Page 34 of On Thin Ice

* * *

I set down the journal, thinking to myself that trait must run in the family.

Chapter 12

I stayed up far too late reading that journal. Xavier continued showing up more and more on the pages—both when Gus was there and when he wasn’t. And it was clear to me by what she was saying that Sinclair’s mother was falling in love with the other man. The way she described his eyes and his perfectly styled black hair, his clothing, his hands—poetic, appreciative, musing. But not once did she mention kissing or even touching him, other than on the arm.

Maybe, though, she left all that out—sex behind closed doors in the movies, unmentioned in a diary.

One entry in particular made me wonder.

It was written mid-April and, by that point, Xavier was almost all she talked about, other than the children and an occasional mention of her husband.

* * *

I invited Xavier to lunch. When he asked what the occasion was, I told him I wanted to talk to an adult. Fortunately, he didn’t ask other questions.

He stayed the entire afternoon, but we finally went upstairs because the staff wouldn’t leave us alone—constantly filling drinks, asking if I needed something. Had Gus put them up to that? It wouldn’t have surprised me a bit. He wants to control every aspect of my life and I’m sick of it.

We stayed upstairs for hours but Xavier had to leave before dinner. I have to say I haven’t felt that fulfilled in a long time. I hope we can do it again.

* * *

Had they made love that afternoon? I knew there were plenty of other activities they could have engaged in “upstairs.” She didn’t say if they were on the second or third floor or if she just wanted to get away from the staff. And wouldn’t they have wondered where the couple had disappeared to, what they were doing? If they were reporting to Gus as she suspected, surely that behavior wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.

And then I wondered—how long did their affair last? Was Xavier Sinclair’s father?

I glanced at the clock: eleven-thirty. I really needed to sleep, but I was hoping to find evidence that would confirm my suspicions. Right now, there was no definitive answer, but I would have bet on it. A court of law would have called it nothing more than circumstantial evidence.

As I continued reading, Xavier’s presence remained, but he seemed to move a bit in the background when Augie came home for the summer from his first year at boarding school. It was clear that she adored her children but was especially fond of her oldest, perhaps because he seemed to be so “steady and strong,” in her words.

In early August, there was an entry that put Xavier’s possible fatherhood into doubt.

* * *

Gus came home from yet another Europe trip, but this time I wasn’t about to greet him at the door or ask him how the trip was or anything. I decided I wasn’t going to keep desperately seeking my husband’s attention or approval. All it did was break my heart further when he rejected me yet again.

I knew he was due to arrive sometime after 8:00. I kissed the boys good night and told them they could stay up until ten as long as they played quietly. They promised to keep their Game Boys turned down low. I trusted them, especially because Warren adores Augie, and he clings to him even more now, knowing that Augie’s going to be heading back to school at the end of the month. When Augie says it’s bedtime, Warren will listen.

He wound up sleeping in Augie’s room again.

But I retired to the bedroom, taking a long bubble bath and then putting on my favorite lavender lotion before sliding between the clean sheets. My goal was to be sound asleep when Gus got home so he would get the message that I would no longer be the doting wife.

And it worked!

I hadn’t managed to fall asleep, and I even heard the low rumblings of what I thought was his voice in the hall—so I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door in the dark, pressing my ear up against the cool wood. He was talking to the boys—who were either in the playroom or Augie’s room. I rushed back to the bed, noting that it was just a little after nine o’clock—and I rested my head on the pillow, closing my eyes just before the door opened.

He turned on the light, rude as usual, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of showing that it bothered me. Instead, I kept pretending to sleep. To my surprise, he shut the light back off—and I heard him lock the door. His driver would have to leave his luggage in the hallway.

But I was shocked. Was Gus actually being thoughtful? Did he really care that I get my sleep?

He went in the bathroom, the light spilling into the bedroom, and I slightly opened the eye closest to the pillow. He still wore a suit, but he was removing the jacket and tie—and then he closed the door.

I hoped I could truly fall asleep before he came out.

I heard him turn on the shower and tried so hard, but sleep wouldn’t come. Soon, he exited the bathroom again, but I didn’t open my eye this time. It wasn’t long before I felt him get into bed on the other side and I assumed he would go right to sleep as he often did. I anticipated hearing his light snores long before I would actually go to sleep.

But I was so wrong.

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