Trouble Won't Wait (7 page)

“I’m not going anywhere, Mandy.” He must see my fear, because he lowers his voice. “I’ll wait for you. It just makes me crazy to think of him touching you, when I want to. We haven’t known each other long enough to call it more, but I’m crazy about you, okay?” He must be worried he’s freaked me out. “I’m not normally crazy, just for you.”

I smile at him, tentatively at first, until he’s relieved and those dimples come out.

“I thought of you ’til
dawn
,” he admits, and we laugh.

I wish he could hug me. I wish I could follow him into his house for dinner again. He said he’d wait, but Lord, I don’t want to. I want to spend every minute with him, getting to know everything about him. Where was his mind going until dawn? Looking at him, I have a pretty good idea it was the same place as mine.

A hearse comes in the gate, making it a good idea for us to split. Chances are, I know at least a couple of people in the procession. I move a step away from him as we walk toward the street.

“Tomorrow?” I ask. When he nods, I wave. “See ya, Ferris.”

* * * *

Mike is waiting for me when I get home. He wants to go to dinner and a movie. I’d prefer to hole up downstairs, but have a feeling I’ll get another emotional show if I don’t agree. I acquiesce, and he pulls out all the stops, dressing in his khakis and a shirt with
buttons
. He takes me to my all-time favorite restaurant, a little Italian hole-in-the-wall in Glenwood Springs, and orders their best bottle of wine. He toasts “to us,” but I say nothing.

We talk about stuff happening around town, the kids, and what to get them for Christmas. Looking at him, sharing our easy conversation, I can see he still loves me. And I hate him for making me not love him like that anymore. Besides, he wouldn’t forgive me if I had cheated.

As the wine softens my mood, I let myself imagine forgetting, forgiving this whole thing. Falling into Mike’s loving arms, letting him build my love back up–

The image of him and Lana superimposes on my fantasy, and I choke on my wine. I should kick his shins under the table.

When he mentions something about “Grand Junction,” and “tomorrow,” I remember the annual family get-together his grandmother hosts. I’m
not
going. “We can go by the mall so you can show me what you want for Christmas. Maybe something from Kay.” It’s good I’m mad right now. Anger will make this easy.

“I’m not going to Grand Junction.”

His mouth drops open. “I’d really like you to pick out a ring for your right hand, or maybe a new watch. Anything you want, baby.” He thinks I’ll cave because he called me
baby
. It has worked in the past.

“You won’t buy my forgiveness,” I tell him coldly. That
is
cold, because he’s always been generous with his gifts for me. He’s never forgotten a birthday or an anniversary. He just forgot to keep his dick in his pants. “And I’m sick of running interference with your family fights. Tell them I’m ill and I couldn’t make it.”

Mike glares at me suspiciously. “You said you’d go to counseling. You said you’d try to make this work!”

I’m the one breaking promises? I shake my head. “I agreed to the counseling, that’s all. You don’t want me around your family when I’m this angry with you, Michael.”

He mulls over my warning, a subtle threat: The Indiscretion may become common knowledge within his family if he forces me into this. His eyes close for a minute. Knuckles go white on his fists as he realizes I have him against a wall, then he gets his calm back.

“Okay, baby. Anything.” That sounded about as insincere as his compliments earlier, but he gets an
E
for effort in keeping his mouth shut for once.

The movie goes well–he chose a romantic comedy. He’s always enjoyed what most guys would term chick flicks, though we keep this a covert pleasure none of his macho friends are aware of. At one point I realize his arm is around me, and I didn’t even notice when he put it there. It doesn’t give me the shivers, so I leave it alone. When his hand moves up to stroke my neck, however, I squirm away.
Dummy. Just had to take it too far, didn’t ya?

We have another confrontation at home when he learns I’m not returning to our bed. He’s wounded, but I don’t really care. “Maybe if you didn’t hold out on me all the time, I wouldn’t have had to go looking for a replacement,” he mumbles.

