Chapter 04
“Valentine’s Day is the pimple on the ass of the year.”
My patient’s blunt statement made me laugh. I know her well enough to understand she was using humor to cover up insecurity, but that didn’t matter. What she said was funny, anyway.
“Why do you say that, Elle?” I poured us both another cup of tea.
“It’s a martyr’s holiday.” She added sugar and cream to her cup.
Sometimes, patients are ashamed of me, or rather, their need to see me. Sometimes they embrace me so fully it compromises our working relationship. Elle, whom I found to be bright, funny and compassionate, had managed to strike the perfect medium. We were friendly but not quite friends—with friends the sharing of trouble goes both ways and with us it was necessarily one-sided. Still, our sessions had taken on the tone of two girlfriends chatting, rather than of a doctor counseling a patient. It showed me she was comfortable with me. It had taken her a long time.
I added lemon to my cup. “Ah, yes. Poor St. Valentine. But it’s not that anymore.”
She sipped and gave me a familiar raised eyebrow. “Sure it is. The search for the perfect gift? The despair if you don’t get just the right thing? The depression of not having someone to buy for, or having someone to buy for but not the person you want.”
“I’m sensing some anxiety over Valentine’s Day.” How easily I put on the doctor’s cap. Girlfriends or not, Elle was there to talk, and I to listen. She didn’t always take my advice but then, not all of it was good.
The way she tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair meant what I’d said was true, but I didn’t push. Some of my colleagues favor a more antagonistic approach, call my methods the “soft and fuzzy” school of psychology. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I can only do my best.
“I do love him.” She spoke low, but not hesitant. “It’s not that I don’t.”
A year before she wouldn’t have admitted that much. I offered a smile. “So then, what is it? You’re afraid to buy him something?”
“It’s so much pressure.” Elle shrugged and spun her spoon around in the cup. “And I think…I think he’s going to make this a big one.”
“More than flowers and candy, you mean.”
She nodded, her face shadowed. “Yeah. I think so.”
“We’ve talked about this.” I sipped my tea, watching her. “How relationships grow. It’s part of change.”
She laughed, ruefully. “I know. Dr. Danning, I know that.”
I knew she did. Elle had been with her boyfriend for over a year. She danced around the idea of marrying him and having children, of making what she called a real life. She had other issues, bigger ones, but it all came back to that in the end. Marriage and children, whether she could take what he offered her or not, whether the past had any right to influence her future any longer. She’d come a long way in the year she’d been seeing me, but sometimes it’s the sunshine that frightens us more than the big black shadows.
“It’s just hard.” She sounded ashamed. “It shouldn’t be. He makes it so easy. But it’s hard, anyway. Even when I fight with him, he just comes back with something so perfect I can’t chase him away.”
“Do you really want to?”
She sighed. “No. But do you know how hard it is to be with someone who’s perfect?”
“Nobody’s perfect, Elle.”
She gave me a look. “Some are more perfect than others, Dr. Danning.”
I laughed a bit. “Yes, that’s true.”
She stirred her cup as if she could dissolve her troubles the way she dissolved the sugar in the tea. “I keep thinking…”
“Yes?” I asked, when waiting for her to continue failed to prompt her into speaking.
“What if he’s the last man I’ll ever sleep with for the rest of my life?”
I fussed with my own tea to create distance from a question that hit too close to home. “Would that be so awful?”
Elle put her cup on the edge of my desk and rubbed the arms of her chair, her face angled away from mine. “No?”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
The look she gave me was pure, vintage Elle Kavanagh, stubborn and self-effacing with a hint of snark. “I anticipate the rest of my life being a very long time.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I told her, and we both laughed.
“I don’t want to cheat on Dan. But I’m afraid I might. Just because.”
“Those things don’t happen by accident.”
She seemed chastened by my sterner than usual tone. “I know.”
I studied her before saying, “The offer still stands, if you want it.”
She looked up. “See both of us. I know.”
