Les Tales (16 page)

Ron hugged me tightly, his body temperature warm through his clothing. “May God bless you,” he whispered.

On my way out, Cassandra handed me a card with the names, addresses, and phone numbers of five boys and five girls from their church. Ron must have had her prepare the list as a cover for the real purpose of my visit.

“Pastor wants to know if these kids can volunteer at the annual fund-raising game,” she explained.

“I'll be in touch first thing Monday,” I told her before leaving.

I was close to home, having just turned left on the smooth tar-black road of our upscale community, when I saw a black Mercedes about a quarter of a mile in front of me. Red brake lights struggled to shine against the fall sunshine as the car halted in front of my driveway. The tires turned right, and the car disappeared behind the tall, orange and yellow leaf-filled trees shielding the drive. I sped up, my heart banging against my chest as I raced to meet Nina's car just as she was parking in the same spot she had that morning. We exited our cars together.

“Nina,” I said, unsure about what had brought her back, and nonetheless thrilled that she had returned.

She stood before me, her fitted black dress clinging to her body like her own skin. Her emotions showed: red spirals circled her damp chest like a spider-spun web. “I thought of something, something I didn't mention earlier today, that maybe you should know.”

My head dipped to the right, and I readjusted the tote on my arm. “About Layne?”

“Yes. About our conversation the morning she died.”

“Come in, please.”

Nina followed closely behind me as I walked up the stairs and into the house. She observed the tote bag I held.

“Is that them?” she asked anxiously, softly.

We stared at the stack of journals, the newest journal on top, less tattered, worn, and dingy than the ones beneath it.

“Yes, these are Layne's.”

Nina stared into the tote bag, her expression solemn and intrigued, her mouth flat, her eyes wide, as if attempting to extract the words from the pages.

“You took them somewhere? Has someone else seen these?” Her calm tone faltered slightly.

I didn't want to tell Nina that someone other than the two of us and our dead lover knew of their affair. Especially with that one person being Jenna's father, the man whom Layne had known nothing about.

“I went to the park to read. Sometimes I reread them to see how I missed what was right in front of me,” I replied accusingly.

I also didn't want to confess to Nina that I had become obsessed with the journals, and enchanted with and drawn to her before we even met. By the time I had finished reading about year three of their relationship, I no longer had the desire to burn the pages I read, but instead I had curled up on the couch or in bed with the journals day and night, seduced by Nina through Layne's words. It was absurd and embarrassing, and yet it was true.

I set the tote bag down on the table in the foyer and took off my coat. Nina's eyes lingered in the direction of the tote.

“Come,” I told her and led her into the family room, to the couch. We sat comfortably facing one another. “What happened to you and Layne the morning of the accident?”

“Before Layne died, I had a feeling she was going to end our relationship. Before you all went on vacation, she told me she didn't think she could do it anymore, said she couldn't grow old loving two women in her life.”

It hurts to hurt those I love. . . .

Nina went on. “She told me that in my office, and the look in her eyes wasn't convincing that it was me she wanted. The morning she died, she called and said she needed to talk to me. I assumed she had made a decision while on vacation with you.”

“What exactly did she say?” I wanted to know. Maybe Nina would solve the mystery sooner than later.

Nina clasped her fingers together. Her thumbs twiddled and circled over and under one another. She spoke rapidly. “The truth is, I had taken the day off because we were supposed to spend it together. Her tone seemed off, she was not her usual self when she called, and she didn't seem to be interested in the plans we had previously made for the day. She told me that you had just left for work and that she needed to talk to me. That's all she said. I told her I'd be waiting at home for her, and she never showed. I knew not to call her when she was late or didn't show, so I didn't know of the accident until the next day at school.”

Nina slowly moved forward until our knees and shins touched. I fought to keep my eyes off the skin of her exposed thigh.

