Back in the kitchen I fixed myself a coffee which I didn’t drink, and waited solemnly for dawn.
As the sun’s first light filtered weakly through the windows, I had resolved nothing. Go or stay? Stay or go? The devil I knew or the deep blue sea? Go or stay? Stay or go? Endlessly repeated through the torpor of my mind.
The doleful ring of the bedside alarm made me jump. David snorted awake and I hurried to make breakfast. He liked it hot and greasy after a bender. Luckily yesterday’s sprint to the store had furnished the refrigerator with bacon and maple syrup. I whipped up some pancake mix and put a dab of oil in the pan.
He arrived at the breakfast table with military precision and in a full-on sulk.
“Nice to see some food for a change,” he muttered.
“How many pancakes do you want?”
“Two.”
Silently I served him the guilty-wife special: three pieces of bacon, two eggs sunny-side up, two pancakes, syrup on the side and coffee.
“This plate’s cold.”
“You want me to heat it up?”
“I haven’t got time for that. Christ, Caroline! Can’t you do anything right?”
No. Probably not.
He left the house without a word. I wondered how long his sulk would last: nine days was the record.
Belatedly, it occurred to me that Sebastian would probably come looking for me once he was sure David had gone to work. I knew it was cowardly and unfair, and I was supposed to be the adult – but I just couldn’t face him.
I showered at the double and ran out of the house without bothering to dry my hair, scooping up my notebook from the hall table as I passed. I couldn’t say why: perhaps some atavistic memory of needing to write, from a time when life was simple.
As I drove away, I refused to look in the rear-view mirror. I had an almost superstitious belief that if I looked, Sebastian would appear. Cowardly to the last, it seemed.
I was ridiculously grateful to find an out-of-town mall with a drugstore sign in cheerful neon, the ‘Good Morning Pharmacy’. Not for me.
The woman serving was sympathetic until she happened to see my wedding ring; then the shutters of disapproval came crashing down and I slunk out, clasping my paper bag.
I hunted for a coffee shop and sat hunched in the corner to order a double espresso and a glass of water.
The Plan B Emergency Contraceptive packaging scolded:
‘Side effects may include changes in your period, nausea, lower abdominal pain, fatigue, headache and dizziness.’
I don’t care! Just don’t let me be pregnant!
I swallowed the pill quickly, then tore up the packaging into postage stamp-sized pieces. My hands were shaking as I sipped the espresso. I probably looked like another caffeine hound after my fix.
I had to find a way to channel the flurry of half-formed thoughts that gushed through me. Eventually I pulled out my notepad, trying to make sense of the scrawled words and phrases. Working slowly and carefully, I started to plan my article. It felt important, somehow, that of the complete fuck-up I’d made of my life, that I do this one thing well.
I realized I’d been working for over an hour when the irritated waitress asked me if I wanted anything else.
Yes, a life! Oddly enough, that’s not something waitresses served up on a regular basis. I removed myself from her baleful gaze, leaving a larger than deserved tip. Coward.
I hid in my car and wondered what to do next. If I went home I knew Sebastian would be waiting for me. I didn’t know what to say and I was afraid of how much more damage I’d done.
“Are you alright, miss?”
A worried looking man in a Padres baseball cap knocked on my car window, making me jump.
I wound the window down halfway.
“Oh, thank you. I’m fine, really.”
“Waal, you were sitting there for so long I was starting to get worried. You sure you’re okay?”
What was it about the kindness of strangers that made me want to weep?
“I’ve just got a few things on my mind, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for your concern. That was very sweet of you.”
He nodded, smiled uncertainly and ambled off.
The car engine started with a roar, and I was soothed by the familiar grating sound the gear shift made as I reversed out of the parking space. I drove without a destination, idly wondering what problems troubled other drivers locked in their glass and metal worlds, individual and isolated. Were they pondering the meaning of life, itemizing shopping lists in their heads, or simply idling in traffic, minds full of happy non-thoughts?
The June gloom of early morning had given way to hazy sunshine as I found myself driving along a quiet stretch of Pacific coast. It seemed as good a place as any to brood. The air was mild and a light breeze stirred the stubby grass that tried to maintain a foothold among the dunes.
I kicked off my sandals and felt the fine grit beneath my toes. My thoughts turned inwards as I wrapped my arms around my knees and gazed out towards the ocean. Had I reached a turning point in my life, or was this merely a blip on a long and bleak horizon? Was leaping from a failed relationship to a doomed one the most sensible action for a woman of thirty? Rationally: no. But the feel of Sebastian’s body against mine, inside mine; his sweetness, his gentleness... Could I really say that meant nothing? Were those feelings so abundant in my life that I could count them worthless?
The only real love I’d known in my life had been from my dear, chaotic father. Sebastian hadn’t even had that. He was hungry for love.
Could I help him? Answer: I couldn’t. I would only hold him back from all the wonderful things he deserved from life. So I had to let him go.
