Waters Fall (19 page)

Nora stood up quickly, something akin to panic beginning to rise up inside of her.

“Isolde?” He sat forward, watching her. “What's up?” He reached for her hand, but she shoved it in her jeans pocket. “Hey. Don’t be like that. Come here, Baby.”

Nora couldn't look at him. If she did, she'd never be able to resist him. His timbered voice, the coaxing hunger in his eyes; he was like the pied piper to her heart, and right now, she needed to use all her untried defenses with him.

He pushed up off the swing and swept her up against him, nuzzling the side of her face with his mouth, whispering gruffly in her ear. “Let’s go inside. I’ll turn down the air conditioner and we can light a fire.”

“Stop it, Tristan.” She put both hands on his chest and shoved, hard. “Stop it!”
What on earth am I doing here?

“Isolde, b
aby. Calm down. You’re hot enough to light a fire yourself. And I think I like it.” He smoothed her hair back, then he cupped her face in his hands. “We're good together, you and I, and that's all that matters. We'll figure the whole kid thing out when it happens. For now, we've got this weekend. Let's not blow it with all this talk about the future.”

Nora stepped back. Her heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt inside her chest.
“I can't do this, Tristan. Suddenly, I can’t do this. I... I need to go.”

He grabbed her hand.
“You always say those words to me, Isolde. Don’t go. Not this time.” He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm
.

22

What if she wasn't here? What if she was? What did
he plan on doing either way?

He pulled into the secured parking structure next door to her building, using the numerical code she'd given him when she first began renting the office there. He was almost surprised when the bar rose, allowing him in, having considered the possibility that she might change her pass code without telling him. He drove slowly through the nearly empty lot, looking for her car.

There it was. Parked right up against the wall, her silver Nissan was nestled in, safe and sound, present and accounted for. Then he saw her, in the front seat, looking over her shoulder, watching him as he drove past the back of her car.

Jake said a few choice words, things his family would be appalled to hear come out of his mouth. He considered looping around again, just to see if she was okay, then thought better of it.

Caught. How would he explain this? He'd seen the look on her face. He knew how she'd interpret his checking up on her. He could already imagine the argument they'd have about this, the accusations, the anger, and it eliminated any relief he had in finding her there.

Go home, man. Just go home. You've done enough.

Jake drove slowly, taking the side streets instead of the shorter route via the freeway. He needed time to think, to process things before defending himself to her. Even though he hadn't admitted it to himself before, he’d believed, deep down, that she had somewhere else to be. Finding her car, and then seeing her in it, had significantly altered the way he was dealing with this night.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, she still was not home. He wasn't surprised, but then, he didn
’t think he’d be surprised at anything anymore. None of it made sense to him. He'd seen the suitcase in her trunk. He understood the convenience of having her mother take the kids overnight without consulting him first. He even thought she'd cleverly taken advantage of his surprise appearance at school in order to orchestrate a fight with him, so she would have an excuse for not coming home tonight.

So why was she where she said she was going to be?

He wanted a drink. He
needed
a drink.

The house was dark, silent, and a little unsettling to come home to after his excursion. He'd eaten out, not wanting to dine alone in the empty silence of their home, went to see the latest spy movie in theaters just to take up time, then drove around in circles, until making the decision to go to her workplace. Now he wished he could rewind things. Why didn't he just go home after the movie? She was probably just getting ready to come home herself when he'd pulled his stupid stunt. Now who knew where she
’d go?

Going through the garage, he schlepped into the family room, dropped down on the oh-so-familiar sofa, and sat there, toying with his keys, for what seemed like ages before he heard the sound of her own key in the lock at the front door. He stayed where he was, sitting there in the shadows, watching as she came in and turned on the entryway light.

Oh yeah. She was angry. Then he took into account the things she was carrying. The strap of the overnight case pulled heavily against her shoulder, and her garment bag was sloppily draped over one arm. She dropped her boots just inside the door, obviously not at all concerned that there might be questions about why she’d had them in her car. They hadn't gone hiking or camping in ages, and they didn’t have any plans to do so in the near future. At least none that he knew of.

He must have made a sound. She glanced up at him, narrowed her eyes, and proceeded to drop the rest of her things in the entry right where she stood.

“Good. I see you've already figured out the sleeping arrangements for the night.” She headed down the hall, slammed their bedroom door behind her, and he could have sworn he heard her drag something heavy up against it.

After several minutes of silence, he got up and crossed over to the heap of her things. She'd obviously had plans of some kind this weekend. He bent over and picked up the garment bag, unzipped it, and peeked inside.

