The Scarlet Letter Society (12 page)

“I don’t know,” said Maggie. “I guess time will tell.”

“It always does, honey,” said Wes, giving Maggie a big hug.

Lisa nervously sprayed glass cleaner on the front window of the bakery. The tiny café set in the shop’s bay window was a perfect place for a mom to sit with her three-year-old and a scone, but while she texted on her phone, the three-year-old had pawed the front windows with chocolate milk fingers, watching the cars and people go by.

Ben would be there shortly. She had offered to make lunch, but he had insisted on bringing it, noting that she cooked for people all day and deserved the break. He was picking up tapas from the great Thai restaurant up the road.

The bakery was open, so she wasn’t nervous about getting into an awkwardly sexual interaction that she confusingly both wanted and didn’t want to happen. She slumped into the café chair.
What exactly is it that you do want, Lisa?
The voice in her head asked her.
Do you want him to take you in the back and throw you over the sofa, like you told the Scarlet Letter Society he already has? Or do you just want friendly conversation and flirtation and another round with your vibrator later on, thinking of him while Jim is at work?

She’d written one thought in her journal that morning that seemed to be one of the only truths she knew at this point: “
He takes away the loneliness
.” It was a powerful thing. Even in a marriage, it was shocking how lonely you could actually feel sometimes.

She finished cleaning the fingerprints on the window. She had felt sorry for the little girl whose mother had been so distracted by her iPhone. Was texting or checking your email really more important that the adorable, curly-headed little blonde girl sitting across from you? Lisa knew she wasn’t someone who should judge a mother, not being one herself, but the jealousy over wanting to be a mother sometimes made her critical of women who seemed to take for granted the gift of a beautiful child.

And then she saw Ben walking up the street. He hadn’t seen her yet. He wore faded jeans, worn loafers, and a slightly wrinkled dark green polo shirt, the neck of a white t-shirt showing beneath it. His brown crew cut hair was neat as always. In addition to a large brown paper bag containing their lunch, he carried a folder of logo illustrations.

She scurried back behind the counter and busily put freshly baked muffins into the shop’s front case. The bell above the Victorian building’s old original double front doors jingled as he entered, smiling at her. She returned the smile, feeling color rise to her cheeks and willing it to fade back down.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Swain,” said Ben.

“Well good afternoon, Mr. Nidale,” said Lisa, trying not to grin like a middle school girl with a crush on the boy in her algebra class.

Lisa realized that since most of their communications had taken place on electronic devices (in addition to the fantasy sequences scrawled in her journal) this was one of the few times they’d actually met in person, and she was nervous. She knew more about him from stalking him on Facebook (status says single, photos with girl say “maybe girlfriend?”) than she did about actually sitting across from him at a table and having a conversation. And as he placed the lunch bag on the table, she realized how small it was. The tiny round iron table had been picked because it fit in the small window space with two matching chairs; an adorable vintage set from one of many nearby antique shops. Now they’d be eating messy food with chopsticks practically on top of each other

These thoughts didn’t help with her nervousness, so she set about preparing for their meal. She asked Ben if iced tea was okay (sweet, of course, since they were below the Mason Dixon line. if only barely). He indicated that it was and she poured their drinks.

Ben started pulling things out of the bag and held up the file folder.

“I don’t think we can manage to eat all this food and have this meeting at the same time. I propose lunch first, then meeting,” said Ben.

“Agreed,” said Lisa, trying to control her grin.

They sat down to eat, Lisa finding herself with the rare hope that customers would magically manage to stay away for just a little while.

“Thank you so much for bringing lunch by,” said Lisa, trying to break the awkward silence as the pair sort of gazed at each other. “This is definitely a treat. I usually eat a day-old scone for lunch.”

“The loveliest baker in town should not have to eat day-old bread,” said Ben, his smile revealing a dimple on one cheek that for some reason seemed directly connected to a nerve inside her nipples.

She blushed again and looked down at her shrimp Pad Thai. She’d been too embarrassed to admit to Ben that she hated spicy food—she had learned over time that when stuck in a Thai restaurant with friends that this was the safe, non-spicy dish.

“It’s delicious,” said Lisa.

“It’s my son’s favorite,” said Ben. “He won’t eat the spicy stuff.”

Lisa looked up from her plate and was unable to mask the complete surprise from her face.

Ben laughed. “I didn’t think I’d had a chance to mention him. Max is four. He is from a previous relationship; we never married. I get to spend time with him a few times a month. He’s fantastic.”

“Oh! I bet he’s great,” said Lisa, mentally going through Facebook pictures and not remembering seeing a child. “To be really honest, I’m jealous. I’ve been trying for a few years to get pregnant, but with no luck.”

“Sounds like you and your husband really want a child?” said Ben.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” said Lisa. “I think Jim wants a baby, too, but he definitely isn’t as enthusiastic as I guess I am, especially the more time that goes by.”

