Goddess (12 page)

“It’s about wanting to go with you. Unless you don’t want me to go.”

“No, of course not,” I said.

~*~

“I’m sorry about what I said the other night,” Matt said as he pulled the car onto the expressway, heading for the southwestern suburbs, where TJ had evidently grown up. “I was just stressed out by work stuff.”

“Have you thought about changing jobs? This traveling is wearing you out.”

He laughed ruefully. “It’s going to be hard to find another job that pays this much, and between Lily’s skating, Anna’s braces, and Mackenzie’s American Girls, we need the money.”

“Is that’s why you wanted me to take the other job?”

“I guess partly,” he admitted.

“It wouldn’t have been as flexible, and you would have to be the girls’ taxi service.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I just need a break.”

We fell into less difficult small talk, but my mind wandered. I had been looking for an escape from the wife and mother undertow. Now I was considering stepping into swifter current. Was I really contemplating an affair with Ashland Stewart? When put in those concrete terms, it sounded foolish and selfish. Despite his confession, I barely knew him. Matt was a good man. It would hurt him terribly if I had an affair. I loved my girls. How would they feel if they found out? Plus, I lived a comfortable life. I never had to worry about money. I would be putting all that at risk. No wonder I found myself desperately trying to paddle to shore, back onto solid ground.

But there was another part of me that had been buried like Magoa, covered by the sands of domesticity. The idea of tossing my oars overboard just for the heart-racing thrill of it turned me on.

Matt pulled off the interstate into a blue-collar suburb lined with German bakeries, muffler shops, and liquor stores. If he had been talking to me, I hadn’t been listening. I was only focused on what lay ahead.

~*~

We arrived at the funeral home just before the service was to begin. Almost all the chairs were already occupied. I immediately spotted Larry, his wife, and many of the other guests from the party. A number of elderly people were also present who clearly weren’t part of academia. I assumed they were Dr. Reiniger’s relatives—solid looking women accompanied by spouses who seemed like afterthoughts. I was also surprised to see so many young people huddled in small groups, talking and laughing, oblivious to a funeral’s decorum. Some of them had instrument cases at their feet. Dr. Reiniger’s students clearly loved him. They had traveled a long way to be at his funeral.

We found two seats near the back. Matt nodded towards the front row. “There’s Ashland Stewart.” He was leaning forward in his chair, contemplating the floor. I knew his friend’s death was weighing heavily on him. I felt a strong desire to put my arms around him and offer him the same comfort I had given in the garden.

Thankfully, there was no body on display; Dr. Reiniger’s ashes were contained in a simple urn on a table at the front of the room. Most of the service consisted of professional and student musicians performing the pieces Dr. Reiniger loved. It was a perfect tribute. Only three people spoke. Dr. Mary Albright gave a sincere but dull recounting of Dr. Reiniger’s contributions to the school. Next, Martin Adaji, who had flown in from London, strode to the front. His deep, resonating voice captured the room as he shared stories of TJ’s eccentricities and generosity. He obviously still loved the man, even though professional opportunities had spilt them apart.

And then Ashland rose from his chair and stepped to the podium. His voice was calm and firm as he shared his memories of TJ, but I sensed deep sadness behind his stoicism. The wall that for years had held back the agony of his wife’s death was in danger of crumbling today.

After the service, I craned to find Ashland among the mourners milling in the lobby. “Do you want to stay or go?” Matt asked.

“I just want to pay my respects to Dr. Stewart,” I replied. “Then we can take off.”

Finally, I spotted him on the other side of the reception hall. Our eyes found one another, but rather than coming over to greet me, he turned and slipped out a back door.

I looked at Matt, who was absorbed in his phone. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”

~*~

As soon as I stepped outside and saw my breath whisking away in the chilly air, I regretted not grabbing my coat.

Ashland was standing under a carport, leaning against a hearse that was polished to a fine, black sheen. It looked very out of place next to the dingy alley butting up against scraggly backyards.

He immediately pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out here dressed like this,” he admonished me.

“You shouldn’t either, “ I countered.

“I just needed to get away from the platitudes, and I wanted to talk to you.”

I stepped forward without thinking and embraced him. “How are you holding up?”

He buried his face in my hair; his warm breath felt intimate and comforting. “I know this sounds callous,” he said, “but I needed to feel these emotions.”