But where did that leave me? Contemplating leaving everything I had ever known because of one ill-advised hour of passionate lunacy. If I left David I was well aware I would have nothing, not even my reputation. I had never lived on my own, never lived on what I could earn, never lived without the say-so of someone else. The unknowingness was terrifying.
I sat and stared until I realized with vague surprise that the shadows were beginning to lengthen around me.
I unclamped my hands and stood up stiffly, watching with fascination as blood flowed back towards my white knuckles. I’d wasted a whole day and resolved little: except that Sebastian deserved better than me.
Dread settled like a toad in my stomach. I didn’t know how I could face David after what I’d done. I’d got away with it in so far as he hadn’t caught us, caught me, last night, but I’d never kept a secret from him before: I had no idea how I was going to start. How could I school my face to stone in the next 30 minutes?
I made it home shortly before six, his usual home-time, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed that the house stood silent, untroubled by either friendly or malign presence.
I threw myself into cooking: spaghetti alla puttanesca – tomatoes, olives, chili pepper, capers, garlic. It seemed appropriate – the whore’s spaghetti. Odd to think I’d planned that meal yesterday, when I was still an honest wife.
Hearing David’s car in the drive brought me sharply back to the present.
Set the table. Place the napkins. Open his beer. Pour it in a glass. Wash the salad. Act normal.
“Hi, supper is nearly ready,” I said as brightly as I could manage, my voice sounding shrill and insincere to my ears.
He ignored me entirely. Oh, of course, he was still sulking. That made things easier.
We ate in silence. I cleared the plates without a word. He retired to his study. Not a syllable had passed our lips.
I was grateful to him. It made things so much simpler.
To my bemusement, I was able to concentrate on writing up my surfing story that I hoped City Beat would publish. The words flowed and it was therapeutic to spend the evening in a happier place.
At 11 PM, David exited his study and headed for the bedroom. I wish I’d remembered to wash the sheets today. Whore.
I observed di
spassionately that he deliberately balled up his clothes and flung them onto my side of the bed, knowing I’d have to get up early to press the pants – again.
He returned from the bathroom marching with stiff, military precision in his ironed PJs. I had an almost irresistible urge to laugh.
The sheets were thrown back with disdain and he turned sharply, hauling the bedspread onto his side. How marvelously childish.
Smiling to myself, I slid between the sheets and dared myself to feel hopeful.
By morning I knew I couldn’t put off facing Sebastian any longer. I suspected that if I waited at home long enough, he’d appear. I probably had a few minutes to dash to the store to buy milk, vegetables and candy.
I didn’t linger over my purchases, but even so, when I turned into the drive, there he was, sitting huddled in my porch. At least he was hidden from the road.
My stomach flipped over.
His eyes lit up when he saw me and he made to stand. I shook my head quickly and luckily he understood.
As soon as I opened the door, he slid inside unobtrusively. I still hadn’t planned what I was going to say to him. I wasn’t even sure it was possible to plan.
We stood looking at each other, the door unyielding against my back.
“Are you okay?” he said at last.
I nodded slowly. “I guess. You?”
“I… I had to see you.”
“Come in,” I said, somewhat reluctantly, pointing towards the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”
He shook his head.
This was harder than I’d expected and I’d barely said a word. I sank into a kitchen chair while he continued to stand.
“I tried to see you yesterday. What happened… after I went? Was it… okay?”
His voice was low, hesitant.
“David didn’t suspect, if that’s what you mean.”
By contrast my voice was unnecessarily harsh.
Sebastian’s eyes reflected his hurt.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I said coldly.
You can do this. You can let him go.
“Caroline…”
“What?”
He took a deep breath.
“I’ve been thinking about you ever since...” His words came out in a rush. “We can go back East if you like, wherever you want. I can get a job.”
I stared at him, stunned.
“We can be together,” he whispered. “Forever.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; instead I continued to sit and stare.
“Caro?”
Caro? Oh, I liked that… What a lovely dream.
“Caro!” he said, sounding panicked.
But just a dream.
I sat at the table and rested my head in my hands. This wasn’t what I’d expected; it certainly wasn’t how I’d planned the course of the conversation. Where was my resolve to end this?
I heard a chair scrape across the floor and he sat down next to me.
His beautiful face, so earnest, was just inches from mine. I straightened up and looked at him directly.
“Sebastian: I think you’re very sweet but…”
He cringed as if I’d slapped him.
“Give me a chance – I know we can make it work, Caro.”
“No, we can’t. You’re only 17… I could be arrested. I should be arrested! No, listen to me: the other night was…” I hesitated, unable to find the right word. “But the point is, it was wrong.”
“Not for me.”
I sighed. Again I recalled the sensation of his body against mine, how good it had felt. Good, bad; wrong, right.
“Then we’ll wait until I’m 18,” he said defiantly. “It’s not so long. We can be together and no one can stop us.”
Stupidly tempting.
“I’m married, Sebastian.” You were married two nights ago. Whore!
“You don’t love him, Caro.”
My eyes darted to his. How did he know?
He sensed a small victory and pursued his advantage, grasping my hand.
“I love you. I’ll… I’ll do anything, go anywhere. You can do your writing – we’ll be happy.”
