The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, A Novel (5 page)

The cell phone was still in my hand.
It seemed more of a hindrance than resource.
A few moments ago, I was talking to my husband.
The man I have been married to for more than a dozen years.
Now I was watching an old lover from the past buy us drinks.
What did it all mean?

Alice stirred in the next chair.
Looking down at her, I marveled how much she resembled her father.
They both did, really.
Both had that same dark mane, and those same iridescent green eyes.
I couldn’t help wonder what their mother looked like – was Susan beautiful?
What was she really like?

Jenny put her arm around Alice and they snuggled deeper into sleep.
They were having a good time together. No, a great time.
This trip had turned out better than I thought.
Which was significant, considering in the beginning, I’d believed with all my heart it would turn into a catastrophe.

Alan watched the bartender put the bottles on the counter.
For a moment, he looked back at me.
Our eyes locked over the distance for longer than was necessary.
A sweet smile crossed his lips, then he turned back to pay the bartender.
I stuffed the cell phone into my bag and covered it up with everything inside.
Maybe it wouldn’t ring again until tomorrow.

“Are the kids still asleep?” Alan glanced over at the four as they slept, then handed me my bottle and sat down.

“I prefer to think of it as recharging their batteries.
And if we don’t get some sleep we will never keep up with them tomorrow.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I remembered that he had some confession to tell me.

He frowned at his bottle, thinking to himself, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well . . .” I searched for something to stall, “we still have to drink these.
I don’t think we can juggle two kids and the beer as well.”

He smiled, taking a long drink.
I didn’t want to push, but I was curious.
What else could he possibly confess?
Alan looked at me and his lips parted to speak.

“Daddy!” Jack began to cry.
“Daddy!
I had a bad dream!” Alan was beside him in a second, cradling him in his arms and speaking softly in his ear.
The noise startled the other kids, who began to stir.
Without a word, we each collected two children and headed back to our rooms.

“Laura?” Alan popped his head through the adjoining door just as I started to carefully undress the children.

“Yes?”
I responded a little too eagerly.
Did he want to stay up and talk some more?

“Same time tomorrow?”
I sighed and nodded, casting him a weary smile.
The door closed behind him.

Jenny and Ben instinctively snuggled up to one another.
They had to be exhausted.
Tri-athletes couldn’t have kept up with them today.
As tired as they were, I knew they would be up at the crack of dawn.

I needed to get some sleep.
Fortunately, it wouldn’t take long to drift off.
My body felt like it was floating and my brain clouded over.
Even so, I couldn’t help but think about the strange situation I found myself in.

There was no sound from the next room.
Alan probably passed out immediately.
Men could do that so easily.
I usually spent an hour in bed each night thinking what clothes the kids and I would wear, and what it would take to get us where we need to go.

But what if he was thinking about me?
Ridiculous!
Why should he?
And why should I care?
But what if he is?
He did say he had another confession . . .

Stop it!
Stop it this instant!
You are driving yourself crazy and it probably amounts to nothing – I tried to tell myself.
You are married.
Well, maybe your marriage isn’t that great, but then whose is?
Stop wasting your time thinking about the married man next door who will be going back to his wife while you are heading back to your husband!

I don’t usually argue with myself, and decided not to continue this train of thought.
It was too destructive.
Closing my eyes, I made my mind blank and slowly willed myself to sleep.

Chapter 5

By nine o’clock I was dressed and ready to go before Alan knocked on the door. After some quick thinking in the shower, I decided I was reading too much into the whole thing.
My imagination was running away with me and that, I told myself, was a dangerous thing.
This could be fun, but I had to face the fact that nothing should ever, nor probably would ever come of it.

Breakfast went a little more smoothly.
We seemed to have the routine down after only one day and everyone got to eat at the same time.
The kids were unbelievably excited, and now that they were friends, enthusiasm replaced the shyness of the day before to the point where I thought sedatives might become necessary.

The bus ride to the next park was less tense than yesterday.
Once again, I noticed smiles from the other passengers who obviously thought we were one big family of six.
Something about the idea of revenge made me let it all slide.

