Page 48 of Fated

Affairs are like clinging white-knuckled to a wrecking ball as you smash into skyscrapers, shattering windows and destroying lives. There may be a thrill in swinging through the air on that giant ball, but you can’t stop the pendulum’s swing once it’s begun, and the destruction goes on long after you want it to stop. And the ruins left behind leave a scar that rips far into the future.

I wouldn’t do this to my worst enemy. Not ever. Not again. It was unknowing the first time, and it sure as hell won’t happen a second time with my knowledge. Not even in a dream.

“You don’t have a marriage,” Robert says. “You don’t even have half a marriage. I’m more yours than he’s ever been. What the hell is wrong with you? Is it the party? This stupid anniversary party? His last-ditch effort to try to blow a spark into a cold, guttered flame? Come on, Becca. Remember how much fun we had in New York? That’s our future.” He cuts his hand across the air, flinging it toward the sea. “Not this dying island.”

Something more needs to be said. Something to end it all. “My marriage isn’t guttered. Last night McCormick and I made love all night long.”

At that Robert’s eyebrows lift, and then, instead of shock or anger, he lets out a deep laugh.

“Last night,” he says, laughter in his voice, “we all cooked for the party until 5 a.m. and then you and I made love behind the cottage while I held my hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming as you came all over me. You and McCormick, you haven’t been intimate in two-and-a-half years.”

Two-and-a-half years?

I do the math. Blink. Do the math again.

Does that mean?—?

I think of Sean’s copper-penny hair. It’s not like McCormick’s thick black hair. It’s not like my (Becca’s) blonde hair.

“Sean—”

“I don’t want to know,” Robert says, shutting down my question. “We promised it was better if we didn’t know.”

I take another step back, moving toward the light and back to the front of the cottage.

If this dream is about fixing my life, if it’s about facing my demons, then there’s something I need to do.

“I don’t love you,” I say to Robert. “I don’t like you. I don’t want you to come near me again. I’m married. I’m staying married. I love my kids. You and me? We’re done.”

He doesn’t protest. In fact, he’s studying me as if he’s never seen me before. Not in his whole entire life.

I back out of the rippling shade and into the light. The sun hits me and I blink into the brightness. Robert stands still in the shadow, staring after me.

I hurry around the cottage, and then, with the grass prickling under my feet and the ocean roaring in waves over the beach, I run onto the cool wood of the porch and back into the house.

19

I thinkabout what Robert said for the rest of the afternoon. That the great Aaron McCormick’s ego won’t let him even consider his wife and best friend could betray him.

I’m not so sure.

There was that tension riding through the cottage like the scent of smoke curling in the air, warning of an unseen fire.

When Amy mentioned New York he kept his head down, meticulously scraping the fork along the breakfast plate, refusing to look my way.

I’ve replayed that scene dozens of times and I’ve come to one conclusion.

This ismydream.

And according to Uncle Leopold, Adolphus Abry, and my mum, this dream shows me my greatest desires. My secret wishes. My dreams.

Apparently, ever since Joel, it’s been my dream to put a cheater in his place. To right a wrong I took part in without my consent.

And maybe it’s also been my dream to have fifteen years of marriage where a man has stayed with me. By my side.

And since this is my dream, I’m going to take a taste of love.

Safely.

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