“Dan’s a wonderful man and he’s been good for you. You know putting the onus of your happiness on someone else isn’t healthy. But neither is refusing to allow someone to help you gain it.”
“I know, I know, I know!” She groaned, tipping back her head. She grimaced. “Bleah! I know! Stupid fucking Valentine’s Day!”
“Maybe you’re getting yourself too worked up. What are you doing for him?”
She straightened in her chair. “Heart-shaped meatloaf. With asparagus. And some sex.”
I meant to answer right away, but sudden immobility stifled my words. I filled my cup with tea. I didn’t want to cover the fact I couldn’t speak. The teapot rattled against the cup and I had to force my hands to steady.
I envied her. Fiercely. Suddenly. Horribly. I envied Elle for her meatloaf and plans for lovemaking to celebrate a holiday she hated. I envied her fear that she had something to lose.
“Dr. Danning?”
I put on the doctor mask. I owed her that. We might laugh and drink tea, and I might be privy to her deepest, darkest secrets, but we were not friends.
“It sounds lovely. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”
She nodded, slowly. “Yes. I think so.”
“And whatever happens after, Elle, remember that he’s doing it because he loves you. And it’s all right for you to love him back.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d cried in front of me, but this time her tears made my own throat close in sympathy. Or perhaps I wanted to weep for myself, and not with compassion for her. Either way, when I handed her the box of tissues, I took one for myself, too.
“When does it stop?” she asked, as though I had all the answers.
“I don’t know, Elle. I wish I did.”
It wasn’t the first time I didn’t give her the answer she was looking for, but it was the first time I felt I’d failed her.
When did it stop? That was the question of the day. When did the fear go away, when would I stop longing, when would I cease wanting something that was wrong?
It was easy for me to sit in my doctor’s chair and counsel Elle not to cheat on her lover, but what right did I have to be so smug? I could give my patients advice but couldn’t take it from myself. If I’d been in front of me, I’d have counseled myself to understand that my feelings were normal and natural. That my marriage had undergone tremendous strain and changes because of Adam’s disability. That wanting and missing sex was natural and normal, and the desire to be held, to make love…yes, even to fuck, that was normal, too.
I was normal.
But I also would have counseled myself to stop seeing Joe. That the emotional infidelity was as real as if I’d gone to bed with him, and perhaps worse because merely sating a physical need was one thing but the inevitability of what was happening was something else, entirely.
Just because Joe and I never touched didn’t mean we weren’t having an affair.
I knew it. I didn’t want to stop it. Frankly, I couldn’t stop it. The first Friday of every month, our lunches, his stories and the relief they gave me were a bright and shining thing in the otherwise gray palette of my existence.
It was wrong, and I didn’t want to let it go.
The ringing of my cell phone distracted me from my navel-gazing. I took the call at once, fearful as always it would be from one of Adam’s caregivers, telling me there was a problem.
“Sades, it’s me.”
My sister Katie. She sounded tired. She usually did, now.
“How are you?”
“Fine. Did you get my messages?”
For one shameful moment, I actually thought of blaming Mrs. Lapp on my lack of response, but in the end good morals won out over self-preservation. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.”
“Tell me about it. I know what you mean.”
I couldn’t. She didn’t. It was just something she said, not a literal invitation. I made a noncommittal noise.
“What’s up, Katie?”
“Oh, the usual. Haven’t heard from you in a while, that’s all. Thought I’d check in.”
That meant she needed to talk. “What’s going on?”
Her muffled sigh made me frown. “Oh, the usual. Lily’s been driving me crazy and Evan’s no better. He’s been out of town traveling and just doesn’t seem to get that staying home all day with a cranky toddler is not the best way to get me in a good mood. And I’m still feeling sick almost all the time. First trimester sucks.”
I made my voice as soothing as I could. “I can imagine.”
“I really need a night out.” Katie sounded close to tears. “Can you come to the movies with me?”
“I wish I could, but—”
Going to the movies meant juggling Adam’s care schedule. It meant staying out late when I had to be up at four in the morning the next day so I had time to get ready myself before helping to get him started on his daily routine. It meant having to put on the happy face for my sister, who had problems of her own and didn’t need mine.
