Second Chances (87 page)

Theirs was not the happiest of marriages.  Feelings through the years had ranged from love, to one-sided love, to hate, then on to tolerance and they were now squarely settled into a comfortable indifference.  They had sex, not in the heat of passion or the throes of desire so much as in the manner one might try to scratch an itch.  For them it was the fulfillment of a very human very natural need.  At the beginning of their relationship, which is not to say at the beginning of their marriage, which came two full years later, they would sleep together all in a tangle like puppies in a pile.  They had to constantly touch each other.  Now a scaled version of the Grand Canyon could fit between them in their Queen sized bed.  Sarah used to stay up waiting, even if it took half the night, for Josh to return from work so that they could go to bed together.  More often than not, the only home fire left blazing for his return now was the hall light.  In short, to say that they had grown apart over the last seven years would be a gross understatement.

That is, perhaps, why Sarah was so surprised when upon leaving the old farmhouse for work one morning, she glanced into Josh’s black Mustang convertible and saw the pink striped gift bag.  She threw the tote bag she had been carrying into the back seat of her silver Xterra and giddily turned to open his car door.  The bag was on the floor of the back seat, not really hidden from view, but not drawing attention to itself either.  Their anniversary was only a week away and in all those years he had never bought anything for her from Victoria’s Secret.  She reached in, grabbed the bag off the floor then climbed into her front seat while she deliberated over whether she should peek or just wait the week for the surprise.

In the end, curiosity won out, and feeling slightly naughty, she reached between the crinkly pink folds of tissue paper and pulled out a black satin bra and panty set.  Her smile turned to a frown.  “This will never fit me,” she said to no one in particular, since she was alone in the car and the rest of the world seemed to be asleep.  “I can’t believe that with all my bras lying around he couldn’t just take a peek at the size…”

Sarah stopped talking then, not merely because she felt ridiculous carrying on a conversation aloud with herself, but because she suddenly realized that he still hadn’t bought her anything from Victoria’s Secret.  This package obviously wasn’t for her.  There was a brief struggle over whether she should put it back in the car and behave as though she had never seen it, take it with her to work, or confront him.  Almost immediately she came to the conclusion that she wasn’t putting it back.  She had hard evidence, well actually it was silky smooth, but it was still evidence.  She couldn’t confront him because she would be late for work and the light which had suddenly flickered on in the living room indicated that her five-year-old daughter, Chloe, was now awake and getting ready for school.

“Guess you’re coming with me,” she muttered, disdainfully tossing the lingerie so that it bounced off the passenger seat and ended up on the floor with the thong sticking out.  With no alternative, she backed the SUV up into the turn around and drove down the driveway heading for town.

The best part of having a set schedule at a set location was that she could almost run on autopilot to and from work every day.  Of course that was also the worst part.  When Sarah arrived at the college that day she had no idea how she’d managed to get there.  Every part of the drive between her mailbox and her assigned parking spot was a blur.  She thought for a moment.  Certainly she must have stopped at all the lights, she reasoned, had she not she would have a ticket or would have been in an accident.  She was so consumed with what she should do about the evidence that she couldn’t focus on much else.

As she stepped from her vehicle she toyed with the idea of leaving the bag where it laid, but then it occurred to her that Josh might miss his little present and stop by to see if he’d been found out.  With a sigh, she grabbed the bag and prepared to lock it in her desk.  She wove her way through the parking lot heading into Sibley Hall.  The sprawling one-story, bland, brown brick building was now gaining some color due to the arrival of spring.   Having grass covering the mud and leaves breaking up some of the dull brick made a marked improvement on its visual appeal.  Under normal circumstances, Sarah would be reveling in the song of the robins or the cooing of morning doves, and the distinct scent of spring in the air.  Nothing about today was normal, however, as she was oblivious to the signs of seasonal change and instead planned to make a bee line for her office door and see as few people as possible.

With a loud frustrated sigh, Sarah found Brian Waite sitting outside her door in one of the chairs meant for students waiting their turn during office hours.  “Dr. Waite,” she said, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”   The look on her face was hard; she certainly wasn’t enjoying his presence at that moment.  She fumbled to find the key that fit her heavy wooden door and grew only more flustered having an audience. 

“Here,” he said gently, taking the keys from her hand to unlock the door.  He would have offered to hold the gift bag for her so that she could do it herself, but since her knuckles were white from the death grip on the bag, he didn’t think it likely she would allow him to touch it. 

