her to do, knock? Maybe he wanted a chance to jump out the window if he heard the knob turn.

Lord, that's it. If he's in there doing . . . you know . . . make him jump out the window. And break his leg
.

Dana gazed back at Cyd, her hand to the knob. Cyd closed her eyes.

When Dana turned the knob, Scott's voice sounded first, an expletive, something Cyd had never heard from his mouth. Cyd stood against the wall outside the door, paralyzed, not wanting Dana to enter, certainly not wanting to enter herself. She couldn't tell which woman screamed. Her body began to shake.
Oh, God
. Should she run in and pull Dana out? Stand beside her in a show of support?

She wasn't crazy about the idea of seeing Scott
naked
.

“Dana, what are you doing here?”

Oh, God
.

“Dana, take your hands off of her!”

Oh, God
.

Cyd couldn't see straight for her tears. She pushed up off the wall and entered the scene, Scott standing to one side of the bed, a sheet his shield. And on the other—

“Heather
?”

The woman ran hurriedly into the bathroom with her clothes slung over her arm, but Cyd caught a quick glimpse of the face and the long blonde hair . . . Had to be her. Heather was part of the twenty-something crowd that Stephanie hung around at church. Cyd had exchanged hellos with her on several occasions.

Cyd was so shocked she followed Heather into the bathroom and stared at her in disbelief. “Heather, what are you
doing
here?”

“Save it, Cyd. You wouldn't understand.” Heather buttoned her olive-colored business skirt.

Cyd wiped her eyes, emotions spinning quickly from sadness to anger. The nervy edge in Heather's voice was as bad as the sight of her.
She's got attitude?

Getting caught should have yanked her back to her senses. She should've been offering up a sob story about how temptation came so strong she couldn't find the way out that God promised but, hallelujah, they showed up and saved her in the midst of her giant free fall into darkness. But Cyd wasn't hearing any of that. What she was hearing, amazingly, was the tune of gum popping.

“I wouldn't understand?” Cyd said this calmly, and it took every ounce of strength she had. “Let's see, you're in another woman's house, in another woman's bed, with another woman's husband. Am I missing something?”

Heather rolled her eyes and sauntered to the mirror, fixed a few strands of her bed-tousled mane.

It was the calm that went
poof
. Cyd flung her arm around and pointed to the door. “Heather, you need to leave.”

A smirk rose on Heather's face as she folded her arms. “I don't think so. I was invited.”

“Invited? Heather, you've got to be—”

A crash sent them both to the outer room. A photograph surrounded by broken glass lay on the floor near Scott, and a lamp was set to sail his way.

“Dana, no!” Cyd yanked the object from her hand and set it on the nightstand.

Scott raised his palms as if in surrender, his bottom half now covered in suit pants. “Look, I just need to talk to Heather. I just need a moment to—”

“You need to talk to
Heather
?” Dana whipped a shoe past Cyd and conked Scott on the nose. “Get out!
Go
. Talk to your whore! Get a room for all I care!”

Dana looked wildly about her, and Cyd didn't know what she might throw next. She went to Dana and held her tight, pinning her arms to her sides, and watched from the corner of her eye as Scott grabbed his shirt from the floor and his other shoe. He swiped a couple of items from the dresser, grabbed Heather's hand, and they were gone.

Dana's legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor. “Why, Cyd?” she wailed, sobbing for the first time. “Why?”

Cyd sank down beside her and tucked Dana's head into her bosom, asking herself the same question.

Four

P
HYLLIS STEPPED FROM
the Jetway into the sights and sounds of the terminal of Washington Dulles International Airport and felt a pleasant surge of the familiar. She was home.

Well, northern Virginia actually, about forty-five minutes from her hometown in Maryland, but whether she flew into Reagan National, Baltimore-Washington, or Dulles, it was all the same to her. Home.

It had been almost two years since she'd been here, a family visit that time. Her younger cousin had gotten married. As often happened, a weekend didn't afford enough time to see everyone she would like. That trip had been confined to family, and only her mother's side. This one would be college friends. She'd already warned her parents not to expect her. One day, she always said, she would plan two weeks at home and spend quality time with everybody from long-lost junior high friends to second cousins once removed.

