chapter
2
Forsaking all others . . .
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to push aside the voice raging in my head. I needed to erase the image of Clark and Dawn that was on constant replay in my mind. I needed to forget the hushed tone of them discussing their affair. I needed to forget how I’d overheard them when I’d left the mayhem of the television newsroom and popped up at Dawn’s house in the middle of the day, to surprise her teenaged daughter with tickets to see Bryson Tiller.
Only I was the one surprised.
I don’t want to hurt her, he’d said.
I never meant for this to happen, she’d replied.
Liars! Both of them.
I paced my hotel room for a moment. I’d raced here to the Markham, seeking refuge from the pain of betrayal, and had told the front desk clerk that I’d be here a few days. Though the more I thought about it, the more I felt like I could never go home again.
I glanced over at my overnight bag that I’d stuffed some belongings into before I’d fled our house. I considered it a house now because Clark’s betrayal meant it was no longer a home.
I needed to change out of the business clothes I’d been wearing, put on the maxi dress that I’d packed, then put away thoughts of the pain.
And right now, Wilson was the best medicine for what ailed me.
The incessant tears hadn’t worked.
The liquor hadn’t worked.
Maybe this would.
My reflection stopped my thoughts. My eyes were reddening—from the liquor and the tears.
“Suck it up,” I muttered. “You’re stronger than this.”
I had just slipped on the hunter-green dress that hugged my figure in all the right places when I heard a tap on the door.
I ran my fingers through my curls, checked the mirror to make sure my reflection didn’t reveal my ache, then headed to the door.
“Hey,” I said, swinging the door open and seductively leaning against the frame.
“My God, you’re so beautiful,” Wilson said as if he were seeing me for the first time.
I smiled, then stepped aside for him to enter.
I offer my solemn vow to be a faithful partner . . .
I cursed the righteous voice invading my seduction. All signs pointed toward this; it was what I needed to help me heal. And I needed to get down to business before the voice overpowered me, brought me back to the woman I was before Clark’s infidelity.
Wilson set the bottle of Grey Goose down on the desk. “So, how do you like your drink?”
I didn’t reply. I wasn’t interested in small talk. I just wanted to forget. I wanted to hurt Clark like he’d hurt me.
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” I said, gliding over to him.
My boldness as I began removing his blazer must have been intoxicating enough because he quickly forgot about the liquor and let my hands roam his body.
“Mmmmm.” Wilson closed his eyes and moaned as I ran my hands under his shirt and caressed his chest. “I like that.”
I removed his blazer and shirt and massaged his chest, my hands exploring every muscular inch, the intensity of my exploration rising with every moan.
“Oooh, that feels so good,” he said, reaching down and lifting my dress as his hands moved over my thighs.
Fueled by the gin, driven by revenge, I all but ripped Wilson’s shirt off.
I will love and cherish . . .
Why wouldn’t that voice leave me alone? I deserved this. Clark deserved to pay. I didn’t need the verbal torture playing out in my head.
Our lips met, and Wilson guided us toward the foot of the bed, then gently pushed me down, while he moaned in pleasure.
“I can’t wait to feel you . . .” His voice was husky, his desire palpable as he climbed on top of me.
“Owww,” I said, squirming as something poked me in the back. I reached behind me, under the duvet that had been draped across the foot of the bed, and pulled out what appeared to be a tattered book.
“What is that?” Wilson asked, pausing as he took the book from my hand. “Wow. Talk about a buzz killer.” He turned the book around so it faced me.
Though flakes of the gold enamel lettering were missing, the word “Bible” was etched across the front.
My eyes widened in shock. Yet an unfazed Wilson deftly moved over to the nightstand and set the book down.
“Now, where were we?” He crawled back on the bed and resumed nuzzling my neck.
And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness.
The words both Clark and I had pledged before family and friends on that beautiful August day took their place at the forefront of my mind.
What in the world was I doing?
Had I really been about to make love to another man on top of a Bible?
Wilson’s labored breathing brought me out of my thoughts.
“Stop,” I said. “I-I can’t do this.” I squirmed from under him and scooted to the edge of the bed.
Frustration filled Wilson’s face as he sat up next to me, and a tinge of fear filled my heart. I didn’t know anything about this man. He could be a rapist or a murderer, and I’d opened my door and let the devil in.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammered as I stood up, putting some distance between us. “I don’t know what I’m doing. My husband cheated, but I . . . This isn’t me. I’m going through a rough time, and I’m not thinking clearly.” I rushed my words out as I tried to shake off the lingering effects of the liquor.
I expected Wilson to protest, get angry, but instead he took a deep breath, in and out, then nodded in understanding.
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”
He stood and adjusted himself. If he was upset, he wasn’t showing it.
“You’re a beautiful woman.” He paused, and I realized that I didn’t even know his last name. I was about to have sex with a man whose last name I didn’t even know. “And I’m not going to lie,” he continued, “I was looking forward to this. But no means no,” he replied. He picked his shirt and blazer up off the floor and slipped the white button-down back on. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
Those words brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back and willed them not to fall.
Wilson threw his blazer across his arm, then dug in his pants pocket. “Here’s my card,” he said, handing me his business card. “If things don’t work out with your marriage, feel free to call me. Next time we’ll just start with coffee.”
I managed a smile as I took his card. Wilson Parsons. Now I had that at least. “Thank you” was all I could say.
Infidelity has caused me to take leave of common sense, I thought as he walked out the door. Thank God I’d encountered a decent man. Because this scenario could’ve ended very differently.
Till death do us part.
My gaze settled on the book that had brought me to my senses. I picked it up and ran my fingers over the rough cover. It was strange. This was definitely not the standard Gideon Bible placed in all hotel rooms. The frayed cover made the book appear to be decades old.
I plopped on the bed and flipped the book open. The pages were worn, as if the book had been passed down for generations. I had walked away from God five years ago when he hadn’t fulfilled my prayer of motherhood, so I hadn’t opened a Bible for a long time. No need to start now, I thought as I tossed the book back onto the nightstand. Yes, it had kept me from making a horrible mistake, but it hadn’t changed my situation.
The book teetered on the edge of the nightstand, then fell to the floor, opening to reveal a tattered page.
Ashamed of my carelessness, I leaned down to pick it up. Before I could close the Bible, the verse that the book had opened to caught my eye.
Psalm 147:3—He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
The verse made my heart drop. It was the same one that Clark had repeated when he brought me back from the depths of despair.
That verse—and my husband—had saved my life.