They walked into her office and he made himself comfortable in one of the worn wood chairs opposite her desk.  Sarah stood quietly.  She clumsily searched for her desk key, looking as though she might tear up at any time.  In frustration she gave up and tossed the keys on the desk.  Then sitting down, she wrung her hands in an effort to calm them while they shook almost uncontrollably.

“This should help,” Brian said, offering her a cup from Nancy’s Coffee.  “It’s your favorite, Cafe au Chocolate.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, bringing the sweet liquid to her lips.  She leaned back in her chair.  “Ahh.”  The warmth was spreading through her system, soothing her.

“So, you mind telling me what has you so unhinged this morning?”  Brian asked genuinely concerned.  At first Sarah said nothing, so he tried a new approach.  He eyeballed the bag and tried to ease the tension with humor.  “So, is that for me?” 

“No,” she winced, “and it’s not for me either.”  He wore a quizzical look, so she sighed and continued.  “I found these in Josh’s car this morning.”  She plucked the lingerie from the bag and waved it in front of his face carelessly. 

“Very nice,” he said admiringly.  “But how do you know it’s not meant for you?”   Sarah frowned for a moment, then dropped the thong in the bag and held the bra up in front of her chest.  Even with her loose blouse on, it was apparent that the bra would never cover her ample breasts.  “Oh, I see.”  Brian was rendered speechless and distinctly pink, but decided to brave the next logical question.  “So what are you going to do?”

“What are my options?  Can’t live with him, can’t kill him.”  She glanced at Brian, noticed his furrowed brow and felt the need to clarify.  “I’m joking,” she insisted.  His head tilted slightly.  “Mostly,” she admitted.  “Besides,” Sarah sighed, “orange jumpsuits look hideous on me.”  She forced a hollow laugh.  Calmer, she wrenched the bottom drawer of her desk open, tossed the bag into it, and slammed it resolutely.  “Yes, I do think I have some inkling as for whom these panties were intended.”

Brian smiled.  “I didn’t say anything.  How did you know what I was going to ask?”

Sarah shrugged.  “Logic, I guess.”

“Maybe,” he replied, “but I still think it’s magic that you can read my mind.”  He stood, leaned over the desk, gave her a peck on the cheek, and made to leave the office.  At the door he paused.  “Check for a message later, okay?  We’ll make plans for lunch.”

After he received a half smile and a nod, Brian left the room. 
He always does that,
she mused. 
Every time I need someone to talk to, even when I think I don’t want to see anyone, he’s there.
  Her office hour nearly up, Sarah packed a handful of books and supplies to take to her first class.

She returned to her office around eleven and immediately looked out the window.  The message was there as promised.  For the better part of a year they had been communicating this way.  Brian was the first friend Sarah had made once she was hired on as full-time faculty in the Reading Department.  His office in the Foreign Studies Department was across the courtyard from hers.  He had caught her staring out the window one day and took a wipe board off his door to write her a message:  ‘Hi!’  She had giggled at that.  It seemed not only juvenile to be passing notes like the kids when they had other more pressing work to accomplish, but it was also prehistoric since they could easily have dialed each other up on the phones from their desk or sent an instant e-mail. 

But Brian preferred it this way.  He said it was more personal than a phone call, it took more effort, and that it was far more fun than e-mail, which everyone used.  He even bought Sarah her very own wipe-board (jumbo sized because girls write more) as an office warming present.  And because of his quirky ways, they became fast friends.

“Same time.  Same place.  My treat.”  That was today’s message.  She scribbled a quick reply, erased it, and simply stuck a huge smiley face in the window instead.  He would know what she meant, and now she just had to find some way to kill those couple of hour.

The light on her phone was blinking rapidly.  Another message was waiting for her.  She listened and a smile crept over her face.  Josh wanted to make lunch plans with her.  She decided not to even call him back.  Let him sweat for a while.  Now she would decide how to approach their confrontation this evening.

Two hours later a knock sounded on her open door.  “Hey, I thought you were meeting me.”  The tone wasn’t accusatory; it was hurt, wounded? 

Sarah turned from the window and glanced quickly at her watch.  She was ten minutes late.  “Damn, I’m sorry,” she said apologetically as she dashed out the door to meet him. 

By the time she caught up with him, he was waiting patiently midway down the hall holding the door open for her.  The courtyard was their little spot.  No one ate there.  No one even ventured outside the doors.  Sarah couldn’t be certain that anyone knew they had turned it into their own private garden.  She had even used it as an extension of her classroom; bringing students out there to read and interact with nature, and showing them how to link these encounters with books to enhance the learning experience for their future students.