The first thing the kids wanted to do was the African Safari Ride and I sat with the girls, behind Alan and the boys.
The giraffes and zebras didn’t interest me as much as the back of Alan’s head, for some reason.
Ben asked Alan a question and I watched in awe as he lowered his head to hear him, and then patiently answered him.

A little electric shock went through me.
What was this?
Attraction?
My skin grew warm as blood rushed to the surface.
I tried to fight it.
After all, we are married, but to other people.

But, we had been lovers once.
This man in front of me had given me pleasure and excitement.
I shook my head to clear it.
That was a long, long time ago and we were very young.

Still, I remembered the day we finally broke up.
He had cheated on me.
One late night phone call from another girl’s boyfriend warning me to keep my boyfriend away from his girlfriend had ended it all.
Alan promised to reform but I couldn’t live with that one transgression.
Ironic, isn’t it?
Considering what I put up with now.

Looking back, it hadn’t haunted me like I expected it to.
I forgave him years ago and chalked the whole thing up to immaturity on both sides.
But a little nagging voice made me wonder if he had ever done it again.

Oh Christ.
Why did I care?
Really, I needed to get a grip.

Still, the idea had a tinge of irony.
I stopped short of telling Alan last night that the subject of my doctoral thesis was adultery in literature.
Why didn’t I tell him?
Was there the possibility that we could have an affair on this trip?

I pinched myself to stop pursuing this line of thought.
Don’t poison the trip with thoughts of sleeping with Alan!
But the match had been lit and in moments I imagined us locked in a steamy, sweaty embrace while the kids slept in the next room.
Damn, he was still gorgeous.

Ice cream cones . . . fluffy, declawed kittens . . . my darling children . . .
I tried to clear my head.
Alan looked back at me and winked.
Shit. Dried out worms… a Republican-controlled legislature . . . a leprous Sumo wrestler in a Speedo . . .
Alan in a Speedo . . .
No, not working.

I tried another approach, envisioning Anna Karenina throwing herself in front of the locomotive, unable to live with the consequences of her affair with Count Vronsky.
Hmmm… this had merit.
Hester Prynne humiliated, with a scarlet “A” for adultery sewn to her dress in Puritan New England.
Even better.
Maybe my thesis would keep me out of trouble.
Besides, it wasn’t like Alan had come onto me or anything.
He was probably no longer attracted to me.
Great.
Now I was dejected.

Throughout the day, every time his hand accidentally brushed mine or his eyes locked onto my eyes, I reminded myself of the literary victims of adultery.
It seemed to work.
Now all I needed was to reinforce these thoughts with a cold shower.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Alan handed me an ice cream cone and we watched from a bench as the kids played in the dinosaur discovery pit. For a moment I wondered how long it would take to get the sand out of their hair, clothes, and unmentionable orifices.

“I guess I have.
Sorry about that.”
I took a mouthful of ice cream to avoid answering him in detail.

“No matter what we say, there still is this . . . this thing between us, isn’t there?”
His frankness caught me off guard.

“I guess so.”
He was right.
I had no answers.

Alan took his eyes off the kids, giving me his full attention, “Maybe because we have unresolved issues?”

“You should have gone into psychoanalysis.
You always were good at picking apart our emotions.”

He leaned back, “Yeah.
I was also good at deceiving you.”

I was stunned.
There it was.
“Just once.”

Alan frowned, “Do you think you will ever forgive me?”

“I forgave you a long, long time ago.
What I want to know is did you ever forgive me?”

Shock played across his face, “For what?”

“We were too young.
I wanted too much from you.
I made the relationship too demanding.”

His jaw dropped open, “If by too demanding you mean that you didn’t want me fooling around, I’d say that was pretty understandable!”

“What I’m trying to say, is that we both contributed to the breakup of the relationship, whether we realized it at the time or not.”
Did I really say that?
Wow.
I may be more mature than I thought.

Alan sat back, considering this, “Maybe you’re right.
I wish I had known you felt that way though.
I’ve been beating myself up for a while over it.”

