Chapter 8
David was almost cheerful as he left for work. The prospect of dinner with a superior officer had put him in a good mood and kept him there.
“Wear something nice tonight: a cocktail dress. And heels, of course. In fact, buy a new dress.”
“David, that’s really not necessary. I’ve drycleaned the green one.”
I’d thought he’d be pleased with my frugality, but, as usual, I was in the wrong.
“For God’s sake, Caroline! I can’t have the Vorstadts thinking I can only afford to buy my wife one decent dress. Get a new one.”
“I had plans for this morning…”
“Such as?”
“Well, writing…”
“You can do that anytime. Buy a new dress. But no more than $150. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Like you’re trying too hard, you mean.
I sighed. There went my plans to spend the morning at the beach with Sebastian. Well, maybe if I went to the mall, I could be done in an hour.
I watched David drive off then picked up my phone to text Sebastian.
* I have to go clothes shopping. Pick you up later? Sorry. Cx *
Immediately my phone started ringing.
“Why are you going shopping? Don’t you want to see me?”
“Don’t be…” Rephrase. “It’s not that—the Vorstadts have invited us to dinner tonight. David is insisting I buy a new dress.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“When you talk about you and…him. You say ‘us’.”
There was a long silence as I tried to frame a response but Sebastian spoke first.
“Can I come with you?”
“Where?”
“Can I come clothes shopping with you?”
I was nonplussed. “Well, I guess…if you like.”
“Great! See you at the park at our usual time. Love ya!”
I shook my head as he ended the call. I couldn’t help thinking of all the times I’d seen pitiable men, waiting outside women’s changing rooms, looking for all the world as if they’d been there since the dawn of time. But I was also intrigued, and if Sebastian wanted to come with me, well, I wasn’t going to argue.
He was sitting on the curb with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, as if he was some punk looking for trouble. The thought made me smile—it was the polar opposite of Sebastian’s personality which was so warm and thoughtful and caring, although I was beginning to recognize a reckless streak in him, too.
“Hi!”
“Hi yourself!” he answered happily as he scrambled in and fastened his seatbelt.
I longed to lean over and kiss him but we couldn’t risk it here.
“So where are we going?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know: a mall somewhere.”
“Mom goes to Mission Valley. They’ve got all those brand name stores out there.”
I screwed up my face at the suggestion.
“That’s not really me. Besides, I want to avoid going somewhere I might run into your mom!” What a horrifying thought. Sebastian clearly agreed because I saw him wince.
“I thought maybe we could head up toward Miramar—there’s that mall at Westfield UTC.”
“Whatever.”
“So, do you make a habit of this?”
He looked puzzled.
“Going shopping for women’s clothes?”
He grinned widely.
“It’s my new hobby, especially if you’re buying underwear?”
I laughed, blushing slightly.
“Well, I ought to—I seem to keep losing mine.”
He sniggered. “Yeah! That’s fun.”
His happiness spilled over and I felt my spirits soaring—six uninterrupted hours with the man I loved. Six stolen hours.
“Did I tell you I was a member of the surf life saving club at school?” he said, changing the subject.
I could tell he had something on his mind.
“No, but I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Well, my manager at work, Miss Perez, she said that they’d get me certified for CPR and First Aid so I could be a trainee lifeguard at the pool. And I can start studying for the Open Water course, too, although I won’t be able to take the test until I’m eigh … until later. It’ll make it easier to get work in NYC.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“And I was thinking,” he continued quickly, “if I take a course to be a personal trainer, I could earn maybe a hundred bucks an hour once I’m qualified. You know, while you’re getting your journalism career going. I was looking at some apartments on the internet: they’re pretty expensive. I couldn’t find anything less than $2,000 a month unless we live in one of the outer boroughs, and we’d take a train or a ferry to get to work and school. It’s a little slower, I guess, but a lot cheaper. But by the end of the summer, I’ll have enough for the first month’s rent wherever we live.”
He looked at me anxiously.
A powerful swell of emotion swept through me. Here he was, 17 years old, planning for our future, determined to make it happen—and what had I contributed? Nothing. David had steered my life over the last 11 years: now I was letting—expecting even—that Sebastian would do the same. I felt ashamed.
“What do you think, Caro?”
“I think you’re extraordinary,” I said honestly.