“What would have happened when she got to my condo, I'll never know.
We'll
never know,” she added, as if she was mimicking me, as if she experienced the pained craving I had inside to understand what felt like Layne's last will and testament of love to one of us. “Maybe, Taryn, there is something for you and me in all of this,” she suggested.

“Such as?”

Nina explored me with her eyes. She reviewed my feet, a small seven against my long legs. She studied the crease of my jeans that accentuated the triangular shape that led to the place that ached for attention. Finally, she met my gaze once again, and I saw in her eyes the look I had both yearned for and feared.

“I think you're a good person, Taryn. Better than me and Layne, actually, and I'm sorry for what we did to you. I'd like to make it up to you.”

I snickered involuntarily. “How can one make up for seven years of lies?”

“I'm not sure I can fully heal the hurt you have. But I'd like to be there for you in any way I can. If you let me.”

She's irresistible, as enchanting and sinister as the sweetest forbidden fruit....

“Yes, okay. I'd like that,” I answered, surrendering foolishly, but still aware of my actions and intentions.

She smiled delicately. “So you will be calling me, then?”

“I need to visit the university next week,” I replied. Layne would soon be honored with a memorial, an honorary plaque that would hang in a hall at the school, and there was some paperwork I needed to return. I had decided to return the forms in person. “I would like to visit you then,” I told her.

“My office? I'd love that,” she responded. She rose. “Until next week.”

I stood next to her. “Until then.”

We walked to the front door, I behind Nina, inhaling her fragrance as it swirled in front of me. She left the house, and again, I watched her enter her car and leave my property. I absorbed the quiet, the lifelessness of the house, as I had most days since Layne's passing. I was alone again. Since Jenna had left for school, there had been no one to talk to, no one to laugh with or watch a late-night movie next to on the couch. Mostly, there had been no one to hug or kiss or to satisfy my womanly desires. I felt lonely and in need. I went back for the tote, dug for the journal I had read more than the others, and returned to the family room.

I inserted a CD of old songs that brought back intense childhood memories. It was the music my mother and father would play the evenings he planted a kiss on my mother's cheek over a fist. Sometimes after Grandma went to bed, I'd creep up the back staircase to their unit and watch my mother on her hands and knees while my father thrust into her from behind. Over the music I could hear her scream, but then she'd smile her extraordinary smile, and I was happy. Unlike the usual embarrassment I felt at those particular flashbacks, in that moment I felt only a connection. I felt the rush of their passion—pain masked by frenzied lust. I was indeed my mother and father's child.

Standing next to the couch, I removed my turtleneck and lowered my jeans until I was able to step out of them. I unsnapped my bra, took off my panties, and then released the bun that held my hair together. It fell down my back. I lay on the couch and opened the journal to a page I had folded over. That page began an entry in which Layne documented one of her and Nina's sleaziest, most passionate exchanges. I had read the scene many times, as it had become one of my many favorites.

I envisioned a crowd of men and women surrounding a metal table upon which I lay, my arms bound above my head with chain-link cuffs. I was completely naked, as Layne had been, my legs spread, my moist middle ready for Nina. With my first and second fingers, I patted my stiff, swollen pleasure spot the way Nina had gently swatted Layne with a leather flogger. Layne, skeptical, had doubted Nina's ability to bring her to orgasm in that manner, but Nina, focused and skilled, had proven Layne wrong. Up and down Layne's body, Nina flogged softly and forcefully, bringing Layne to shivers. My hips rose from the couch, my body hungering for Nina's slaps against my breasts, my waist, and my wetness. I screamed at climax, the way Layne had described her own cry of ecstasy, curious if I had become my own sadist, inflicting both pain and pleasure upon myself.

“I never liked her.”

Next to me sat Ms. Sheila, in her early seventies now and still a volunteer at the center. She was expressing her disdain for Layne while we both sat in Jimmy's office the following Wednesday. We had been discussing my wish to leave early for the day so I could go to the university.