The tremor in his voice sent shivers down my spine. He was strong, yet so vulnerable. It was crazy. How did I lose all sense of reason when I was with this man I barely knew? I wanted him right then and there, maybe in the back of the hearse if it was unlocked. But reason prevailed, and I stepped back, smoothing my hair. “I feel very confused about all this.”

His face was as serious as I’ve ever seen it, and the blue of his eyes seemed deeper and richer. “I won’t lie to you. I’ve been with many women over the years. But since Adriana died, I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

I felt my knees weakening. I fought against the desire to collapse into his arms for support. “I’m not Adriana.”

“I know. You’re as unique and amazing as Magoa.”

“I don’t know if I can have an affair with you, Ashland,” I said. “I have a lot to lose.”

“I’m prepared for you to say no. No matter what your answer, it won’t change our professional relationship. You’ve done an excellent job. I’m pleased we hired you.”

“I won’t string you along.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you did. There’s no one else, Julia.”

“You could have Elena if you wanted. She’s beautiful, smart, and single.”

“I don’t want Elena. I want you.”

I nodded, even though his adamancy was hard to accept. I wanted him to hold me again. I wanted him to kiss me. But I needed to be cautious, as Van had counseled me. What if Matt came looking for me? “I’d better go in first,” I said. I turned back to the door.

I opened it, but Ashland’s strong hand restrained me. “You’re forgetting something.”

I turned to him questioningly.

He gently slipped his jacket off my shoulders.

~*~

I found Matt, who was waiting impatiently with my coat. “What took you so long,” he asked.

“I ran into Dr. Stewart on my way out of the restroom. I was just giving him our condolences. Do you want to say anything to him?”

“That’s all right,” he said, helping me with my coat. “You’re much better at these things than I am. How’s he holding up?”

“It’s hard to tell. He doesn’t get very emotional.”

CHAPTER 8

When Matt and I arrived home, he moved directly to his laptop to check work emails while I went upstairs to change. I pulled my dress over my head and slipped off my pantyhose. Choosing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from my dresser, I tossed them on the bed. But instead of putting them on, I unclasped my bra and pulled off my panties. Then I opened my closet door and took a long look at myself in the full-length mirror.

I couldn’t remember the last time I intentionally looked at my naked body in its entirety. Even when I was young and thin, all I could focus on was its flaws.

My auburn hair, which hung to my shoulders, was still thick and rich. I had never liked the color, but there was nothing inherently wrong with it. It matched my large brown eyes, which were always my favorite feature. My skin was still soft, but I could see a faint hint of stretch marks and a few age spots. My breasts had lost some of their buoyancy thanks to gravity and my hips were wider after three pregnancies. My pubic hair was well trimmed. (I was definitely not a Brazilian wax kind of gal.) My legs were a bit thicker than they used to be, though I still thought I looked good in a short dress and a pair of heels. Perhaps I was a bit above average in the looks department, but I was still a middle-aged woman. There was no denying that.

I thought of my other attributes. I was smart, though I didn’t have a Ph.D. I was creative and personable, with a sense of humor. I was a leader, at least in the small pond of school. I was a good mother.

I wasn’t putting myself down, but I did consider myself a realist. I was attractive, but I wasn’t a woman who would likely attract a man with so many younger options.

I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.
It was like a crazy dream that melts away with the morning sun.

My eyes drifted down to my fading tattoo. What makes a woman a goddess? What kind of powers does she have? Could she soar to dizzying sensual heights? Could she knock down the walls a man had erected to protect himself from painful memories? I wanted to know. I wanted to know very badly.

~*~

With a few reluctant Koreans as guides, Brother Ferreira pushed deep into the peninsula, across tall mountains and past vast rice paddies. When he reached a village, men, women, and children would gather to stare at the strange, pale man in a dark hassock. Ferreira shared the gospel with them using a few Korean words he had picked up. Did he make any converts? It was doubtful. There were no priests to instruct the people, no church to attend, no Bible to read. There was only a brief encounter with a man possessed by a spiritual quest.

I looked up. My little window in the library was dark. I glanced at my watch. It was already mid afternoon. I should be leaving soon for home.