He blinked, surprised by my unexpected answer. Then he grinned.
“Extraordinary, huh? I can live with that. And you called me ‘God’ the other night—that was okay, too.”
“I like your plan,” I said, deliberately ignoring the second half of his reply. “But we need to make sure you can fit your college courses in, too. I don’t want you giving up a university education. Besides, I could look for some translation work or maybe even teaching Italian—conversation classes—nothing too formal as I’m not a qualified teacher.”
“Well, you know, I looked at that, too. You could be a translator for the courts in NY—you can get $125 a day. Federal Courts pay even more.” He reached out and took my hand, then kissed it. “I can’t wait for us to be together.”
Neither could I.
“Well, that’s definitely a plan. If I could earn that sort of money…although they probably wouldn’t want Italian interpreters that much, but even so…are you still planning on a joint major in English Lit and Italian?”
“Sure!”
“Do you know what you want to do after?”
He nodded slowly. “I’d like to go to Europe. I have this image of you and me on a motorcycle traveling through Italy. I don’t know, teaching English, picking grapes—I don’t care. I’ve never been outside the US.”
“That sounds wonderful! We could go to Capezzano Inferiore—it’s a small village in the hills above Salerno—where Papa was born. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Then we’ll go,” he said, simply.
I was grinning from ear to ear, smiling from the inside out.
“Do you have family there?” said Sebastian thoughtfully.
“I’m not really sure—some second cousins, I think. Why?”
“We should try to find them,” he said. “If they’re as crazy as your dad, it could be pretty wild.”
I laughed out loud, delighted with the picture he was painting. And I decided that as soon as I went home I would start planning our escape in earnest—no more taking a back seat in my own life.
“There’s the sign for Westfield,” said Sebastian, bringing my attention back to the road.
I took the exit ramp and followed the signs.
The mall was a vast sprawl of boutique shops and places to eat with a Sears at one end and Macy’s at the other.
“Where do you want to start?”
“I have no idea: let’s just make it quick.”
“I thought all girls liked shopping?”
“Not this one.”
“You look beautiful whatever you wear.”
I stared at him. “You always say the sweetest things! How do you do that?”
He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “What about this shop?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
He smiled and towed me inside.
“May I help you, ma’am, sir?”
Seeing as it was a women’s clothing store, I wasn’t entirely sure how the sales assistant was going to help Sebastian, although going by the look on her face, I could make a damned good guess. And, of course, she was younger than me.
An unaccustomed desire for sudden violence flooded through me.
“I’m looking for a black cocktail dress,” I said coolly. “Size four.”
It occurred to me that I’d never once been jealous of another woman looking at David—maybe that should have told me something. I couldn’t work out how much of what I was feeling now was to do with my own insecurities. I didn’t want to spoil today, so I pushed the wretched thought aside.
The assistant picked out a couple of dresses and I took them into the changing room.
I could hear her chatting to Sebastian through the curtain. Well, I could hear her trying to hit on him.
“Are you from the Base?” she said.
“Yeah, but…”
“Are you, like, a pilot?”
“No, I…”
“But you’re a Marine, right?”
I pulled back the curtain sharply, and the assistant jumped.
“What about this one, honey?” I said, throwing a few poses, for her benefit as much as Sebastian’s.
“Wow! You look great, Caro!”
I had his full attention. From my peripheral vision I saw the sales assistant pout. Hmm, shopping was proving a lot more fun than I’d expected.
“You want to see the other dress, honey?” I said, doing another slow turn.
“Yeah!”
I smirked and ducked back into the changing room, throwing a look at the assistant that dared her to resume her conversation with Sebastian. Sensibly, she declined the challenge.
The second dress was even more fitted and skimmed the top of my knees.
“Can you zip me up, honey?” I whispered through the curtain, still enjoying my performance.
I gazed over my shoulder at Sebastian, trying to play seductive. His presence alone made me feel sexy. His expression immediately heated and suddenly the confines of the changing room seemed unbearably hot. He pulled up the zipper with aching slowness, brushing a soft kiss over my bare shoulder.
“You look beautiful, baby,” he said quietly.
Suddenly we weren’t playing anymore. The assistant coughed, embarrassed.
“How’s the size, ma’am?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“It’s perfect,” said Sebastian in a low tone.
