The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (8 page)

Miserable, pathetic,
whore!

And then a new fear threatened to derail me—I hadn’t used any contraception.

“NO!”

I wailed out loud, then threw a hand over my mouth. “Shit! SHIT! FUCK!” David grunted but carried on snoring.

I wasn’t on the pill, I had no need; David was as infertile as the Gobi desert. But Sebastian … oh God!

I tried to organize a list of urgent jobs for the morning but all I could think was,
what if I’m pregnant?
For the briefest of moments I imagined an alternate universe where I was the mother of a blond-haired child with eyes the color of the ocean, with a husband who loved me. But that’s all it was: a moment.

Plan B Emergency Contraceptive—that was my priority. At least I could buy it over the counter. I’d have to drive into the city or somewhere I wasn’t known.

How could I be so stupid?

Everything I’d done in the last 12 hours had been lunacy.
What on earth was wrong with me?

I realized belatedly that I’d ironed David’s pants to within an inch of their shiny-ass life. I let the iron cool and tiptoed into the bedroom to lay out the rest of the uniform. David was K-O-ed. I stared down at the man who was my husband, for better or worse. I gazed for so long, my eyes were dry. How curious. I couldn’t put a name to what I felt when I looked at him. Maybe something, maybe nothing. My emotional gauge was running on empty; I think it had been that way for a long time. Until Sebastian … no. Must not think. Must not think like that.

Back in the kitchen I fixed myself a coffee which I didn’t drink, and waited solemnly for dawn.

As the sun’s first light filtered weakly through the windows, I had resolved nothing. Go or stay? Stay or go? The devil I knew or the deep blue sea? Go or stay? Stay or go? Endlessly repeated through the torpor of my mind.

The doleful ring of the bedside alarm made me jump. David snorted awake, and I hurried to make breakfast. He liked it hot and greasy after a bender. Luckily, yesterday’s sprint to the store had furnished the refrigerator with bacon and maple syrup. I whipped up some pancake mix and put a dab of oil in the pan.

He arrived at the breakfast table with military precision and in a full-on sulk.

“Nice to see some food for a change,” he muttered.

“How many pancakes do you want?”

“Two.”

Silently I served him the guilty-wife special: three pieces of bacon, two eggs sunny-side up, two pancakes, syrup on the side and coffee.

“This plate’s cold.”

“You want me to heat it up?”

“I haven’t got time for that. Christ, Caroline! Can’t you do anything right?”

No. Probably not.

He left the house without a word. I wondered how long his sulk would last—nine days was the record.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that Sebastian would probably come looking for me once he was
sure David had gone to work. I knew it was cowardly and unfair, and I was
supposed
to be the adult—but I just couldn’t face him.

I showered on the double and ran out of the house without bothering to dry my hair, scooping up my notebook from the hall table as I passed. I couldn’t say why—perhaps some atavistic memory of needing to write, from a time when life was simple.

As I drove away, I refused to look in the rear-view mirror. I had an almost superstitious belief that if I looked, Sebastian would appear. Cowardly to the last, it seemed.

I was ridiculously grateful to find an out-of-town mall with a drugstore sign in cheerful neon, the ‘Good Morning Pharmacy’.
Not for me.

The woman serving was sympathetic until she happened to see my wedding ring; then the shutters of disapproval came crashing down and I slunk out, clasping my paper bag.

I hunted for a coffee shop and sat hunched in the corner to order a double espresso and a glass of water.

The Plan B Emergency Contraceptive packaging scolded:

‘Side effects may include changes in your period, nausea, lower abdominal pain, fatigue, headache and dizziness.’

I don’t care! Just don’t let me be pregnant!

I swallowed the pill quickly, then tore up the packaging into postage stamp-sized pieces. My hands were shaking as I sipped the espresso. I probably looked like another caffeine junkie after my fix.

I had to find a way to channel the flurry of half-formed thoughts that gushed through me. Eventually I pulled out my notepad, trying to make sense of the scrawled words and phrases. Working slowly and carefully, I started to plan my article. It felt important, somehow, that of the complete fuck-up I’d made of my life, that I do this one thing well.

I realized I’d been working for over an hour when the irritated waitress asked me if I wanted anything else.

Yes, a life!
Oddly enough, that’s not something waitresses served up on a regular basis. I removed myself from her baleful gaze, leaving a larger than deserved tip.
Coward.

I hid in my car and wondered what to do next. If I went home, I knew Sebastian would be waiting for me. I didn’t know what to say, and I was afraid of how much more damage I’d done.

“Are you all right, miss?”

A worried looking man in a Padres baseball cap knocked on my car window, making me jump.

I wound the window down halfway.

“Oh, thank you. I’m fine, really.”

“You were sitting there for so long I was starting to get worried. You sure you’re okay?”

What was it about the kindness of strangers that made me want to weep?

“I’ve just got a few things on my mind, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for your concern. That was very sweet of you.”

He nodded, smiled uncertainly and ambled off.

The car engine started with a roar, and I was soothed by the familiar grating sound the gear shift made as I reversed out of the parking space. I drove without a destination, idly wondering what problems troubled other drivers locked in their glass and metal worlds, individual and isolated. Were they pondering the meaning of life, itemizing shopping lists in their heads, or simply idling in traffic, minds full of happy non-thoughts?

The June gloom of early morning had given way to hazy sunshine as I found myself driving along a quiet stretch of Pacific coast. It seemed as good a place as any to brood. The air was mild and a light breeze stirred the stubby grass that tried to maintain a foothold among the dunes.