A blazer, a long skirt. His favorite black dress, the one she'd worn when she took him out to tell him she'd landed the Heritage Center contract several few months ago. She'd looked so classy and elegant, so proud of herself, and he'd never thought she looked more beautiful. She'd been distant, even in her obvious happiness, but he'd chalked it up to nerves in anticipation of the job. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Against his better judgment, he opened the small suitcase. He rooted around a little,
then slipped his hand into the zippered pocket on the lid. Cool, slippery fabric met his probing fingertips, and he brought out a fistful of lacy lingerie, things he'd never seen before.

A vile, black emotion reared up inside of him, and with a growl, he upended the whole bag, spilling its contents on the floor. Something in a blue glass jar labeled
“Allure” rolled across the tile and skittered to a stop in the corner. Her things that had been neatly folded and precisely packed, scattered as he pawed through them, trying to find more evidence of his wife’s deception.

He dumped out her bathroom kit, make up and accessories skittering across the floor. A second cobalt container tumbled out and broke, spilling its intoxicating fragrance into the air, something he realized she'd just recently begun wearing. He scooped up a handful of her shirts, bringing them to his nose, smelling the scent over and over again, torturing himself with the suspicion that this new sensual perfume of hers was for someone else's taste, someone else
’s pleasure.

Jake finally stood, his stomach clenching and twisting, and he stumbled back to the sofa. He sat, his face turned away from the mess in the entryway, breathing in through his mouth so he didn
’t have to smell her betrayal. He fought to keep his reaction under control. He clutched the edge of the couch cushions, rocking back and forth, clamping his jaw shut as he tried to hold everything in. But a sob wrenched its way up from his gut, tearing through the band around his throat, and another, then another, until he was weeping, his whole body quaking in the violence of his anguish.

When she emerged from their bedroom just after seven the next morning, he was sitting up, coffee in hand. He watched her as she made her way from the bathroom to the kitchen, passing the pile of her things with only a brief, acknowledging glance. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on one of the stools at the counter.

She looked almost as bad as he did, he thought. Her eyes had dark circles under them, they were puffy and bleary, as though she'd been crying too. Her hair was tangled, there were long, angry marks on one cheek from where she'd lay on creases in the pillowcase, and she still wore the same jeans and top she'd had on when she came home the night before.

“Are you leaving?” He asked.

“Probably.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can figure something out.”

“Have you told the kids?”

“No.”

“I want to be there when you do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” There didn't seem to be anything left to say. Well, maybe one more thing.

“Who is he?”

23

“Who is he?” he asked again when she didn't answer;
louder, more demanding this time.

“It's no one, Jake. There's no one.” Nora didn’t look at him. She just sat on the stool, her ankles crossed, her hands wrapped around the mug on the counter in front of her. She hadn’t even taken a drink. She didn’t look like she was lying this morning.

“So you're not seeing anyone?” Why was he so quick to hope?

“I'm not seeing anyone.” Then she turned lifeless eyes to him and added, “Not anymore.”

Jake felt his heart stop, then suddenly jerk back into action. It pushed up against his throat until he thought he might explode. He leapt up and began pacing the floor.
Not anymore. Not anymore. Not anymore.
Her words throbbed inside his head to the rhythm of his footsteps.

“Stop pacing, Jake. You're making me crazy.”

“Making you crazy?” He stopped marching back and forth and stood, his feet apart, his arms akimbo at his sides. “I’m making
you
crazy?” His voice was trembling with rage. He could hardly believe she was making this about her.

“Don't yell at me.” Even her voice sounded lifeless. She turned away and gazed out a window at the overgrown backyard. He wondered if she noticed that he'd neglected mowing it for a few weeks.

“Stop pacing. Don't yell. Be quiet. All you do is give me orders, Nora. You know what? You have no right to tell me what to do. None, whatsoever. In fact, this is me telling
you
what to do. Get out.” He walked over to her pile of clothes, kicked at a tube of mascara with his bare foot, then bent over and started shoving things back into the suitcase. “I'll even help you pack.”

His hand swept through the lotion that had spilled last night, and he realized too late the broken pieces of glass were still there, too.
“Ouch!” he roared, angry at himself for not paying attention, frustrated that even while trying to be tough, he would appear weak and wounded to her. He carelessly pulled a large blue shard from his palm, then grabbed an item off the top of the pile in her bag, and pressed it against the bleeding wound. The silky fabric of the negligee slithered against his hand, and rather than absorbing his blood, it seemed to repel it. He tossed it away from him, repulsed by the sensation. It made him think of snakes.

Jake looked up and found her watching him from her perch, unresponsive to either his anger or his injury.
“Are you just going to sit there?”

Nora turned away again without answering him.

“Hello! Are you in there?” He raised a fist and knocked his knuckles against an imaginary surface. “What is
wrong
with you, Nora?” He stood up and kicked at the pile of clothes, scattering the things all over the entry again. “How could you do this to us? How
could
you?” Now he really was yelling. His voice broke embarrassingly, and he stormed down the hall toward the bathroom to wash his hands.