Ms. Sheila was a wide-hipped woman who covered her full-figured body with colorful dress-like smocks and sweatpants every day. On her feet she wore white orthopedic-style shoes. Her daily attire was most fitting for a day-care center or nurse intake role. Today she had on a red Mickey Mouse print.

“She always came in here acting so proper and arrogant, like she couldn't stand to touch the table or sit in the chairs, and snubbing everybody, like we were beneath her. Lucky you're a pretty girl, Taryn, or I doubt she would have looked twice at you.”

“Sheila, I think that's enough. A bit inconsiderate, don't you think?” Jimmy squinted his left eye, while the right opened wide into an awkward, intimidating stare behind his glasses, a tactic he artfully used on disruptive kids to quiet them. Ms. Sheila shrugged her meaty shoulders like she didn't care but said nothing further.

“Layne was very good to the center while she served on the board. She was wonderful with Jenna too,” he affirmed. I noticed he had omitted me from his statement. “Thanks for letting me know you're taking off early. Never a problem.”

I stood to leave, and just as I reached the door of his office, he addressed me again. “Taryn, Cassandra called and asked if there was room for the list of kids she gave you to volunteer at next Friday's basketball game. I didn't know you and Pastor Ron had a meeting.” He shot me the exact bullying gaze he had just dished out to Ms. Sheila.

The list. How had I forgotten? After Cassandra gave it to me, I had tossed the piece of paper in the tote bag with Layne's journals and hadn't thought about it again.

“Yes, we had a short meeting Saturday afternoon.”

“On the weekend?”

“Yes. I had come to the center to grab something I forgot in my office when I remembered Ron had mentioned kids volunteering at the game. Because I was on this side of town, I went by the church.”

“I was here Saturday. I didn't see you.” His right eye stretched open even farther.

“Oh, I was in and out so fast.”

“What time?”

“Around one,” I said.

Jimmy acknowledged my lie with a low grunt.

“I'll arrange it all and reach out to Cassandra and let her know there's room for the kids. Thanks,” I said, then hustled out of his office before he could question me further.

I wondered if Jimmy had ever noticed Jenna's resemblance to Ron: their matching brown hue, their stunning reddish-brown eyes, their similar mannerisms, even though Jenna had grown up without Ron's presence. When Jenna laughed, she released the same loud bellow from her belly as her father, and both of them rocked and slapped their right knee when elated. Had Jimmy figured out Jenna was a mini, female replica of Ron?

At my desk, I logged off of my computer and retrieved my purse and keys. As I approached Jimmy's office while exiting from the rear of the center, I overheard him still in conversation with Ms. Sheila, who had remained in his office. I slowed and listened outside his door, where they couldn't see me.

“No matter how you feel about Layne, there's no need to mention this to Taryn,” he told her in a hushed tone.

“I'm telling you, that woman wasn't good enough for Taryn. She may have had all the money in the world, but that don't mean a thing with a hollow soul.”

“It's too late to be bringing this up, don't you think? Let it go, Sheila. We're talking about a dead woman. Let her widow live the rest of her life in peace.”

“Okay, but it's hard to look her in the face these days, knowing what I know.”

“It would be harder if you broke her heart.”

I bit my bottom lip while tears warmed my eyes. How many people knew of Layne's secrets? I wiped my eyes, lifted my chin, and walked past his office.

“See you tomorrow,” I called to both of them, without slowing my strut or glancing inside.

Inside my car, I questioned how Ms. Sheila could possibly have any inside information about Layne's indiscretions. They lived in two different realities, worlds apart. If Ms. Sheila had had information regarding Layne's betrayal while Layne was alive, wouldn't she have told me? We had never been best friends, but we'd been close enough over the years at the center that, I wanted to believe, she wouldn't have knowingly watched my wife betray me. Was I the only one who had been naive about the dynamics of my and Layne's relationship, she the queen, free and reigning, and I her pawn, limited in mobility? What would they think of my actions now if they were aware that I had befriended the woman who had made love to my wife for seven years without my knowledge?