So, so tempting. And his touch: flesh on flesh.
My traitorous mind filled with images of our sweet, gentle, glorious love-making. I’d never been touched like that before: it had been an education, a delicious, dangerous awakening.
He could sense the feebleness of my will. His lovely eyes were unclouded, free of all doubt, confident and reassuring. And when he leaned forward pressing his lips lightly against mine, it was a peaceful moment at the heart of a whirling pool of emotions. It was an electric moment, the eye of the storm.
I tried to understand the feelings that filled me, making me lighter than air. I felt beautiful for the first time in my life, safe and secure.
Loved.
Cherished.
He gathered me to him and I clung to the protective circle of his arms, feeling the warmth of his body, and listened to the steady beating of his heart.
Had David ever told me that he loved me? I couldn’t remember that far back. I knew he was cold and controlling, and I knew that he didn’t love me. Sometimes it felt like I was utterly despised.
And finally my poor, starved heart caught up with what Sebastian had been saying: he loved me. He’d always loved me. Such a balm to my shrunken soul. My damascene moment hit me with extraordinary clarity.
I loved him, too.
Chapter 5
A summer of stolen happiness: that’s how I remembered the days that followed. The storm clouds gathered in the distance while my days with Sebastian were filled with light.
We knew we had to be careful. The military was a close-knit family and, like all families, the whisper of disapproval was never far away.
Daytime was easier: David worked until 6 PM most days and every third weekend, but now Sebastian had finished with school for good, his time was his own. Estelle had persuaded Donald of the benefits of a college education for their only child and, as far as they knew, Sebastian was due to start at UCSD in the Fall. Only his mother had reluctantly attended his graduation, Donald being far too busy to attend such a trivial event, and Sebastian had shyly shown me the formal photograph of himself in his cap and gown. My own graduation seemed a shadow in another lifetime.
The hard part was knowing that we couldn’t be together intimately: I was quite clear about that. But the more I saw him, the more I spent time with him, the harder it got. He was beautiful inside and out. I loved the way he looked at the world, with such zest and enthusiasm, despite the coldness of his parental home. He soaked up every smile, every hesitant touch that I could give him. But I knew he wanted more, and so did I. Pandora’s Box had been opened, and it was proving very hard to keep the lid closed. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the intense memory of our night of love-making was ever present in my thoughts; I was pretty certain Sebastian felt the same.
We were sitting huddled together, sheltered by a sand dune, while a short shower clouded the horizon, a picnic blanket swaddling us.
“Caro, you know you talked about wanting to go back East: did you mean North Carolina or Maryland?”
“Not Maryland,” I said, shuddering at the thought of being in the same state as my mother. “I was just thinking about getting as far away from here as possible. No, it doesn’t have to be there or North Carolina. Why? Did you have somewhere in mind?”
“Well,” he said hesitantly, “I was thinking maybe we could go to New York City. It should be easy to get work there, right?”
“I guess.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to live in a city that size but after a moment’s thought, I could definitely see the benefits. For one thing, we’d be harder to find; and Sebastian was right about the increased chances of finding work. But I was also rather intimidated by the sheer scale of what we’d be undertaking. I’d been there twice, and each time had quailed at the speed at which everything happened. I was afraid I
’d be lost. But… with Sebastian? I wouldn’t have to face it alone. I wouldn’t have to face anything alone ever again.
“I looked at some courses at NYU,” he said, in a voice that was just one shade too casual to be believable.
“And?”
“Nothing, really. I just thought it would be cool: you and me in the Big Apple.”
“Sebastian, I don’t mind where we go. If you want to go to New York, if you’ve seen some courses that interest you, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Really?”
He beamed at me.
“Of course! It’s just as much your future as mine.” Or more.
In secrecy, we planned for Sebastian to apply to NYU, with his courses starting in the Spring semester. We – and I delighted in that small pronoun – would leave California as soon as he was 18, which was October 2nd, and hoped to hide in the anonymity of the grey metropolis. I would, of course, find work as a journalist, and undoubtedly we would be happy.
I was swept up in that delicious dream. I couldn’t fully hide my happiness; someone was bound to notice.
“Caroline!”
Donna Vorstadt’s voice interrupted my happy musings in the Kwik Shop.
“How are you? Johan and I are really looking forward to your little soirée tomorrow.”
My brain lurched to attention. Had she seen me arrive with Sebastian? No, she was still smiling, acting normally – unlike me.
“Oh, yes, of course! Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
So true.
“It must have been somewhere lovely – I called your name three times!”
I flushed uncomfortably and she raised an eyebrow, but was kind enough not to pursue the point.
“David told Johan that you’ll be making some of your delicious little Italian delicacies.”
She glanced, puzzled, at my cart. A milk carton and bottle of olive oil blinked back at her.
“I prefer to cook everything from fresh,” I muttered, improvising wretchedly.
“Of course,” she smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, look! There’s the Hunters’ boy over by the cold meat counter. He’s cut his hair. Goodness! Sebastian! Yoo-hoo!”