8
(3 votes)
| Rating | Rated by |  | | 8 | chapter1 | | | | 8 | Cher | | | | 8 | Penelope | |
You must login to vote
|
|
|
My wife and I have been drawing lines in the sand for almost fifteen years. Some of them are trivial, like the ones about the toliet seat and leaving my shoes in the middle of the bedroom floor. The consequences of such minor infractions are mild, my favorite jeans stay in the hamper a few extra days, or cold sandwiches for lunch. We don't talk about it, but we both know what's going on. There are other more serious rules that are deadly serious. Rules about trust, fidelity, and propriety. There have been a few little earthquakes of discontent in those arenas but never a full blown catastrophe. At least until I met Miranda.
It started out innocently enough. She was a coworker, a single mother with two small children struggling to keep the bill collectors at bay. I was her supervisor, who tried to keep her schedule regular enough that her boys didn't grow up latch key the way I did. She was appreciative of my extra efforts and sometimes would bring home cooked lunches to the store when my wife was out of town visiting the inlaws. We even invited her and the boys over one Thanksgiving. Having kids in the house after our own daughters had moved far away to find jobs and spouses in more urban parts of the world was a treat. The wife and Miranda seemed to get along famously. Miranda even said that Helen reminded her of her favorite aunt who had passed away when she was a child. We bought the boys birthday and Christmas presents, and both of us began to regard them a part of the family. Everything was normal until New Years Eve. That's when Miranda kissed me.
Helen had retired shortly after midnight, but has encouraged Miranda and I to sit up and celebrate as late as we liked. We'd had a little too much to drink, but I never would have expected a woman Miranda's age to make a pass. I was too old and she was certainly pretty and vivacious enough to turn the younger men's heads. I didn't question the attraction for long, I was too busy trying to figure a way out of the downward spiral caused by my own foolishness.
Helen would blame Miranda, but I can't bring myself to. She's had it rough and I took advantage of her need. I was nonthreatening for the same reason I should have been unavailable. She wasn't looking for a husband, only for a few nights of comfort and to be reminded that she was still desirable, all from someone who wouldn't play her false and leave her and the boys with empty promises.
While it was still happening, I could distract myself from the reality of my infidelity in the soft curves and recesses of her flesh. Her appetite was ravenous as was my suprise at the vigor with which I pursued her fullfillment. She was alternately needy and wanton, and I felt like a teenager again. But it doesn't last. Eventually her confidence returned, she met a younger man named Henry at the library and doesn't visit much any more. She says it's because she feels guilty, but I know it's because she moved on. Remembering stolen afternoons spent on kitchen floors with a man almost twice your age is not a priority for a women like her. She's found a new job and there's talk of an engagement ring.
Where does that leave me? I'm an adulterer who's lost his mistress and can't make love to his wife with the lights on anymore. Helen and I talk less than we ever have, but I keep my honey-do list up to date. I feel like an intruder in my own house, yet can't bring myself to tell the truth about my relationship with the now distant Miranda. I'm sure she'll send keep sending us Christmas cards and an invitation to the wedding when it materializes. Helen will remain oblivious and I'll continue to carefully toe every line Helen draws in the sand of our almost perfect marriage. I'll eventually crack and tell the turth, and my truest companion will be devestated by not only my betrayal. I think the long deception will wound her even more deeply. I can't live with that.
So my bags are packed, she'll return from the her parents to a silent house and lies more palpatable than the truth. The rules of the game were always simple. Once you step over that line, you're out of the game. God help me.
------
Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.
|
Three Bills