I kicked off my sandals and felt the fine grit beneath my toes. My thoughts turned inward as I wrapped my arms around my knees and gazed out toward the ocean. Had I reached a turning point in my life, or was this merely a blip on a long and bleak horizon? Was leaping from a failed relationship to a doomed one the most sensible action for a woman of thirty? Rationally, no. But the feel of Sebastian’s body against mine, inside mine; his sweetness, his gentleness. Could I really say that meant nothing? Were those feelings so abundant in my life that I could count them worthless?

The only real love I’d known in my life had been from my dear, chaotic father. Sebastian hadn’t even had that. He was hungry for love.

Could I help him? Answer: I couldn’t. I would only hold him back from all the wonderful things he deserved from life. So I had to let him go.

But where did that leave me? Contemplating leaving everything I had ever known because of one ill-advised hour of passionate lunacy. If I left David, I was well aware I would have nothing, not even my reputation. I had never lived on my own, never lived on what I could earn, never lived without the say-so of someone else. The unknowingness was terrifying.

I sat and stared until I realized with vague surprise that the shadows were beginning to lengthen around me.

I unclamped my hands and stood up stiffly, watching with fascination as blood flowed back toward my white knuckles. I’d wasted a whole day and resolved little—except that Sebastian deserved better than me.

Dread settled like a toad in my stomach. I didn’t know how I could face David after what I’d done. I’d got away with it in so far as he hadn’t caught us, caught me, last night, but I’d never kept a secret from him before—I had no idea how I was going to start. How could I school my face to stone in the next 30 minutes?

I made it home shortly before six, his usual home-time, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed that the house stood silent, untroubled by either friendly or malign presence.

I threw myself into cooking: spaghetti alla puttanesca—tomatoes, olives, chili pepper, capers, garlic. It seemed appropriate—the Whore’s Spaghetti. Odd to think I’d planned that meal yesterday, when I was still an honest wife.

Hearing David’s car in the driveway brought me sharply back to the present.

Set the table. Place the napkins. Open his beer. Pour it in a glass. Wash the salad. Act normal
.

“Hi, supper is nearly ready,” I said as brightly as I could manage, my voice sounding shrill and insincere to my ears.

He ignored me entirely. Oh, of course, he was still sulking. That made things easier.

We ate in silence. I cleared the plates without a word. He retired to his study. Not a syllable had passed our lips.

I was grateful to him. It made things so much simpler.

To my bemusement, I was able to concentrate on writing up my surfing story that I hoped
City Beat
would publish. The words flowed and it was therapeutic to spend the evening in a happier place.

At 11
pm
, David exited his study and headed for the bedroom.
I wish I’d remembered to wash the sheets today. Whore.

I observed dispassionately that he deliberately balled up his clothes and flung them onto my side of the bed, knowing I’d have to get up early to press the pants—again.

He returned from the bathroom marching with stiff, military precision in his ironed PJs. I had an almost irresistible urge to laugh.

The sheets were thrown back with disdain and he turned sharply, hauling the bedspread onto his side. How marvelously childish.

Smiling to myself, I slid between the sheets and dared myself to feel hopeful.

By morning I knew I couldn’t put off facing Sebastian any longer. I suspected that if I waited at home long enough, he’d appear. I probably had a few minutes to dash to the store to buy milk, vegetables and candy.

I didn’t linger over my purchases, but even so, when I turned into the driveway, there he was, sitting huddled in my porch. At least he was hidden from the road.

My stomach flipped over.

His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he went to stand. I shook my head quickly and luckily he understood.

As soon as I opened the door, he slid inside unobtrusively. I still hadn’t planned what I was going to say to him. I wasn’t even sure it was possible to plan.

We stood looking at each other, the door unyielding against my back.

“Are you okay?” he said at last.

I nodded slowly. “I guess. You?”

“I … I had to see you.”

“Come in,” I said, somewhat reluctantly, pointing to the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”

He shook his head.

This was harder than I’d expected and I’d barely said a word. I sank into a kitchen chair while he continued to stand.

“I tried to see you yesterday. What happened after I went? Was it … okay?”

His voice was low, hesitant.

“David didn’t suspect, if that’s what you mean.”

By contrast my voice was unnecessarily harsh.

Sebastian’s eyes reflected his hurt.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said coldly.

You can do this. You can let him go
.

“Caroline…”

“What?”

He took a deep breath.

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since...” His words came out in a rush. “We can go back east if you like, wherever you want. I can get a job.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“We can be together,” he whispered. “Forever.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; instead I continued to sit and stare.

“Caro?”

Caro? Oh, I liked that … what a lovely dream.

“Caro!” he said, sounding panicked.

But just a dream.

I sat at the table and rested my head in my hands. This wasn’t what I’d expected; it certainly wasn’t how I’d planned the course of the conversation. Where was my resolve to end this?

I heard a chair scrape across the floor and he sat down next to me.

His beautiful face, so earnest, was just inches from mine. I straightened up and looked at him directly.

“Sebastian: I think you’re very sweet but…”

He cringed as if I’d slapped him.

“Give me a chance—I know we can make it work, Caro.”

“No, we can’t. You’re only 17 … I could be arrested. I
should
be arrested! No, listen to me: the other night was…” I hesitated, unable to find the right word. “But the point is, it was wrong.”