“You aren’t serious.”
Was he serious?
His look told me he was.
It was my turn to look shocked, “Then I wish I had told you this years ago.
I never wanted you to feel bad about it.
I look back at those years with fondness, not anger.”

“Really?
I had no idea.” he gazed off into the distance and we sat in silence, finishing our ice cream.
Actually, I was more surprised by my own words than by his.
But it was true.
I never did hate him or even feel angry.
How weird was that?
Most people didn’t feel that way.
Right?

“Do you think it would have changed anything . . . if I had told you that, that is?” I floundered.

Alan looked at me for a moment before responding, “I don’t know.”

I scrambled to end this conversation before it got too weird, “Well, you can’t change the past, can you?
So I guess in the grand scheme of things it really doesn’t matter.”

He said nothing but smiled weakly at me and I realized I had crossed the line.
Why did I have to be so goddamned open?!
Now I had upset him.
Jesus, Laura!
Suddenly, all the thoughts I’d suppressed all day flooded into my head.
I was overcome with an irresistible urge to kiss him and it took every ounce of energy I had to remain where I was, feigning an abnormal interest in my ice cream cone.

“You’re blushing.” Alan said and I realized he’d been watching me.

“Am not.” I lied.
My skin felt like it was on fire.
I thought about smearing my ice cream on my face, but thought that might just come off as a bit over the top.

Alan reached up and touched my face with his fingers, “It’s okay.”

I felt my skin burning under his touch, “Thanks.
Any time you need to be amused by my humiliation, I’m here.”

Alan laughed and I felt the heat subside.
What a strange conversation.
As embarrassing as it was, I kind of liked it.
We never spoke this openly when we were together.
Maybe the years helped make this easier.

I mulled over what he had said.
It surprised me that he felt bad about it.
But did he change?

The doomed literary adulteress, Anna Karenina popped into my mind.
I watched the reel unspool as she left her husband for the handsome and vain Vronsky.
He didn’t care about her and the relationship fell apart.
I heard the train approaching and envisioned her standing on the platform, waiting . . .

Originally, I thought I chose this subject for my thesis because of the stigma of adultery, but I knew better.
Many of the subjects of my thesis, Lady Chatterley, Countess Olenska, Hester Prynne were in miserable marriages.
Was I relating my situation to them?
Why hadn’t I noticed that before?

Jenny, Alice, Ben and Jack danced up to us, squealing with delight.
Alan smiled at me and we headed toward the rides.

Was I Lady Chatterley?
Did I love Mike anymore?
I knew I wasn’t happy.
Things were great at first.
Everyone thought we had something special.
So where was it?

Happily married people could discuss anything with each other.
I’d read that in a magazine article.
But over the past few years, I walked on eggshells when it came to certain subjects.
Mike had become more withdrawn and sometimes I had to drag information out of him.
Like when I found out about his affairs.
And what I did after that…

I slammed the door shut on a memory and returned to the present.
It was the end of another day and we were sitting down outside our rooms.

“Wow.
Those kids wore me out.” Alan peeled the twisted the top off his bottle of beer as we sat outside on the terrace.
The kids were asleep – exhausted from twelve straight hours of magic.
Crickets chirped in the darkness and a soft breeze stirred, clearing the heat of the evening away.

“I’m tired.
Did we run a marathon?” I swallowed the beer and felt it crackle down my throat.

Alan stretched, “Feels like it.”
His body, pulled taut, his head thrust back, made me feel sort of squishy inside.
I decided to change the subject.

“Tell me what you are working on now.”
I blurted.
How original.

“Are you really interested?” Alan’s eyes danced.

“Yes, I really am.
Tell me about your latest play.”
Ok, so part of me wanted to know and the other part of me wanted to touch him.
It was evening, we were drinking, and no one would ever see us, but I stifled the urge.

Alan launched into a monologue about what he considered to be his best work.
A multi-layered piece on the effect of morality on government.
My eyebrows arched more than once.
Damn, he was smart.