We hadn’t spoken, texted, or seen one another since the funeral. I sensed that, rather than avoiding me, he was now giving me space. I appreciated that. I was scared. I didn’t want to make this decision. I wished I could just be thrown into this, with no will of my own.

I closed the journal and slipped my computer back in its protective pouch. I understood why Brother Ferreira was plunging forward so ferociously into the unknown.
When in doubt, act.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket. I held it in my sweating palm for a few minutes before finally speed dialing Isabelle’s number. Perhaps she wouldn’t be available. It was the last minute, and she was used to me planning things well in advance. It was just one of many obstacles the universe could throw into my path.

“No problem,” Isabelle responded when I asked her if she was free tonight. “I’ll see you later.”

I sat the phone down. This still might not happen. He might be busy, still in the midst of negotiations. He might have changed his mind.

I picked up my phone again and typed out a simple text:
Are you free tonight?

I put my phone back in my pocket, slipped on my coat, and gathered up my things. When I took the journal to the front desk, I found Caroline reading a collection of Joyce Carol Oates stories. “A good book?” I asked.

“It’s a little sad,” she responded as I passed her the gloves and journal. “It’s made the library feel kind of lonely.”

“What happened to the guy from the game?”

“He wants to do something again, but I just don’t know if I like him.”

I heard my phone buzz in my coat pocket. “I’m sorry, I have to run.” I headed towards the door, but stopped in the middle of the lobby, turning to call back to her, my voice almost lost in the empty space between us. “You should give him another try. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

I hurried outside, standing nervously on the steps. My heart was beating wildly. I wanted very badly for him to say yes, but I also desperately wanted him to reply no.

Holding my phone in a shaking hand, I read his text.
Dinner at 7 my place?

~*~

At six-thirty, I was slipping into my favorite jeans and a blouse that was a bit more revealing than my usual fare. I didn’t want to dress up too much; as far as my kids knew, I was having dinner with Van.

I could hear Anna let Isabelle in and CC bark a greeting, ready to play. The home phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Matt.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hi,” Matt responded. “Could you look in the office and see if I left a USB drive on the desk?”

“How’s everything going?” I asked, walking down the hallway.

“It was going well until I realized I’d taken this stupid drive out of my bag.”

I looked around on the desk. It was neat and orderly, just like always, except for a couple of drawings Mackenzie had left scattered on it. “I don’t see it.”

“All right. I’ll look in my suitcase again.” I was hoping he would hurry off, but he seemed in the mood to chat. “How’s everything there?”

“Good.” I reminded him of Anna’s upcoming talent show and we talked about the latest in Lily’s attempts to be a high school underachiever. It was the usual fare—nothing that would require a deep emotional connection.

“Hold on a sec,” Matt interrupted me. I heard him address someone in the room, but his voice was muffled, as if he were holding his hand over the receiver.
He was in Tulsa
, I thought,
where I had heard a woman’s voice before. Was he talking to her? What was he hiding?

Finally, he came back on. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

“What are you doing tonight?” It was a question I rarely asked.

“Going out with some clients. I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I love you,” he said.

I hesitated. I did love him. He was a good husband. I didn’t have any evidence that he was cheating on me. What I was about to do was selfish. It wasn’t too late to make an excuse and stay home. I could pay Isabelle for her time, perhaps keep her here to entertain Mackenzie. But I wanted something more, something I knew Matt was unable to give. I wanted to know if Ashland was the key to my unrealized desires.

“I love you too,” I said.

I hung up, went downstairs, and said goodbye to the girls.

~*~

The house was quiet. The porch light was on, but the interior looked dark—very different from the blazing lights and lively conversation I had found last time I visited. I felt a mixture of relief and sadness.
He wasn’t home. He had gotten cold feet. I was safe. I could go home now.

He answered the door almost immediately, a glass of wine in his hand. He was barefoot, wearing loose, comfortable looking slacks with a black shirt. “Welcome,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. He closed the door, and then turned to take a long look at me. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my heart pounding so hard I could barely think. He reached out a hand. I thought he was going to pull me to him, but instead he helped me slip my coat off.

“Are you all right, Julia?”

“I’m nervous,” I admitted. “I’m definitely outside my comfort zone.”

His calm face was reassuring. “I have no expectations, only the hope that you’ll enjoy dinner.”