After I parked in a visitor stall inside the university parking structure, I walked past what used to be Layne's assigned space. It had been granted to someone else now, a Ms. Pierce, the sign read, and her conservative Ford Focus rested where Layne's flashy 735i used to sit. It was the place where she and Nina had daring sex right under the nose of campus security and against campus policy.

I walked toward the main campus hall, where both Nina's office and the office of Charles Henry, the faculty dean, were located. Layne's former office was several blocks across the campus, in the English building. It was now my understanding that a couple of times a week, rain or sunshine, one of them would trek to the other's office, where they would either have sex or connect or confirm their evening plans at a secret location. They never sent text messages or e-mails; the only written documentation of their affair lay in Layne's journals.

I was walking down the hallway in the direction of Dean Henry's office when suddenly both he and Nina appeared after exiting another room. They headed toward me, in conversation with one another, leather portfolios in each of their hands, which suggested that they had just left a meeting. The expressions on all three of our faces altered when they saw me. I bit my bottom lip, my worst nervous habit, unsure about whom to greet first. The smile on Nina's face flattened, and the grin on Dean Henry's lips disappeared, flipping to form a sorrowful curve.

“Taryn,” he said as we approached one another. When we stood face-to-face, he reached for my hands, held them in his, and kissed my cheeks. Dean Henry was old. He was fragile and pink faced, with sparse white hair. I imagined that before the wrinkles, in his younger years, he had been handsome. “How are you doing?” His aging blue eyes showed concern.

Nina stood still next to him, fascinating in an azure dress with a squared neckline. Her breasts again sat high, like two ripe apples awaiting my bite.

“I'm okay, Charles. Thank you,” I answered. “I wanted to bring the papers for Layne's memorial to you.” I reached inside my briefcase and handed a manila folder to him. He flipped through the pages quickly, his face dented with wrinkles as he read. He closed the folder.

“Looks good.”

“Layne would be so happy to know the school will be honoring her.”

“Of course. She was one of our best.” His voice cracked. “Did you come all the way down here just to drop these off?” He checked his watch. “Come to my office. Let's chat awhile. This here is Nina Nelson.” He turned to Nina. “I do believe you were a friend of Layne's, correct?”

Nina cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, I did know Layne,” she answered and then looked at me with her hand extended. “I'm so sorry for your loss. . . .” She paused when my hand rested in hers. “Your name again?”

“Taryn. Layne's wife.” I shook her hand hard.

“Come, ladies.” Dean Henry walked in front of me and Nina as he headed into his office. Behind him, she and I glanced at one another briefly before we sat on the love seat near the back of his office, which seemed more like a mini library, with shelves of books and comfortable seating. Dean Henry sat in a matching single chair to my right.

“How are things at the center?” he asked.

“Well, thank you. Seems like we continue to grow with each year, thanks to the support of so many in the community and throughout Chicago.”

“It's been some time since Layne sat on the board, but perhaps the school could make a donation on her behalf.” He opened his portfolio and jotted a note on the yellow pad.

“That's a generous offer. Thank you.”

“It's no problem. Nina, how well did you know Layne? I thought I saw the two of you together from time to time. Or maybe it was this old man's eyesight playing tricks on me.” He gave a throaty chuckle at his corny jest.

Nina responded with an exaggerated laugh, her breasts jiggling. “Oh, Charles, you are a funny guy. About Layne . . . yes, we met years ago and became good friends, and I agree with what you said earlier. She was one of the best.”

I turned my head to Nina, annoyed by her sly implication, and her eyes met mine. She continued talking.

“Layne was incredibly dedicated to the school and to the students. She talked about her love for teaching all the time.”

Charles's head wobbled in agreement. “She would work the longest hours. Her students meant the world to her.”