I wandered out of the shop in a daze. Sebastian insisted on carrying the bag and wrapped his free hand around my limp fingers.
“You want to get some lunch?”
“Sebastian, it’s only 11.15 AM!”
“Yeah, well I’m hungry.”
“You never stop eating. You’re going to be enormous when you get older.”
“Nah. I’ll have you to keep me fit.”
Dear God: I hoped I was up to the challenge. A few hours with Sebastian was yoga, Pilates and aerobics all rolled into one, delicious workout.
“Donna said I should get Mitch to teach me to surf,” I commented slyly.
Sebastian wasn’t pleased.
“I can teach you! You don’t need him.”
“Are you pouting at me?” I laughed. “You are! You’re pouting.”
I brought our twined hands up to my mouth and kissed his fingers.
“I’m just teasing you.”
He still looked hurt and I rather regretted trying to make him jealous. I suppose it was a childish tit-for-tat—that sales assistant had upset me more than I was willing to admit. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault girls were throwing themselves at him.
“Come on: I’ll buy you coffee and a Danish.”
He settled on pastrami, lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread; a regular black coffee with two sugars; and a Danish pastry, as promised. I had a large espresso and watched him wolf down the food. Our grocery bill in New York was going to be huge.
“Where else in Europe would you like to go?”
He swallowed his mouthful and drank some coffee while he thought.
“Well, everywhere, but I’d really like to go to Southern Spain—see all the Moorish stuff. I saw a picture of the Alhambra palace once—it looked, I don’t know, like ‘One Thousand and One Nights’.”
I was surprised and I realized how little I knew of him, his hopes and dreams. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became.
“You’ve read ‘Arabian Nights’?”
He cocked his head to look at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”
I was confused. “Remember what?”
“You gave me the book to read—when I was a kid. I must have read it a hundred times. I used to think you were Scheherazade.”
Scheherazade: the princess who told a different story every night to keep the king from beheading her. I wasn’t very keen on the comparison. Except then he fell in love with her and married her.
“Just because you were such an amazing storyteller,” Sebastian said, intuiting my reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised you became a writer.”
I smiled gamely. “I’m trying to become a writer.”
“You will,” he said, certainty coloring his voice. “You are.”
I struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to betray me. His encouragement, his certainty that I had the ability to achieve my dream; it meant more to me than I could ever express.
“What about you?” I said, trying to speak naturally. “After our road trip…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad always expected me to go the military route.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
I managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of being pulled back toward living on military bases.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, parts of it would be great—but I’d like to travel.”
“Traveling isn’t a job,” I laughed. “Unless you want to work on a cruise ship.”
“Maybe,” he said smiling. “You could be a travel writer and I’ll…carry your bags.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
He leaned over and kissed me so I could feel the smile on his lips.
This kiss was different somehow: more relaxed, less desperate—just sweet and loving. I stroked his cheek and he sighed happily, leaning into my hand.
“I know,” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I’m going to take you surfing. You said you wanted to learn…”
“No, no! It was Donna who said I should…”
“Are you chicken?”
“Yes! The water’s too cold.”
He laughed. “They’ve invented wetsuits. You’ll be fine. I know a place just north of La Jolla where we can rent some gear. Come on! We’ve got a couple of hours. You can drop me off at work on the way back. We’ve got time.”
I really had no desire to immerse myself in chilly Pacific waters but his enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe it was his recklessness that was catching, his unbreachable zest for life. Maybe I was just no longer afraid to live.
“Okay, let’s go!”
We abandoned the car next to a shabby-looking surf shack that perched precariously above a small, secluded cove. The water was turquoise; I imagined it to be the color of the Mediterranean and wondered if that was something I’d ever see—the sea my dear Papa had lived by as a small child.
“Hey, man,” said the owner of the shack. “Long time no see.”
I immediately felt anxious. It hadn’t occurred to me that Sebastian would take me somewhere he was known. My eyes flickered to him nervously and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.
“Yeah, can we get a couple of shorties, rash vests and a spongey board?”
“Sure, man. Come on through.”
Sebastian let the owner go ahead then whispered in my ear.
“Don’t worry: he says that to everyone. He hasn’t got a clue who I am. It’s cool.”
I tried to relax but the shot of adrenaline was still working its way through my body—I smiled wanly.