I took in the pungent aroma of garlic and fine olive oil. “I don’t think you have any worries there.”

He led me back to the kitchen where a large cast iron pot was simmering on the stove. “I’m making Neapolitan mussels. I learned it from an Italian student of mine.”

“A young woman?”

He smiled as he poured me a glass of wine. “
His
name was Giovanni. I do have male students too.”

“You can’t blame me for being jealous.”

“Then I’ll accept it, even though it’s unwarranted.” He handed me the glass. “What shall we drink to?”

I thought about it for a moment. “To life’s mysteries.”

We clinked our glasses. “To life’s mysteries,” he echoed. I took a sip of the wine. Not surprisingly, it was excellent.

Ashland picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the pot while I leaned against the counter and watched him. “Why didn’t you ever get remarried, Ashland?”

“I never considered it. Adriana was my wife. She was dead. I didn’t want to replace her. I had no desire to fall in love again. Instead, I found short term relief from loneliness.”

“And was that enough?”

“For longer than it should have been.” Using his spoon, he pushed aside the mussels and scooped up a little bit of sauce. “Try this.”

He slipped the edge of the spoon into my waiting mouth. “It’s spicy.” I said, taking another sip of wine, “but it’s wonderful.”

“That’s
pepperoncini.
In Italy they call it ‘the Viagra of the poor.’”

“I hope that’s not for my benefit.”

He smiled slyly. “It’s certainly not for mine.”

I felt a flutter deep down in the pit of my stomach. This man wanted me, though I still didn’t understand why.

Ashland ushered me to a small round table in the corner of the kitchen, set with beautiful china and a single, lit candle. A fresh salad was already waiting. I sat while Ashland served two bowls of the steaming mussels covered in the sauce.

He scooped one of the mussels out of his bowl and pried it open. He expertly removed the meat with a small fork and held it out to me. I opened my mouth and tasted it. “Mmm, delicious,” I murmured.

As we ate, we talked about some of the mutual places we had visited—Tuscany, Rome, London, Vienna, Paris. But there was one place I had never been that was foremost of my mind. “I’ve been thinking about Magoa. I have a theory about what kind of society it was and why it thrived, though I don’t have any proof.”

“Sometimes great theories are born from imaginative speculation.”

“What if the leader of the society, the woman who wore the crown, exuded such a powerful sexuality that the Magoans elevated her to goddess status? Maybe she inherited the role, but I think they would have chosen her kind of like Tibetan monks choose the Dalia Lama.”

“Interesting, That would explain a lot.”

“About Magoa?”

“And about you.”

I felt my stomach do another backflip.

Where did this theory come from?” he asked.

I smiled mischievously. “In a dream.”

His eyes danced with mine. “I think there’s much more to you than you allow most people to see.”

I slipped another mussel between my lips. “Perhaps if you’re lucky, Dr. Stewart, I’ll let you see more.”

“One can only hope, Mrs. Nelson.”

I ate slowly, partly to savor the meal, but also to delay what might happen when it was over. It had been a long time since I was on a first date. But of course, this wasn’t a date. I was a married woman sharing a meal with a man who presumably wanted to have sex with me. He looked so cool and relaxed, sitting across the table, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. Did he feel any of the turmoil I was experiencing? One advantage of maturity was that I wasn’t afraid to ask.

“Do you have any doubts, Ashland?”

“About you?”

“No, you wouldn’t have doubts. A single man doesn’t worry about having an affair, unless he’s afraid of her husband. I’m sure a lot of men even get a thrill out of taking another man’s wife.”

Ashland frowned at me. “Are you saying this because you really believe it, or is it your own doubts speaking?”

“I don’t really think you’re like that,” I admitted, “but part of me does wonder if you’re attracted to me because I’m another woman you can easily leave.”

He broke open another mussel and slid the morsel between his lips. “I’ve considered that,” he said.

“You have?”

“I’ve gone over and over why my feelings for you are so intense. I’ve even wondered if you’re the reincarnation of the Magoan goddess.”

I laughed. “That would be an interesting pickup line.”

“All I know for sure, Julia, is that I want to be with you. But I want to be honest with you. I don’t know where this is going to lead. ”

“When you get to be my age, you start having more realistic expectations about relationships.”