chapter
6
Coffee. That’s exactly what I needed to help with this never-ending hangover. So, after taking the elevator, I headed to the Starbucks in the lobby. I didn’t bother looking at the menu and was about to order my usual Cafe Vanilla Mocha, but then I decided I needed a plain black coffee.
I had just given the barista my order when I heard, “When I said let’s meet for coffee, I didn’t know it would be this soon.”
I turned around to see Wilson standing there with a smile on his face. I immediately wished I had made coffee in my room.
“Hi,” I said.
“Good afternoon,” he replied. “How are you today?”
The barista handed me my coffee and I thanked her and turned back to Wilson, my gaze shifting in shame. How did you look a man you’d almost had a one-night stand with in the eye?
“Better now,” I said, holding up the coffee. When it was obvious he wasn’t moving, I said, to say something, “So, I see you are still here.”
“Actually, I’m about to head out. Since I couldn’t get out the other night, I stayed an extra day to take care of some business. But the roads have cleared up and I need to get on back home. Gotta make up for missing my daughter’s recital. I’m going to take her to dinner and to get her nails done.”
“Sounds like fun. How old is she?”
“Twelve. My other two kids are grown. But my daughter lives with her mother, so I don’t get to spend as much time as I would like with her.”
We stepped out of the way to let the person behind us order, then stood in an uncomfortable silence for another moment before I said, “About the other night . . .”
He held up his hand. “Hey, I told you, no need for an explanation. I completely understand. Were you headed back to your room, or do you want to sit and talk over coffee?”
Because of what I had done, I really wanted to disappear. But something about Wilson’s warm demeanor put me at ease. And since he was divorced, I wanted to talk to him about that process.
Wilson ordered his own cup of coffee, and we took a seat at a table in the corner.
“So, let’s address the elephant in the room,” he began. “I completely understand about the other night. I don’t think you’re the type of woman who randomly takes men to her hotel room, or else the night would have ended differently.” He flashed that Colgate smile. “But I do think you are going through some issues and it might help to talk about it.”
“With a perfect stranger?” I said, giving a one-sided smile.
“Sometimes a stranger is perfect. Especially a stranger who has been through what you’ve been through.”
I nodded, and before I knew it, I was saying, “So, you cheated on your wife?”
“Why do you automatically assume that it was me who did the cheating?” He chuckled.
My face filled with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He smiled to put me at ease. “But you’re right. It was me. The worst thing I ever did in my life. I loved her like crazy. And had my wife given me another chance, I would have spent the rest of my life making it up to her.”
“Wow,” I said, hesitating as I weighed my next words. “So, can you be honest? Why would you cheat on your wife when you”—I made air quotes—“ ‘loved her like crazy’?”
He shrugged, not fazed by my sarcasm. “Why do men cheat? Dumb. Not thinking. It wasn’t even a case of thinking the grass was greener, because I knew it wasn’t. I just took a stupid risk. Of course, I could list all the things my wife didn’t do, but that list would be short. In fact, my list of shortcomings would probably be twice as long. My wife didn’t do anything to drive me away. She kept the house. She worked. She didn’t nag. She didn’t withhold sex. She was still beautiful. She was everything I wanted.”
I cocked my head and pursed my lips. “And yet . . . still you cheated?”
He shrugged his right shoulder as he took a sip of his coffee. “Cheating for some men isn’t as complicated as women think it is. Lots of women make it about themselves. And most of the time it has nothing to do with the woman.”
“That sounds like a cop-out,” I told him.
“It may be, but it’s the truth.” He leaned forward. The smell of his cologne tickled my nose. Everything about this man was sexy. Maybe I would use his number after my divorce was final.
“But let me be clear,” he continued. “I’m not justifying cheating in any shape, form, or fashion. It’s just the reality. Oftentimes, a man cheating on you is not a reflection on you. Sometimes we just do dumb stuff.”
“What about when he cheats with someone you know?” I found myself saying.
“Whoa,” he said, leaning back.
I nodded. “Exactly. She was his best friend’s wife and a dear friend to the family.”
“Wow. And his best friend hasn’t put him in the hospital?” Wilson asked.
An image of Rob popped into my head. I couldn’t even imagine how hurt he would be about this. “No. His best friend died a few months ago. Dawn—his wife—was supposedly heartbroken. I guess in the midst of their”—I made the air quotes again—“ ‘grief,’ they found their way into each other’s bed.”