The owner sized us up expertly and handed over a couple of cropped wetsuits, silky rash vests to wear under the neoprene and a large, heavy foam-covered surfboard. I was glad that Sebastian tucked it under his arm—it was too wide for me to be able to carry easily.
“That’ll be twenty bucks,” drawled the owner.
Before I could stop him, Sebastian pulled out his wallet and handed the man a couple of bills.
“And I’ll need a credit card for security, dude.”
Sebastian’s eyes flickered uncertainly to me. I knew he didn’t have a credit card and I wasn’t really keen on the idea of handing one over that described me as ‘Mrs. Carolina M. Wilson’.
“How about we give you our car keys?” said Sebastian, thinking quickly. “We’re parked right over there.”
He pointed at my old Ford.
“Dude, that piece of shit isn’t gonna pay for anything!”
“Ah, come on! What are we going to do? Go running down the highway carrying a spongey?”
The owner held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, but only because your girlfriend has such a cute smile, man!”
I thanked him quickly as I dragged a suddenly angry Sebastian out of the door.
“He was hitting on you,” he grumbled.
“Hardly!”
“He was.”
I shook my head. “Are you going to teach me to surf, or what?”
Sebastian grinned. It really didn’t take much to put him in a good mood—how very different from David.
Neither of us had swim gear. I just tugged on the wetsuit over my panties and unhooked my bra when I’d pulled on the rash vest, so I was half-dressed. Sebastian watched in fascination. I didn’t think it warranted that close a scrutiny. He caught my expression and winked, pulling his borrowed wetsuit over a pair of tight-fitting gray briefs that soon had my mind wandering.
He carried the board down to the sand and gave me a quick lesson on how to pop up using a rocking motion. He made it look easy—probably something to do with his well-developed upper body strength.
The heavy beginner’s board was covered in soft foam to help prevent injuries among the uninitiated, but it was also impregnated with sand, and the palms of my hands soon began to feel sore.
“You’re getting it,” said Sebastian encouragingly. “Let’s try you on a few waves: I’ll push you onto them and tell you when to pop up.”
The waves in the cove were small and well ordered—perfect for learning on. I lay face down on the board and felt the cold water splash around me.
“Get ready! Paddle, paddle, paddle. Now!”
Sebastian pushed me onto a small wave and as the board began to tip down onto the green-water, I popped up, wobbled for a few feet then fell off sideways. I managed to close my mouth but felt seawater gush up my nose. My head broke water as I coughed and rubbed my eyes. My long hair hung like seaweed over my face.
Sebastian was laughing but he looked at me proudly.
“Wow, Caro! You just rode your first wave! That was awesome!”
He kissed my salty face and hugged me tightly as the water rippled around our waists.
“Try again!”
We spent another hour playing in the ocean and, by the end, I’d managed to ride a wave for several seconds and even put in a small turn.
Sebastian hadn’t got bored or shouted at me or shown any signs of impatience. I was slightly in shock, but elated, too.
“So, how do you like being a surfer dude?” he said, smiling at me proudly.
“I love it, but I’m exhausted. It’s almost as tiring as spending the night with you,” I teased him.
He laughed happily then sighed. “I’d like to do that again, but we can’t, can we? Not for a while.” He frowned and squinted at the sun. “I have to get to work soon—we’d better head back.”
We hadn’t planned the surf trip so I didn’t have a towel in the car. Instead we had to pull our clothes back on over damp, salty bodies, and my hair dripped chilly drops of water down my shoulders.
It was easier for me to dress as I was wearing a skirt, but I enjoyed my private ogling as Sebastian pulled off his boxer briefs, only partially hidden by the car door, and grabbed his jeans. I loved watching the flex and ripple of his muscles under his golden tan, the way his jeans dropped down from his waist to hang on his hips, and the way two tiny lines appeared between his eyebrows when he was concentrating on something.
He grinned as he saw me watching him, and with deliberate slowness pulled his t-shirt over his damp chest, so the washed-out fabric clung to him.
I really wanted to pull it off him again but he had to get to work and I wanted to spend a couple of hours working on my next City Beat story.
I’d decided to write about what it was like for military families to move around the country from base to base. I had some experience of that and I knew that Donna had lived in at least three other states and, with Johan, had been stationed overseas twice already with the possibility of another stint in Germany on the horizon.