“She was focused on giving all that she had to what was important to her,” Nina said, chiming in again. “Her late hours . . . You know, she never wanted to leave anyone at the school dissatisfied.”

“You seem to have known Layne well. Funny she never mentioned you to me,” I interjected.

Nina grinned. She appeared happy that I had acquiesced to playing the private game she'd started. She waved my comment off with the flip of her wrist. “I'm certain that wasn't intentional. I mean, why mention a friend at work? There wasn't much to tell.”

“She talked about work at home a lot.” I turned to Charles. “She adored you,” I told him. To Nina, I said, “I know the names of all the people she was close to here at the university, and still, you are unfamiliar.”

“Interesting. Surely, there were no secrets with us,” she teased. “I'm glad you came today. I just remembered there's something of Layne's in my office. It's a pen, one she said she treasured. She left it just before . . .” She paused for emphasis. “Before the accident. Come to my office. I'll give it to you. Charles?”

He waved a hand in our direction. “Oh, sure. You two young ladies go ahead.”

We all stood.

“Again, so good to see you. You'll receive information regarding Layne's memorial from Beth, my assistant, via mail,” Dean Henry told me.

“That sounds great. Thanks,” I said.

“I'll get back to you, Charles, on the meeting we just had,” Nina told him on our way out. “This way, Taryn.”

I followed the heel-to-toe click of Nina's shoes to the end of the hall. Her office was tucked around a corner to our right, cove-like. One would have thought it was a janitor's closet were it not for the nameplate on the door.

The air in her office was warm, despite the swirl of cool air that blew in from the crack of a window. Nina closed the door behind me. Her space had minimal detail. Her walls were sparse, with nothing other than framed accolades in her favor. Behind her petite desk were a few shelves of books. There were no personal pictures of her with family or friends. It was nothing but a bare-bones, polished, crisp, clean work space with one window. Outside, a concrete path less than five feet away connected the buildings to the left and right, and the main atrium stood straight ahead.

“Do you see that woman right there?” Nina asked me.

We stood at the office window while she admired a woman walking across the courtyard. She walked alone, carrying a warm drink in one hand, her smartphone in the other. She was tall, with fluffy, layered blond hair that bounced with each energetic step. She wore black-rimmed glasses perched on a thin nose. Her lips, colored burgundy red, stood out.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Amber. She's the only woman I would have given up everyone for.” Nina turned to face me. “Everyone.”

“By
everyone
you mean Layne?”

Nina turned back to Amber, catching her backside before she entered an adjacent building. “Yes. Remember when I told you I've been in your shoes? I ran miles in them for her. We used to be a couple. We had an undercover, secret relationship, and she refused to come out of the closet, with her family name and all. She gave in to the pressure to settle down and marry, and I didn't know that about three years into our relationship, she began seeing a man. Even when I found out, I stayed with her.” Nina sighed. “Everyone has their weakness, Taryn, and she's mine.”

“Did Layne know about her?”

Nina took a seat behind her desk. “Yes, she knew Amber and I were once a couple.”

“Did the three of you ever . . . ?” I didn't finish my question, afraid of what she might say.

Nina frowned. “No, we didn't. I would never share Amber with anyone else.”

“Layne's gone, so is there any chance the two of you can be together?”

She snorted. “Are you kidding? Charles loves me, but he doesn't love me that much.”

“Excuse me? I don't understand.”

“Amber is Dean Henry's granddaughter.”

“You had a relationship with his granddaughter, and he doesn't know about it?”

Nina shook her head from side to side. “To this day, he has no idea that his cherished Amber is the love of my life.” She fiddled with a lone piece of paper on her desk. I took a seat in front of Nina as she reminisced, her eyes lowered to her desk.

“Amber is the one who introduced me to voyeurism. During our time together we were monogamous, but she loved to watch and be watched. I fell in love with it from my first experience. There's nothing like it. You'll see.”