“I seem to recall we made wild whoopee just two hours before I found you mounting the town slut,” I remind him. Ass. “I’m not interested in catching any diseases she’s hosting, and since I got such a terrific view, I know for certain that you weren’t using latex when you went playing in the petri dish. You really should go get tested.” I swipe my pillows from the bed and tromp downstairs, as far from him and my memories as possible.

Staring at the ceiling in the spare bed, I can’t help wishing I was watching stand-up comedy with Adam.

Chapter 4

In the morning, I sleep in and go upstairs to find Mike has gone, but he’s left me something: Two dozen red roses, with the sappiest love card ever.

How long will he keep trying to win me back? I hope he gets tired of it soon. This
hurts
, being reminded how much he loved me. How much he still does. I dial Aunt Clara.

“Hello?” she answers. She doesn’t go to church like most old people. I think she quit when her husband died.

“Hi, Aunt Clara. It’s me, Mandy.”

“Amanda. Did ya kick him out?”

“It’s a long story. I told him I’m finished but he talked me into a month of counseling, which I was okay with, since it’s the holidays. But he keeps trying to make up with me. Dinner, and flowers, and jewelry.”

“Of course he does, he knows which side his bread is buttered on.”

“It hurts, Aunt Clara. He still loves me. He’s been good to me…”

“Was he bein’ good to you when he was with the other woman?” When I take too long to answer, she pretends I said what she wanted. “Didn’t think so. A month, is it? I reckon he’ll show his true colors in that time. If he’s truly sorry, he’ll be just as sorry in a month as he is now.”

God, I can’t imagine a month of him bombarding me with apologies and proclamations of love. “Thanks, Aunt Clara. It all makes sense when you say it.”

“Ffff! It’s high time somebody recognizes that we old women know what we’re talkin’ about! You ring me anytime you need to, honey. We have a birthday party down to the lunch hall today. I need to go make sure those old putzes set it up right. Bye.”

I hang up and look at the roses and the card. Mike signed his name on the card, but wrote nothing more. So all of the words were someone else’s. Still, he did go to town and buy the stuff. The thought was there, and the effort. Jesus, it makes me feel like drinking again.

I wonder what my mom is up to.

My parents have a winter home just outside of Phoenix, and I consider calling her. Don’t think I’ll be telling her about my divorce until I have to, though. My parents are still married after all these years, and I feel like a failure already. I know this is on Mike, but if I truly wanted to make it work, I would. Right?

Hmm. Another long day with my family gone.

Christmas cards it is. I put on the holiday music and try to write some personal, positive blurb in each card, before tucking in photos of the kids and the newsletter.

The phone rings. It’s Brad.

I answer, “Hey.”

“Hey, good lookin’! Just callin’ to see if you guys wanted to come watch the game later.”

I close my eyes. Of course, Brad is still clueless about The Indiscretion. He should know his friend and his girlfriend double-crossed him, but I can’t bring myself to break it to him.

“Umm, I’m kinda playin’ hooky from Mike’s big family thing in Junction today.”

“Are ya sick? Cough due to cold? Nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy head?”

Leave it to Brad to get me laughing at a time like this. He’s our funniest friend and it’s really going to suck if I don’t get to see him anymore. Although, why would he choose Mike over me as a friend, if he finds out about Mike and Lana?

Winding down on a chuckle, I reply, “More like nausea due to in-laws.”

“You should come over then. Kick back.” I’m not much of a football person, as he knows. “You could just hang out, I’ve still got some Mikes in my fridge with your name on them. Lana will be here.”

Ding, ding, ding! Magic word.

“Uh, Brad, Lana and I aren’t exactly bosom buddies anymore.”

“Oooh, a girl fight! Can I watch? What’s happenin’?”

“Maybe you should ask her. Oops, I have another call comin’ in, but thanks for the invite!”

Damn, he’s probably gonna hate me later when he finds out what I’ve been keeping from him this whole time, but I can’t tell him. He’d break up with Lana and then it’d be all over town, and what if the kids heard about it? I can feel my heartbeat getting faster, and my breathing, too. Is this the start of a panic attack?

