Page 11 of A Man After Midnight

Chapter Five

She wrote a message for Aldy and set it on the table in their room, explaining where she planned to be and with whom. Caroline stared at the words and bit her lower lip, not sure how to feel about the fact that she was planning on plunging into a vacation affair. She grabbed a pen and some hotel advertised paper, drawing a line down it with one side saying ‘Pros’ and the other saying ‘Cons’. She quickly started writing all her thoughts down, the whys and the why-nots. Then she sat back and read over her inner turmoil.

All the second-guessing came down to one simple fact: that in three days, she could leave it all behind. What happened in New York could stay in New York. Her fantasies explored. Her body sexually satisfied. Her heart untouched. As long as she was careful not to read anything more into Wren’s words and actions, then all that would remain after the trip were the amazing memories.

Yes, the perfect weekend affair.

As she adjusted the temperature of the shower, Caroline knew she didn’t want to be that woman who let one bad experience ruin an opportunity of a lifetime. She had never imagined that she would be involved in a little vacation affair, but she hoped she was pragmatic enough to handle it. Wren Calder could only be a fling, and perhaps that’s exactly what she needed right now. Someone who didn’t know her too well, who could point out all her faults and missteps. He wouldn’t expect her to look perfect all the time, to never have a zit or PMS and bloating. There would be no petty arguments over what was for dinner, or who would take out the trash. There would be no decay of communication until all that remained were generic questions. He wouldn’t expect her to be anyone except his bed partner for three more nights, to share in the bliss and ecstasy of sexual abandonment, which she had never, in her entire life, experienced. Sex with her ex-husband, Greg, had been routine, slightly boring. The only way she could climax was by being on top. Could it be Wren himself who had managed to turn her body into a quivering mass of sexual need, or was the thought of all the naughty delights he promised the true culprit?

Did she even care?

Caroline stepped under the hot spray of the shower. The last day with Greg filtered through her mind as she washed her hair.

He lay on the bed, staring up at the bedroom ceiling when she had walked into the room. Caroline had spent the day mindlessly walking through the mall, not really knowing what else to do because she didn’t want to be at home.

She stood in the doorway, looking at him with emotions that fluctuated between half-angry and half-sad. He hadn’t bothered to crawl beneath the covers and his rumpled clothing stood out like a sore thumb––the same clothes he had worn when he had left the night before, to go drinking with some buddies. There was a slight scent of stale alcohol clinging to him that permeated the bedroom, so she moved to open a window. Then she sat on the edge of the bed not saying a word until the tears choking her throat had cleared enough for normal speech.

“I can’t go on like this,” she finally stated.

“I know,” was all he said. It was the first verbal confirmation that things were over.

“I want to ask you a question.”

“All right.”

She turned sideways to look at him, capturing his gaze. “Are you having an affair?”

“No,” he replied softly, maintaining eye contact until her shoulders drooped a little in relief.

“I’m not happy anymore,” she continued, casting her gaze downward to the bedspread to study it.

“Neither am I.” Such a simple reply, but for the first time in a long time they agreed on something.

“Where do we go from here?”

In his usual logical manner, he started outlining the possibilities. “Well, one, we ignore what’s been happening and continue on as we were. Things might work themselves out or we might end up hating each other. Two, we move into different bedrooms and try to work out our problems, rehashing the same old things we’ve been trying to hash out for a while. Or three, we separate and try to remain friends.”

Tears started falling down Caroline’s cheeks as he talked. “I don’t want to try to work things out,” she admitted.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, almost too softly for her to hear, he replied, “Me neither.”

When she looked at him again there were matching tears rolling down his cheeks, and he was doing nothing to wipe them away or hide them. It was the first time she had seen him cry openly.

And she had believed him. She had believed that he’d been just as heartbroken as she that their marriage couldn’t survive, that their love hadn’t been deep enough or strong enough to carry them through the bad times. It was only after he had moved out that she had learned he’d used her emotions against her, to cover up his infidelity. And by the time she had found out, it had been too late to really do anything about it.

Being played for a fool really sucked.

That was when the armor had come on and the walls had been put up. Caroline made a plan: the first thing she’d done was to leave California behind to move back home to Louisiana, away from memories––and away from Greg.

After washing and drying her hair, she tackled the problem of deciding what to wear. April in New York promised to be humid with a hint of bright sun, so she opted for a flowing skirt and a short-sleeved shirt.

Caroline finished putting on her mascara and studied herself in the brightly lit mirror. She studied her reflection, trying to see past the superficial image staring back at her to the woman who lay underneath. Almost thirty, and she had never dared live out the fantasies that played deep within her mind.

A divorcee, who had stumbled upon a man who rocked her world … why look a gift horse in the mouth?

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