“Oh, Sadie, c’mon.”
“Katie, I can’t. Okay? I just can’t.”
Her sigh punched my eardrum. “How’s Adam?”
“He’s fine.”
“You have big plans for V-Day?”
I cleared my throat. “Same old thing.”
“Are you guys coming over for Dad’s birthday?”
“I’ll be there.” I’d already arranged for Dennis to be available on Saturday for a few hours.
“Just you? Not Adam, too?”
Sisters always know just how to push. “If he wants to, Katie, but I don’t know how he’ll feel.”
She didn’t call me on the lie. I already knew Adam wouldn’t want to go to my parents’ house. He didn’t ever want to go anywhere anymore, even though he could.
“I could come over there and watch a movie, if you can’t go out. I just need to get out of the house, Sadie, you can’t even imagine.”
When I didn’t reply, she stopped, maybe embarrassed. “Hey, if you can’t, that’s okay.”
A good big sister would have been there for Katie. I wanted to be the good big sister I’d always tried to be, but in the end the thought of it was simply too daunting.
“Maybe next week, okay?”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”
I wanted to be there for Katie, the way I always had. I wanted to listen to her troubles and offer advice. Make a difference. Do the right thing. I wanted to help her the way I helped my patients, but when it came right down to it, I couldn’t. I was afraid.
Not that I couldn’t help her, because I was pretty sure she just needed a compassionate ear. I was afraid listening to my sister’s woes would prompt me to reveal my own, and I couldn’t risk it. Putting a voice to my feelings, saying aloud the thoughts that gnawed daily at my conscience, would make them real in a way I was certain I didn’t want them to be.
I’d spent the past four years wearing a brave face, convincing myself by convincing everyone around me that I was fine. That we were fine, Adam and I, as fine was we could be. If I didn’t have that façade, I wasn’t sure what I would have.
Joe was right. It’s easier to keep being what you are, even if the only person who expects you to be it is yourself.
Adam and I didn’t share a heart-shaped meatloaf. Mrs. Lapp cooked a pot roast and potatoes in butter and parsley, which I ate in his room with him at a table lit by candlelight. I cut his food into tiny pieces and fed it to him, bite by bite.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” His smile was as bright and charming as he could make it. The smile I’d fallen in love with.
I toasted him with champagne in a glass that had been a wedding gift. We talked about our day. About Dennis, who’d left earlier for a big Valentine’s Day party at the Rainbow.
“I told him not to bother coming home early.” Adam wiggled his eyebrows. “Told him I had big plans.”
“Oh, really.” I settled back in my chair. Champagne had made me giddy. Lighter. “You think so, huh?”
“Oh, I know so.” He looked toward the wardrobe in the corner.
I’d found it at a flea market, covered in dust and cobwebs, the handles broken and the door off its hinges. I’d fixed the door, polished the wood and replaced the broken handles with authentic ones I’d bought from an online auction. It was my favorite piece from our bedroom suite and had once contained my frilly lingerie and pajamas. Now medical supplies filled the drawers.
“Look in there.” He jerked his chin, the extent of his ability to gesture.
I got up and crossed to it, giving him a backward glance. “Adam? What did you do?”
“Just look and see.”
I opened the door. A box wrapped in red foil waited for me. I lifted it out, my heart thumping as fast as it had the first time he’d handed me such a gift. It was large but not heavy, and a giggle bubbled out of my throat.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
I hesitated, looking toward him. He looked hopeful and a bit mischievous. I’d seen that combination in him before. He’d been on one knee at the time, a much smaller box in his hand.
All at once, I was afraid to open the package, afraid to see what my husband had bought for me. I caressed the smooth wrapping. It felt cool under my fingertips, and slippery.
“Open it, Sadie.”
I took the box back to my chair and fussed with the table, pushing it out of the way so I could sit and hold the box upon my lap. It weighed far heavier on my legs than it had in my hands.