It’s way early for my walk, but I need to be in motion. If I don’t see Adam, I’ll walk back down there later.

The churches are all full while I walk past, feeling like a heathen partly because I don’t attend or even claim membership in one of them, but mostly because I’m hoping to see a certain man who’s not my husband. Oh, the disgrace of it all! I’m sin with legs, walking by. Inside, people must be sitting in pews, their attention wandering out the windows, watching me move past. I’d like to run, but I’m terrified I’d trip with such an audience.

I feel awful about keeping Brad in the dark. He’s one of the happiest guys I know, always ready to cheer up anybody who needs it. At least three women I know are waiting in the wings for him to be finished with Lana. Besides being a great guy to be around, Brad is good-looking in a non-traditional way. With auburn hair, green eyes and gorgeous, flawless skin, he looks like he belongs in a Ralph Lauren ad. My conscience tells me I should enlighten him about Lana so he can move on to someone worthy of him. Still, I don’t want him to dump her and have the reason get around town. Whether or not Mike and I divorce, our kids sure don’t need to know their dad did something so lousy.

* * * *

When I get to Adam’s, I don’t see his company truck. He must be working still. Bummer. Maybe it’s only a half-day for him, and if I dawdle… No, that’s lame. I’ll go home, walk back down later. For once, I’ll be showered and dressed in regular clothes instead of sweaty and wearing workout clothes. With that idea, I pick up the pace and hurry toward my house.

I’m turning the corner of my street when a vehicle honks behind me. I turn to see Adam’s work truck zoom curbside next to me.

My heart trips. I open the passenger door, smiling, and he looks, well…different. “Hey,” I chirp.

His face is red. What’s got him riled? When he sees my smile, he seems to loosen up.

“I’m gonna go home and change, then I’ll be back by.”

He nods, closing his eyes just longer than a blink. Did he think I was avoiding him, that I didn’t want to see him? Maybe he thought I made up with Mike.

“Don’t worry,” I say, making eye contact and leaning into the truck as close to him as I can and still maintain propriety. “I had to get outta the house earlier today, is all.”

“You want a ride the rest of the way?”

“No thanks.” I don’t need the neighbors to see me driving up in broad daylight with him. “I’ll be there in an hour,” I promise, then shut the door and jog away.
Let him watch me go, if he likes it so
.

* * * *

Snow is falling when I’m ready to go see Adam. I consider walking, but decide to drive this time. His is a circle drive set back from the road and shielded some by trees, so it’s unlikely anyone will recognize my Durango from the street. I won’t be there long anyway. Or so I tell myself.

Adam takes a minute to look me over from head to toe when he opens his door. It makes my heart race, like everything he does. I know I look different,
better
, in my street clothes. Since I lost weight and started paying more attention to my appearance, I discovered boot-cut jeans, dark ones, are very slimming. The waist on these is lower than my old mom jeans, and they’re stretchy, so my butt is positively perky in them.

Add the heels on my clogs, and I feel a good foot taller than in my running clothes. A real bra does much more for me than my sport bra uniboob look. Even after nursing two babies, the girls are still good-sized, if they do need a little more support than before. That’s why they call it a Miracle bra, right? I’m wearing a fitted red button-up shirt which flares a little to accentuate my waist, and I’m feelin’ fine. A little cleavage is showing, and my makeup hasn’t sweated off like it usually has when Adam sees me. My hair is styled instead of twisted up in my workout ponytail.

The way he stares tells me I look as good as I feel.

Guilt splashes my confidence like cold water in the face. I shouldn’t be coming here like this, tempting us both. What the hell is wrong with me? What is this magnetism that makes me need to see him every day?

Adam steps aside to let me come in, and when my arm brushes his going past, I swear I can feel an electric shock. He closes the door and looks at me awhile, as if deciding how to proceed. At last, right hand open near his shoulder, he says, “Scout’s honor,” and I laugh.