Chapter 4

"Is something wrong Sarah? There's no color in your cheeks today. It's not like you; you're always so perky."

I forced a smile at the man in front of my window. It was Peter, my close friend's husband. If there was something wrong he was the last person I would tell. But nothing was wrong; unless you count the empty feeling I had in my stomach every time I thought of the way Danny had spoken to me on the phone the night before. His voice had been distant, scolding me for leaving the message on his voice mail as if I had no right to inquire if he was alright. He had completely ignored my plea for us to talk.

Otherwise, nothing was wrong with me unless you counted the delicious ache in my thighs or the strange feel of my hairless pussy rubbing against the silk crotch of my panties, reminding me each time I took a step of the things I'd urged Randy to do to me the night before. I'd worn silk instead of cotton panties because I thought they would be more soothing to my inflamed and bruised labia. I was right, the soft silk felt gentle, reminding me of how Randy's tongue had sought entrance there.

"I hear you and Patty are looking for a larger home," I said to change the subject, successfully. The mention of a larger home was all it took for Peter to launch into a diatribe about the complexities of searching for the perfect house. While talking, he happened to mention his new position and how much was expected of him at work.

Realizing I was nervously looking behind him at the growing line, Peter said goodbye. "Sarah, if there's anything you need while Danny's away..." He was looking directly at my breasts. I wondered if they looked heavy to him. They felt heavy to me. They felt mauled. They felt adored. "Call me," he finished the sentence.

When the phone rang that night I was sure it was Danny calling. I was prepared to confess everything. If he would only apologize for being short with me the night before I would tell him it was my fault. I knew better than to call and leave messages. It wouldn't happen again. I even had the first sentence of my confession planned in my mind. "Danny, I don't know how it happened but... well, I know how it happened but you've simply got to believe me, I don't know how I let it happen." Where it would go from there I didn't know. He would probably ask me what the hell I was talking about. I would start crying and the conversation would go down hill from there. He would become exasperated with me and I would blurt out, "I let another man fuck me, not just once, not twice but three times."

"Hello?" It wasn't Danny. I laughed to myself when I heard Randy's voice. I was thinking about my confession, telling Danny that I had let another man fuck me three times when, in fact, I couldn't count how many times we had fucked.

"Turn the outside light off. I'm coming to see you."

"No! You can't! We're not going to make a habit of you coming here" I said, being as firm as I could be, careful not to say his name. I had heard cell phone conversations can be picked up by eavesdroppers. What if someone we knew was listening?

"We'll talk. No touching."

"That's what you said last night and look what happened."

"What happened?"

"I had trouble walking today, that's what," I giggled and heard Randy laugh too.

"I'll need to check you over to see that everything is still in working order."

"That's a far cry from only talking, no touching," I said, knowing that I was relenting, already moving to the back door where the light switch was located.

"How long does it take you to run home?" I ask when I opened the door, determined to make him leave in plenty of time to make curfew. I knew that he was already running additional laps after practice because of me.

He left that night at ten minutes to eleven and every night, except weekends when he could stay out later, until the first of August, the day I had dreaded for two weeks.

Although nothing was said about what he would do when Mrs. Peters' children went to visit their father I told myself I was okay with him giving me up for her. We no longer referred to the lady as Mrs. P. At my urging he had divulged her name one night when I had sucked it out of him, literally.

I knew that she lived on the right side of town, was influential in the community and for a woman of thirty-nine, was quite striking. I had driven by her house to see the small tree in her front yard that had recently been moved, about ten feet. I drove by again to see if I could pick out which upstairs room was hers, deciding that I was becoming too inquisitive for my own good. Her house was out of the way for me; what if she saw me being nosey?

As the first of August approached I became paranoid. If he wanted to go to her there was nothing I could do about it. We didn't discuss it. I didn't cry or throw a tantrum or beg him not to leave me. It was not my place; I was a married woman, having an affair with a younger man. But, I was so fucking jealous I didn't think I could stand it.

There had been one letter from Danny which began with two short paragraphs telling me how much he missed me. The diatribe, which I recognized word for word from a previous letter, ended abruptly. From there he described the devastation the fires had left and the futile feeling he had experienced while having to move back from the fire's extreme heat. There was no mention of his phone call, no apology for his being curt with me and no indication that he had heard me say we needed to talk.

I answered his letter, saying how relieved I was that he had not been injured in the fires and how much I appreciated hearing about his experiences. My letter ended with the caution: "Don't try to be a hero."

"Is everything alright, Sarah?" Mrs. Hubbard ask one afternoon when I came home from work. "I hate to think of you sitting alone in the dark every night."

I laughed, nervously. I may have been in the dark every night but I certainly wasn't sitting alone. "It's the heat, Mrs. Hubbard. Having lights on makes it hotter. Besides, I have night lights."

"When is Danny coming home?" She was moving on; apparently satisfied with the reason I had given for my house being in darkness.

"About a week before school starts. He wants to enroll in a course at the college," I answered without knowing for sure if I was being accurate. Danny hadn't said when he would be home and his taking a course at the local school had only been mentioned in passing before he left for the summer.

It was my practice to leave the back door unlocked so Randy could enter the dark house without being seen my Mrs. Hubbard or my other neighbors. We were always careful to move from room to room, often crawling on our hands and knees to prevent the nightlights from casting a shadow that would give us away.

Danny called on Friday night, the 30^th of July, what I perceived would be my last night with Randy. I had no way of knowing but I had assumed that Mrs. Peters would deliver her children to their father's home on Saturday, the 31^st and be free to play on Saturday night.

Danny talked aimlessly, not revealing the date he planned to return home. I didn't ask. I had given up telling him that I had strayed from my marriage vows, having decided it could wait until he came home and I could tell him face to face, not that it would be easier or that he would listen more attentively. I had given up being forgiven. But I had to tell him, preferably in person. He talked excitedly about the rains that had arrived in time to extinguish the fires before they reached the camp where he was staying. It was still raining, flooding the roads, making it impossible for him and his mates to get into town for some badly needed rest and relaxation. As dreary as the constant rain must have been, Danny was in high spirits. I agreed with everything he said, hoping to end the conversation before Randy arrived.

"What's that?" My husband had heard Randy's voice, asking me where I was because I had not been at the back door to greet him.

"Oh, that's Randy, the young man that I have been getting my rocks off with every night for the past three weeks," I wanted to say. "But this is our last night together and you're interfering with me enjoying it with him. You're talking, talking, talking about nothing. Why did you call, Danny? I hope it rains 24 hours every day."

That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I pressed the off button the instant Danny said, "What's that?", and threw the portable phone from the living room, through the door and into the kitchen in the direction of Randy, trying to hit him.

He must have dodged the phone because the next thing I knew he was consoling me, talking softly, trying to get me to stop crying. I was frantic. I couldn't talk, I couldn't tell him why I had thrown the phone at him, I couldn't tell him my husband had called and...

The phone rang. "It's Danny," I managed to say.

"Do you want me to answer?" Randy offered.

"No!" I didn't know what I would say but I knew I didn't want him talking to my husband.