“Oh,” he said. He took another sip, nodding like he was thinking. “Well, I know it’s wrong and I know it hurts, but I wouldn’t put a lot of stake in that. People always say men are physical and women are emotional. But I think a lot of people don’t realize that men can be emotional as well. I think, based on what you just said, the two of them were just in an emotional place.”
“So then they cry on each other’s shoulder. They don’t have sex,” I snapped.
He raised his hands in innocence. “Hey. I can’t defend the guy. All I can tell you is that I messed up the best thing that ever happened to me. And I regret it. I’ll go to my grave regretting it. People do dumb things. They . . . we make bad decisions. Is it possible that he just made a horrible mistake and that ‘once a cheater, always a cheater’ philosophy is a bunch of bull?” He paused, giving his words time to sink in. “Has he done it before?” he asked when I didn’t answer.
“No, not to my knowledge,” I said. I don’t know why, but I believed with all my heart that Clark wasn’t a serial cheater.
“Do you think he’ll do it again?” Wilson asked.
I was pensive for a moment, then said, “I mean, I’d like to say no, but I never thought he would do it in the first place.”
Silence momentarily filled the air. Then, “Has he been trying to contact you?”
“Nonstop.”
The sincerity on his face was touching. “My gut is on you don’t have to worry about this again. You guys have been married how long?”
“Twelve years,” I said.
“Have there been any unusual phone calls? Any clandestine meetings or unexplained disappearances? Any indications at all that he’s a serial cheater?”
“No,” I replied without hesitation. Because there hadn’t been. Or maybe I’d been too blind to see them.
“Serial cheaters usually leave some type of sign.”
“Okay. So what if it was his first time? It doesn’t excuse anything.”
“I’m not saying it does. I’m just saying right now you’re in an emotional place, and the last thing you need to do is make a decision based on that emotion.”
I smiled. On top of being handsome and undeniably sexy, Wilson was a thoughtful and wise man. “You’re just full of wisdom,” I told him.
“I graduated magna cum laude from the School of Hard Knocks,” he replied.
“Well, your next wife will be a very lucky woman,” I said.
“I don’t want a next wife. I want my last wife.” He shrugged. “But it is what it is. The good thing is, she’s forgiven me.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “Maybe there’s a chance you’ll reunite.”
He shook his head. “Nah, because she reminds me constantly that even forgiven sins have consequences. And this is the consequence. I have to watch her move on with someone else. While I was watering someone else’s grass, someone else was watering mine.”
I smiled. “That should be a blues song.”
“It probably is.”
“So, she wouldn’t take you back because she’d found another man?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Of course, that’s what I wanted to convince myself of. But I found some emails. Though he was there for her while I was doing my thing, she remained committed to me. Until she made the decision to finally leave. Even then she would only be friends with him until months after our divorce was finalized.”
The way he talked about his ex-wife made my heart ache. There was no doubt that he still truly loved her.
“The bottom line is, she’s found someone and is very happy. Are you ready for that?” he asked me.
I thought about it. I knew the answer to that was a resounding no. This hurt enough. Imagining Clark building a life with someone else tore at my insides.
“So I should stay with someone that hurt me just because I can’t envision him moving on?”
“Absolutely not,” Wilson replied. “You should stay with him because you love him.” Seeing his cup was empty, he stood. “I need to hit the road. Baby girl awaits. It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Savannah.” He took my hand and gently kissed it. “When I left you the other night, I hoped we would meet again, perhaps hook up and finish what we started. Right now, I just hope you work things out with your husband because I see it in your eyes. The love you have for him is real. Don’t let something like that get away. One mistake does not define a man.” He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “You take care of yourself.”
He left me to simmer in his words.
+ + +
Wilson had been gone almost an hour. My coffee was now lukewarm. And I was still sitting in the coffee shop thinking about his words.
I could throw around the d-word all I wanted, but Wilson was right—I loved my husband. But as my mind drifted back to my friendship with Dawn and Rob, I couldn’t help but wonder if that love was enough to weather this storm.
My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts, and that’s when I noticed the alert that my voice mail was full. I’d only brought the phone with me because my plan had been to call and check in with my job. I opened the visual voice mail and scanned the numbers. Most of the messages were from Clark, and I deleted them without listening. But I paused when I recognized one of the numbers as one of my sources’. I pressed the voice mail icon to listen.
“Hey, Savannah,” the voice began. “This is Richard Carthage, give me a call ASAP. It’s major.”
The journalist in me pushed the heartbroken wife aside and quickly dialed his number.