“Time to get back to the real world,” Sebastian said wistfully. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”
“I rather hope not,” I said, truthfully.
Sebastian looked hurt.
“It’s too hard to act normal when you’re there,” I explained softly.
He nodded slowly. “I know what you mean…but I’d still like to see you.”
I sighed and shook my head.
“Well, can I come to your house tomorrow?”
“Sebastian, I don’t think so. You know what people are like around here—all it would take would be for you to be seen coming in or leaving. Or if someone came to the door because they’d seen my car in the driveway and I…we…”
He knew what I was saying and he knew as well as I did which risks were acceptable and which weren’t. We were making up the rules as we went along, but there were still rules.
“When can I see you?” he said, sulkily.
“I’m still free tomorrow. Maybe we could go surfing again?”
“I want to make love to you, Caro,” he muttered, gazing at my fingers as he squeezed them gently.
I took a deep breath as the familiar flickering tongues of love and lust swept through me.
“We could find a motel,” I said, softly.
He looked up, his eyes wide.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” I said. “I want to be with you, too.”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, a glorious smile spreading across his face.
He pulled me into a hug and leaned his head into my neck. I reached up and stroked his hair, which was nearly dry already.
I dropped him off at the end of the long driveway leading to the country club and watched as he waved once, then jogged along the avenue and out of sight.
I drove home with the sun beating down and all my car windows open. A brief glance in the mirror told me I looked like a cavewoman, with wild, salty hair hanging in clumps. I don’t know how Sebastian managed not to laugh at me.
I showered quickly and sat in my robe to tap out the first few hundred words of my article, keeping one eye open for David’s return.
As soon as I heard his car in the driveway, I snapped the laptop shut and headed to the bedroom to at least look like I was spending time getting ready. David imagined that all women took hours doing their hair and make-up before going out—it was one of his favorite stereotypes. It came in useful when I wanted an extra half-hour of peace and quiet.
I slipped on the new dress, remembering Sebastian’s scorching look as he’d zipped it up. It was a soft chiffon hung over a fitted bustier top and clinging skirt; so plain, it was almost severe, but also elegant and sophisticated.
I dug out my simple, gold necklace that my father had given me and matched it with a pair of plain, gold hoop earrings.
I was just sweeping my hair back to pin it up when David walked into the bedroom.
He stopped and did a double take.
“Is that it?”
“My new dress? Yes.”
“We’re going out to dinner, Caroline, not attending a funeral.”
Once his words would have hurt me; that evening I just stared at him impassively in the mirror.
“It’s a classic little black dress, David.”
“It’s dull.”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
He scowled.
“For fuck’s sake, Caroline. Do I have to supervise everything you do? You can’t even buy a fucking dress that’s appropriate for dinner.”
I didn’t reply. There was no point. Unfortunately, it meant the evening would now start on an awkward note. I hoped he’d be able to hide his annoyance from the Vorstadts—I didn’t want Donna throwing any more pitying glances my way.
Johan’s car arrived outside with typical military precision. David was wearing a dark blue suit with matching tie. If it hadn’t been for his permanently sour expression, he would have been good-looking.
Johan stepped out of the car to open the door, and blinked when he saw me.
“Good evening, Caroline, David.”
“Hello, Johan. Hi Donna.”
“Caroline, darling. Don’t you look gorgeous,” gushed Donna. “Johan, doesn’t she look amazing?!”
“I’ll say!” agreed Johan enthusiastically.
I saw David frown. It was going to be a long evening.
David sat up front with Johan while Donna and I chatted in the back. I freely grilled her about her experiences of moving around the country, explaining it was for a new article.
“I can introduce you to some of the other wives,” she said. “Well, you know Shirley Peters—she’s moved around even more than I have.”
“I’ve spoken to her on the phone, but never actually met her,” I admitted.
“I’ll set something up,” she said. “Shirley is a member of the country club, too. Why don’t we all meet over there tomorrow afternoon? I’ll drive.”
Oh no! Not tomorrow—I’d promised Sebastian.
“Could we make it Friday? I’ve got one or two things on tomorrow.”
“Why sure! I’ll phone Shirley and set it up.”
I found myself looking forward to it and I was curious to meet Mitch’s wife. The fact that David would be torn between his disapproval of Shirley and his desire to encourage my friendship with Donna only added to my pleasure. But how the hell was I going to get through the next three-and-a-half months with this man?