A swell of excitement rose as Phyllis checked the arrival boards for flights from Dallas and Atlanta. On a three-way call, Phyllis and sorority sisters Natalie and Gretta, sitting in front of their computers, found flights that would arrive within minutes of one another, making it easier on Stacy, who would be picking them up and housing them for the weekend.

Although most of the women who pledged with Phyllis had formed a closeness in the process, these four had had a bond from the beginning of freshman year. They lived in the same dorm on the same floor, ate dinner together in the dining hall, and in the fall of sophomore year decided together to attend the AKA rush. Phyllis thought it a wonderful blessing that each of them had come to know the Lord since leaving Maryland. They were more than her sorority sisters now; they were her sisters in Christ.

Phyllis groaned when she saw that Gretta's flight from Atlanta would be delayed forty minutes, but when she found Natalie's her face lit up. Not only had it landed at the same time as hers, but they were on the same concourse. Noting the gate, she set off in that direction, scanning the faces in the crowd that came toward her. Phyllis hadn't seen her friend in ten years, but she recognized her instantly from several yards away, and she chuckled. Some things never changed.

There was Natalie, just off the plane, in line for a Dunkin Donut. Natalie had been her doughnut buddy at Maryland, but unlike Phyllis, she never gained a pound. Phyllis could see that that much hadn't changed either. Though Natalie had had two children, she seemed to have the same petite waistline she'd had at twenty. She looked cute in stonewashed denim jeans and a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt with a sweater tied around her waist.

Phyllis waved her arms when Natalie turned in her direction, and Natalie cocked her head and then dropped her jaw. Smiling, Phyllis quickened her pace down the corridor and moved into Natalie's waiting arms. After hugs and squeals of joy, Natalie pushed her back.

“I saw some woman waving at me, and I couldn't believe that was you! You look fabulous! You didn't tell me you'd lost so much weight.”

Phyllis smiled. “I didn't tell any of you. It was a long process, and I didn't know if I could stick with it.” She gave her a sideways look. “You know how many times I tried to lose weight. I wanted to be sure
this
time would last. When we started planning the reunion, I thought I'd surprise you all.”

“Well, honey, you succeeded.”

They moved up in line.

“So how did you do it? Low-carb diet, Mediterranean—”

“Noooo.” Phyllis shifted her big tote bag to the other shoulder. “Been there, done that. Old-fashioned exercise and healthy foods. And staying out of lines like this.” She laughed.

“Girl, I know.” Natalie moved to the counter and placed her order, then turned back to Phyllis. “You know doughnuts are my weakness, but I rarely eat them now.”

“And you only ordered one,” Phyllis said, looking impressed.

“I can't eat like I used to.”

Phyllis looked her over. “Mm-hmm. I can tell you're struggling.”

“I'm serious!” Natalie handed payment to the woman and took hold of her treat, straightening her wheeled carry-on.

“Whatever you're doing, it's working, because you look fabulous too.”

“Thanks, Phyl!”

Phyllis's phone chirped as they followed the signs to the shuttle that would take them to the main terminal and baggage claim. She showed the caller screen to Natalie and flipped it open.

“We're here!” they both declared into the mouthpiece.

Stacy's voice boomed through the phone. “Yeahhhh! I can't believe y'all are really here!”

“It's just Natalie and me so far,” Phyllis said. “Gretta gets here in the next thirty minutes or so.”

“Oh, that's perfect,” Stacy said.

“Why?” Phyllis gave Natalie the eye. “Where are you?”

“Um, in the car, finally. It's been a crazy morning, so I'm running a little late.”

Phyllis shook her head and spoke over the top of the phone. “Can you believe she's just leaving the house?”

Natalie shook hers too. “Some things never change.”

Stacy laughed. “I hear you two talking about me! I'll be there in fifteen minutes, tops. Right outside baggage claim.”

Phyllis and Natalie talked from the time they boarded the shuttle until they'd retrieved their luggage. Distance and the busyness of life had kept all of them from calling as often as they would have liked.

They found a couple of seats and parked, one-upping each other with tales of their boys, relieved to hear that the antics they dealt with might actually be normal. Before they knew it, Miss Gretta, as they liked to call her, strolled into their midst.