“C’mon.”
I couldn’t put aside his eagerness any longer. I slid a fingernail beneath the taped edge and the paper fell away. The box under it was plain and white, without markings. I lifted the lid.
“Oh, Adam.”
He laughed. “Do you like it?”
I lifted the sheer red fabric and held it to my chest. I wanted to cry but didn’t. I forced a dry tone.
“Who’d you buy this for, you or me?”
“Are you kidding? They don’t make those in my size.” He grinned and raised the bed a bit higher with the remote control. “Stand up. Put it on.”
I stood. The baby-doll nightie had thin straps and a pair of matching thong panties. It wasn’t something I’d have chosen for myself, but I could see the appeal.
“Where did you get this?” A vision of Adam sending Dennis on the errand heated my cheeks.
“I ordered it online. Dennis wrapped it for me, but don’t worry, he didn’t see what was in the box. I was worried it might not be what I ordered but I knew you wouldn’t want him to check it out.”
“Is it what you ordered?” I held it up, turning it from side to side.
“Oh, hell yes.”
We hadn’t made love in a long time. Nearly a year, as a matter of fact, the last time prompted by Valentine’s Day. It had ended badly, with both of us in tears. I wondered, now, what had prompted this effort and knew it was the man in the store I’d told Adam about.
“Put it on.” Adam’s voice was hoarse with a familiar longing, and I couldn’t deny him.
I’d been naked in front of him thousands of times. In the dark, in the light. He’d seen me change a tampon, use the toilet. Held my hair when I puked. And still, I hesitated to strip out of my clothes in front of him now.
“I’ll go into the bathroom.” I offered it hesitantly, uncertain, and to my relief he nodded.
“Yes. Do that.”
In the bathroom I avoided my reflection as I took off my clothes and laid them neatly on the chair. I held up the lingerie to my bare skin and shivered with sudden, fierce longing. When had I last worn something like this? Garments made to arouse? I favored the practicality of cotton panties and bras, serviceable underwear meant to cover, not entice.
I felt like a virgin again. I slipped the panties, no more than a triangle of lace held together by two straps, up my legs. The thong slipped between my buttocks, an odd but sensual sensation I wasn’t sure I liked. The lace covered my pubic hair while the straps crossed my hips, where the bones most definitely didn’t jut forth as they had on our wedding night.
“Sadie?”
“I’ll be right there!”
I pulled the gown over my head and adjusted the fit. It barely covered my breasts and split in the front to swing open as I moved. The hem hit me mid-thigh but provided no real coverage. The entire outfit had been designed to reveal and enhance, not conceal.
When I looked at last into the mirror, I saw my cheeks had flushed and my eyes sparkled. My nipples had gone tight beneath the nylon, and already the lace between my legs was rub-rubbing in a way that made me shiver.
It’s a rare woman who can view herself in an outfit like that and not find flaws, but I wasn’t unhappy with what I saw. I was no longer a bride, true, but time hadn’t been cruel, either. No children had stretched my stomach and breasts, and diet and exercise had kept me in shape. There was no reason for me not to show my husband my body, displayed in the finery of his gift. Yet it took me a full minute to gather the courage to turn the door handle and step out.
Candlelight is forgiving, but if I’d had any doubts about how Adam would see me they vanished the moment I stepped through the door. His eyes gleamed, and his low whistle of appreciation sent a warm flutter through me. I moved closer to the bed, foolishly shy, and twirled slowly so the material flared out from my hips and thighs.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Adam said.
My heart skipped at his words, so affecting. It had been a long time since he’d written poems praising the arch of my eyebrows and fullness of my lips. “You like it?”
“What do you think?”
In the past, his erection would have let me know how much. Now I had to be satisfied with the curve of his mouth and tone of his voice. I was ashamed to find them poor substitutes, and forced myself not to think about it.
“Come here.”
I moved closer to the bed. Déjà vu hit with me with force and I stumbled and had to steady myself. For one moment I’d imagined him reaching for me with such clarity I’d felt his hands on me. Breasts, belly, cunt. I’d felt his kiss on my bare skin, his tongue on my clit.