“Well, you’re still really young,” said Ben. “I’m sure it will work out.”

And he smiled at her with his brown-green-
what-the-hell-color-is-that
eyes, and she felt guilty for feeling that smile all the way in the middle of her. Part of her, probably an unknowing biological, basic animal instinct part, wanted nothing more than fertile sperm so she could have the baby she wanted. She imagined hurling all the food across the shop and jumping on the iron table, yanking him to a standing position and wrapping her legs around him so she could feel his desire as she licked his neck and breathed in the smell of whatever that goddamn amazing man-perfume smell was.

She swallowed hard, and took a drink of tea.

“Are you okay?” asked Ben.

“Yes, sorry, just daydreaming,” she said. “And is it hot in here?”

“It’s just you,” said Ben, smiling. “Penny for your thoughts.” He reached into a pocket and somehow produced an actual penny, which he placed on the table.

Lisa didn’t know what to say.
Well, my thoughts are that I wish you would completely ravage me right now in my shop window?
Somehow that seemed inappropriate. But only because it would be a complete disaster if a customer walked in. The back room couch? Totally doable.

She sighed.

“Honestly, I’m not sure my thoughts are appropriate in a place of business during a business meeting,” said Lisa in a mock-serious tone of voice.

Ben laughed. “Inappropriate thoughts can be the most fun kind,” he said. “But I absolutely do not want you to be concerned about the professionalism of this meeting. So should we get started?”

He picked up the file folder from the windowsill.

Lisa smiled. “Yes, of course we should, graphic design consultant. Let’s get right down to business.”

Eva unlocked the door of her hotel room, putting down her purse and suitcase and flopping onto the soft living room sofa. As unpleasant as her firm’s pending court case was going to be, she was glad she had to travel to New York this week. As was often the case lately, work was going to be a great escape from her personal life. She couldn’t wait to get on the DC train and away from Joe. She’d completed reviewing the case during the Acela train ride so she could relax for a few hours when she arrived in the city.

She’d managed to collect herself on that night enough not to discuss her discovery with her husband, but she’d thought of little else for the past few days. Somehow, she knew it was a game changer. The boys were in high school now, and even as immaturely as they sometimes acted, she knew they didn’t need her in the
same way as the days when she was packing peanut butter and jelly and Capri Suns in lunchboxes (or the au pair was). So why was she staying in a dead marriage? What were they waiting for to separate? The boys to leave for college?

She wanted a drink. The bar was of course already stocked with her favorite wines, and she selected a bottle of strawberry wine from the Maryland vineyard Linganore Wine Cellars, marveling at how much attention the hotel paid to detail.

Eva’s love life was a mystery to her.
Why do I need two men to make me feel fulfilled? One in each city? Really? Gah. It’s not really fair to either of them
. She knew she wasn’t really committed, especially to Ron. The poor kid was born in the 80s, and the entire relationship was basically nothing more than a hot-for-teacher crush. The sex was great, there was no doubt about that. She definitely understood the cougar relationship appeal now, but she still felt empty emotionally. It wasn’t like Ron was ever going to look her in the eyes and tell her that he was madly in love with her.

And that seemed to be what she wanted from someone. Or was it?

I hate the idea of depending on a man for happiness
, she thought, opening the wine.

So what about Charles? They’d been seeing each other for seven months, a natural enough timeframe for two people in a relationship to start asking what the hell was happening, right? Charles had been the proverbial tough nut to crack, though. His wife’s death was still recent enough that Eva knew he didn’t seem ready to enter any type of serious relationship, which was perfect, since neither did she. But the more time that went by, the more connected she seemed to feel to him. It was almost like she was using Ron as insurance against falling in love with Charles and getting hurt.
What a complete mess
, she thought. But she decided she wasn’t going to let it get to her.

She picked up her wine glass and walked out onto the terrace of her suite, to take in the summer view of Central Park. It was sticky, humid August hot like only New York City could be, but there was a slight breeze, and the cool air sucked out of the suite and refreshed her. She watched the couples ride the horse drawn carriages.
Clippity-clop, clippity-clop
. The horses’ hooves clopped on and on, day after day in
Central Park. She watched a couple snuggle as the weary horse carried them past benches where homeless people slept at night.
Living the dream
, she thought sardonically.

She felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her jeans.

“New message from Charles” lit up as she looked at the screen.

Charles: Join me in the Palm Court dining room for dinner at 7, madame?

Eva: Bien sur, monsieur.

Charles: Parfait. Comme nous.

Eva: Merci!

She smiled. She certainly didn’t think she was perfect, but the dinner plans sounded perfectly like what she needed. She walked back inside, pouring another glass of wine.
I deserve it
, she thought.
I’m just going to have one more glass, to relax. S
he used to have carefully set up rules about not drinking when she was alone (
I will not end up an alcoholic like my father
), but those had been rationalized away over recent years.