First we had to get through dinner.
Johan gallantly offered me his arm as we walked up the front steps, much to Donna’s obvious amusement and David’s sullen irritation.
The maitre d’ fussed around our table, pulling out chairs for Donna and me before introducing our waiter for the evening—a familiar face was grinning down at us.
“Oh, hello, Ches,” said Donna, pleasantly. “What a nice surprise! So you’ll be our waiter. How are you?”
“Very well thanks, Mrs. Vorstadt.” Then he turned to Johan. “Hello, sir. Hi, Caroline!” he grinned at me.
I smiled back. “Hi, Ches, how are…”
But before I could finish the sentence David snapped, “Her name is ‘Mrs. Wilson’.”
Ches’s smile vanished while Donna and Johan looked embarrassed.
“David,” I said softly. “I’ve met Ches before: he and his father were kind enough to help me with my surfing article.”
“I know who he is, Caroline,” said David sharply, “and it’s not appropriate that he addresses you by your first name.”
Donna hid a look of disgust behind her menu, and I saw a hard look pass over Johan’s face. David had screwed himself royally this time. I didn’t care about that, but I was mortified by the way he’d treated Ches.
“Perhaps you can tell us what the specials are, Ches?” said Donna coolly.
“Sure, Mrs. Vorstadt,” said Ches, with a chastened tone.
We placed our orders and I tried to think of some way to apologize for David’s appalling rudeness.
“By the way, Ches,” I said, “the surfing article will be published in City Beat tomorrow. Yours and your dad’s picture are in it. I’ll buy a copy for each of you. Will you tell your dad for me? And Sebastian and Fido. I never did find out his real name.”
He grinned at me. “Okay, thanks, Mrs. Wilson, I’ll do that.”
He walked away smiling but David pursed his lips. “Don’t be over-familiar with the wait staff, Caroline.”
“He’s our neighbor,” said Donna, raising her eyebrows to make the point.
“Of course,” said David after half a beat.
Johan cleared this throat and threw a warning look at his wife.
It was a wonder we didn’t all have indigestion before we started. But then our wine waiter arrived and the talk devolved into a discussion of how well New World reds stacked up against Old World. I kept my mouth firmly shut—now was not the time to irritate David even further.
Johan picked a soft Californian Merlot and ordered a jug of iced water.
Our entrées were very slow arriving and Johan’s eyes began flicking back and forward toward the kitchen. The maitre d’ came out to apologize, saying that two members of staff had suddenly gone sick and that they were short-staffed but trying to remedy the situation.
That’s when I saw Sebastian.
He wasn’t in his usual sports assistant uniform; instead he was dressed in long, black pants, a white button down shirt with a black bow tie. He was walking purposefully toward our table, carrying a basket full of small bread rolls.
No! No! Shit!
I then had to endure the hideous spectacle of my lover serving my husband, while I tried to stop myself from screaming and running.
Donna smiled as I studied my linen napkin.
“Hello, Sebastian. We’ve already seen Ches this evening. It looks like you boys are running the place tonight.”
I didn’t dare look up to see his face but I could tell from his voice that he was nervous as he tried to laugh.
“Not really. They’re just very short-staffed—I haven’t done this before.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, dear. You look very handsome, doesn’t he, Caroline?”
My head jerked up at the sound of my name.
“Oh, yes. Very.”
There was a pause that felt long enough for the world to end.
“Would you like some bread?” Sebastian said awkwardly.
I shook my head while David reached across me to take two rolls. Donna also declined but Johan looked hungry enough to eat all the rolls and the basket, too. Luckily Ches was close behind bringing out our entrées. I had no idea how I was going to eat anything, my stomach was so tied in knots. And I still couldn’t look at Sebastian.
The men dug into their food with gusto. I glanced up to see Donna give me a small wink; I had no idea what she was referring to but I tried to smile back; I probably just looked sick. From the corner of my eye I could see Sebastian waiting on other tables and Ches hurrying to and fro.
“I wonder if those boys will both enlist,” said Donna, musing aloud, “you know—following in their fathers’ footsteps.”
“The Hunter boy is going to,” said David confidently. “I don’t know about the other one.”
“Really?” said Donna. “I’m quite surprised—I rather thought Sebastian might do something else.”