“Kiss me.” Adam’s voice was rough. His eyes roamed over my body, touching me in all the places he’d once stroked and licked and nibbled. He looked at the sheer triangle between my thighs, and his eyes gleamed. He licked his mouth.
Always, in our life before, Adam knew what he wanted and how to get it, was never afraid to ask for things I’d have been unable to voice aloud. Adam had liked dirty talk, bedroom games, adventure, all things in which I’d been content to follow but never lead.
I kissed him. Our breath mingled. He stroked my tongue with his, making me gasp. I wanted his hands on me but had to be content with putting mine on him. His shoulder blades jutted forth and I moved my hands to cup his biceps, so still.
Our faces so close, I could almost forget the rest of him had changed. I could pretend it was like the past, when he could lift me with one arm to toss me, laughing, onto our bed where he’d cover me with his body and pull orgasms out of me like pearls on a string, one after the other.
“I want you so much,” Adam said.
“You have me.”
Something flickered in his dark blue eyes, and I wondered if he was thinking about the man who’d propositioned me in the store. “Touch yourself for me?”
I had to swallow hard at that request. Masturbation was such a private thing, a solo pleasure. For me, a necessity. Release. It kept me faithful, at least in body.
“Sadie? Will you?”
I nodded and stepped back. My hands went up to cup my breasts. Adam’s gaze went there, avid. Bright color had flushed his cheeks. I let my thumbs rub across my nipples, making them hard again.
“I love your breasts.”
This was how it had to be, with us. He would make love to me with his words while I acted out his commands, bringing myself the pleasure he couldn’t.
“Take them out of the nightgown.”
I did, easily enough, for it was made for easy access. I licked my fingertips and pinched my nipples, wetting them. Adam groaned. I did it again, until they glistened and darkened with arousal.
“Yeah, just like that. Stroke them. I love to lick your tits, just like that.”
My breath caught at his words. He used to whisper them to me before taking my nipple between his lips and suckling. The memory made my nipples throb, and I rolled them with my fingers until I had to moan, myself.
“I want to taste you, Sadie. Let me see your pussy.”
I sat in the chair, my legs spread so wide the panties could no longer cover me. I pushed the scrap of lace to the side, showing him my clit, my cunt, my thighs. His words became his hands and tongue, my hands his cock.
He told me how he wanted to lick me, to suck my clit between his lips and eat me until I screamed. I groaned, spreading myself open to his sight. I licked my fingers and circled my clit, rubbing fast until my hips jerked upward. I pushed a finger inside me, then another, feeling my wetness. The heat. I closed my eyes and lost myself in Adam’s voice, in the story he wove of our passion.
“You’re so tight and hot,” he told me, and he was right.
My cunt closed around my fingers. My hips lifted again. I withdrew and used my slickness on my clit, making the motions smooth. I found a pace I liked, mimicking the way he’d have used his tongue.
“You’re so beautiful,” he told me, over and over, until I wanted to scream at him to shut up. To stop talking and fuck me. To come with me so hard there would be no breath for speeches.
I came, but alone, and at the last minute it wasn’t Adam’s face I saw between my legs, but Joe’s. I cried out, the noise of passion not so different from despair, and was ashamed the pleasure ripping through me was made no less because of my guilt.
I kissed him when I could breathe again, and we smiled at one another. I nuzzled his neck, the way I used to, and peppered kisses all over his face. Our embrace was no less because only I could make it.
I love you.
Words that used to slip from my lips without thought now stuck in my throat. At times like this, when he was being soft and warm, I could almost believe this was all working the way it should. That tomorrow would be better than yesterday and we’d move past this pit stretching deeper and wider between us every day.
I’d always wondered why people who’d throw away an appliance that had ceased to function would hang on to a marriage that no longer worked. Next to my husband, the only man I’d ever loved, ever made love with, ever slept beside, I thought I knew.
Hope.