More than the blood, he wanted to scrub the stench of her affair off his hands. The sultry fragrance suddenly turned rancid in his nostrils, and he barely made it to the toilet before he started gagging.

He bent over the bowl as everything left from the night before came up, including the coffee he’d been drinking for the last two hours. Even when there was nothing more, his body continued dry-heaving, his hands clutching the vanity on one side and the edge of the bathtub on the other, leaving bloody hand-prints all over the white porcelain. His empty stomach still churned and growled, but straightening, he rinsed his mouth with water from the sink, the coppery tang of his blood mingling with the acid taste in his mouth. Then he slumped to the floor, his back to the wall, and looked down at his palm. For such a little puncture, it sure bled a lot. And hurt a lot. Or maybe it was just the gaping hole in his heart projecting pain to the wound in his hand.

“Oh God, help me. Help me. Help me, Jesus.” They were the only words he could come up with, and he repeated them over and over again. Finally, he stood, washed his hands with soap and hot water, relishing in his pain, taking extra care to make certain he no longer smelled like Nora. Then he cleaned up the bloody prints he’d left all over the tub.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Nora had returned all her things to the suitcase. It stood upright, propped against the open front door, her garment bag folded neatly in half, resting on top. The broken glass and lotion were gone, even the aroma seemed to be dissipating out into the world, although not quickly enough for him. Her boots were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Nora.

Jake could see her car parked in the driveway, so he knew she was still here somewhere. He didn't know whether to look for her, or sit and wait for her to show up again. Apparently, she wasn't going to get out as he had demanded, and he didn
’t know if he had it in him to force her out. He headed down the hall to their bedroom for a change of clothes, but as he pushed open the door, the smell of her perfume assaulted his senses and he felt his stomach roll.

She
’d slept in their bed while her body was drenched in her lover’s stench.

He backed out and pulled the door closed behind him.
He couldn't get away from it.

As he made his way back down the hall, he glanced into the kids' bedrooms. Nora was lying on Leslie's bed on her side, her face turned toward the wall. She didn't act like she was aware of him, but he knew she was. He hadn't made any attempt to walk through the house quietly.

“So does this mean you want to talk now?” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he taunted her from the doorway. “It’s a little late for words, Nor.”

“What's there to talk about?” she responded, not looking at him.

“Um. What's there
not
to talk about? Like what are we going to do with the kids? What are we going to do with the house? What are we going to do about the bills?”

“Really, Jake?
Do we have to hash all this out right now?” She brought her legs up to her stomach, as if the idea of dissecting their lives was repugnant to her. How did she do that so smoothly, turning words around to make the sharp edges point at him? Fine. Then he’d push from the other direction.

“I don't know what we're waiting for. The kids are gone, you're already packed, and we're both here. What better time than now?”

“I'm not going to talk to you about this right now, Jake. I don't think either of us is in any condition to think clearly about our future.” She still didn't look at him.

“I disagree. I really don't know what good waiting will do. Conditions aren't going to change any time soon. Stop making excuses; I'm ready to talk right now.” He wasn't about to let her control how this was going to go down. Right now, he had the upper hand, even if just slightly, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Leave me alone.”

“I will
not
let you off the hook so easily! You don't
get
to make the calls around here anymore. You relinquished that right when you... you... spread your legs for some stranger. Get up and behave like a woman with at least a modicum of decency, even if you have to fake it! Or get out!”

Nora rolled over and pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Fine. I'll go.” She slipped her feet into the fuzzy slippers she'd removed, and stood up. “I have to get a few things, first.” She waited for him to step aside, then she walked by him out of the room.

There was that sickening smell again, and he nearly gagged. His anger surged and he followed her, reaching for her just as she opened the door to their bedroom.

“What is that stuff you reek of?” he snarled, his face so close to hers, he could see the tiny flicker of something—fear?—in her green eyes. He had her pinned against the door, his hands wrapped around her upper arms. “Is that something
he
gave you? Because it makes me want to hurl.”

Nora didn't look away.
“Jo gave it to me.”

“Well it smells like sex. And it makes you smell like a…like a whore.” He leaned forward and sniffed at her neck, and she trembled slightly when he tightened his grip on her arms. His blood was pumping hard, adrenaline surging through him, and he groaned deep in his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her neck, her face, her mouth, roughly, possessively, both angry and terrified at how close to the edge of insanity he felt. “You are mine,” he ground out against her lips. “Mine. And I will not share you.”

He wrapped one arm around her, pinning her arms to her side, and buried the other hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he could have better access to her face. He could taste tears but he didn't know if they were hers or his... and he didn't care.

Whore!
The toxic, black voice growled in his head.

My whore,
he responded, just as blackly
.