“No,” said David with finality, “Donald told me. Estelle has talked him into letting the boy have a year at college first,” he sniffed disdainfully, “but that’s all he’s prepared to pay for; the boy will enlist after that.”
“That seems a little harsh,” said Donna frowning. “Surely they’d let him get his degree once he’s started?”
David shrugged. He really wasn’t that interested.
I was shocked yet again by Donald and Estelle’s callousness; I knew for a fact that Sebastian was unaware of this plan. I was even more determined that he’d get his degree if I had anything to do with it.
The conversation moved onto other people we knew in common and for me at least, into safer territory.
“Where did you get your fabulous dress, Caroline?” Donna asked while Ches cleared away the entrée plates.
“Westfield: I went this morning.”
“Oh! I wish I’d known. I was there this morning, too. We could have gone together. What a pity I didn’t see you.”
I shuddered internally at the thought of what had so narrowly been avoided.
“I don’t know why she had to pick black,” David complained. “It’s so funereal.”
Donna stared at him in astonishment then turned her sympathetic eyes to mine. I glanced away and caught Sebastian watching me. He looked angry—he’d obviously heard David’s unkind comment.
“Do you have any plans while David is away?” said Donna.
“Excuse me?”
“While he’s at the conference…you know, the thoracic surgery symposium in Dallas?”
I stared at her in bafflement.
“For God’s sake, Caroline!” muttered David. “What is the point of me filling in a schedule if you never look at it?”
“When are you going?”
“They’re flying out on Friday evening and back Sunday night,” Donna added helpfully.
Johan nodded to David. “Have you read the papers yet?”
I barely listened as they discussed the speakers—my mind was racing through the possible ways I could spend my 48 hours of freedom.
“What will you do with yourself, Caroline?” asked Donna.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll be able to get on with my writing.”
“And you’ll come to the beach barbecue on Sunday?”
She immediately answered my blank expression.
“It’s for all the Service families. It’s usually pretty good fun and, as you’re by yourself…do say yes.”
With everyone staring at me, I had no choice.
“Yes, of course I’ll come,” I said.
I felt like some weird internal elevator was rushing up and down with its cargo of emotions—from elation at the thought of David being away for two nights, to come crashing down because precious hours when I could have been with Sebastian would now be squandered at a military picnic. Someone sure had a lousy sense of humor.
I deliberately took my time getting ready for bed once we got back from the country club. I hoped that if I was slow enough David would have fallen asleep by the time I slipped under the covers. So far I had managed to avoid any further confrontations about sex, but I knew it was only a matter of time before David would insist on his conjugal ‘rights’.
I closed the toilet lid and sat down with my head in my hands. I couldn’t go on like this—the stress was beginning to get to me and it had only been three weeks. Was that all it had taken for my life to change so completely? I wasn’t cut out for infidelity. Or maybe it was simply that Donna’s comment about having been at the mall at the same time as us that had made my anxiety levels spike.
The choices were stark: leave David and set divorce proceedings in action—stay away from Sebastian for another 13 weeks and hope no one put two-and-two together to make four; stay, and save money from my writing so we could disappear to NYC together at the end of September—and hope no one put two-and-two together to make four. Either way people would work out the truth when we both disappeared at the same time—I hoped that once Sebastian was 18 and there was no proof of wrong doing, they’d leave us alone. That was my grand plan. And money was going to be an issue. David had his salary paid into a savings account and gave me $1,000 a month for groceries, gas for my car and utility bills. It was only just enough. I had no money of my own. When I’d had my job back east, David had insisted that my wages went into the communal pot. That’s what he called it, although I never saw the money again. I didn’t even know how much was in our savings account. What a humiliating admission.
But if I could get an article published in City Beat every week for the next three months, I’d have over $4,000—enough for seven or eight weeks rent in NYC. It was going to be tight, but when it came down to it, what price freedom?
Although the fact that the age of consent was 17 in New York was reassuring, I tried not to dwell on it. It didn’t change the facts of what I’d done in California, and what I planned to continue doing.
The rumbling sound of David’s snores broke through my grim thoughts: it was safe to go to bed.
I slipped carefully under the sheets and tried to think positively. Tomorrow was a new day: my first ever piece of professional writing was going to be published—and I had a promise to keep to Sebastian.