Chapter Thirteen
A Surprise Visit
Siena, August 5–6, 2011, Dallas, TX
The day after my lunchwith Connor, I booked a flight to Dallas and asked mom to watch Austin. But I didn’t tell Ryan. Why spoil his birthday surprise?
I reclined the airline seat and hid a wry smile, feeling in my travel bag for the firm shape inside the silky pouch. The Cowboy had seen some illegal action. And every crime must have consequences—although not before the presentation of evidence—which until now, had only occurred via video calls.
The flight was uneventful, as was the taxi ride to Ryan’s apartment, followed by a quick stop at a wine shop. My heart struck a beat when I unlocked the door with my spare key and stepped inside.
I widened my eyes at the sight—was I in the wrong apartment? The place shined with tidiness. No dirty dishes in the sink, no clothes strewn all over. The bed was neatly made, and nothing cluttered the top of the dresser.
I set the wine bottle and two taper candles I’d packed on the kitchen table, then went to the bedroom and placed the silky pouch on the bed. It was 3:30 PM, so I had plenty of time to get everything ready. After a luxurious shower with no baby wailing two feet away in the highchair, I brushed my hair, re-applied my makeup, and donned lacy red lingerie Ryan gave me for Valentine’s Day. Then, I spritzed on a little perfume and slid into my jeans and a silk red top.
Suddenly, the bedroom seemed too tidy.
Without thinking, I grabbed the top-drawer knob of the nightstand, the one on Ryan’s side of the bed. Did he have a side here? Breath held, I pulled the drawer open. Empty. Eyes squeezed shut, I yanked open the bottom drawer. Empty, like the top one. The other nightstand contained a pair of earbuds and a barber shop business card.
Stiff as a board, I approached the dresser. A thorough examination yielded drawers full of briefs, socks, and gym clothes. The bathroom contained one toothbrush, one tube of toothpaste, a mouth rinse, liquid hand soap, and Ryan’s deodorant and electric shaver. There was some toilet paper under the sink and carelessly folded bed sheets and bath towels in the linen closet.
I leaned against the wall and released a long breath. What did I expect to find in this “bachelor’s pad?” Ryan wasn’t a bachelor. He was a husband and a father.
After half an hour of searching for just the right restaurant on my phone, I ordered a salad, a self-proclaimed world-famous brisket with a side of baked beans, coleslaw, cornbread, and banana pudding for dessert. The kitchen cabinets contained basic white plates and stainless-steel flatware, so I set the table and called mom to check on Austin. He was doing great.
The food was delivered an hour later. The sumptuous aroma of slow-cooked beef mixed with warm cornbread made my stomach rumble. But I stuck the brisket, the sides, and the pudding in the oven to keep warm and the coleslaw and the salad in the refrigerator to keep cold.
I checked my phone—6:00 PM. I didn’t know what time Ryan came home here, but it probably wouldn’t be too long now. I pursed my lips—unless he was working late. I hadn’t considered that when booking this trip. Either way, that was unlikely on a Friday night.
At 8:00 PM, I had to use my breast pump. Then, sore and famished, I went to the kitchen and took the brisket out of the oven and the salad out of the refrigerator.
I eyed my phone’s message app but stopped myself. It would ruin the surprise.
The wine opener lay in one of the kitchen drawers, and the glasses sat on a top shelf. Next to them, stood a tall gift bag containing expensive Irish whiskey and a card with neat cursive handwriting:
Happy Birthday, Casey,
To working hard and playing harder.
– Viv
A winking smiley face with a tongue sticking out next to “harder” looked decidedly lewd.
I returned the bottle and the card to the bag and placed it on the top shelf. After opening my wine bottle, I poured myself a glass and dumped some of the salad and brisket onto my plate. It may have been as delicious as advertised, but I’d lost my appetite.
It was 8:30 PM when I put everything away.
It was 10:00 PM when I brushed my teeth, undressed, and climbed into Ryan’s bed, leaving my makeup on. Just my luck he was working late the day I flew in with a surprise visit. Or could he have gone out with his coworkers?
I grabbed my phone. It rang for a short eternity, but when I thought the call would roll into voicemail, Ryan answered.
“Hey...”
“Hey, baby.” I smiled. “What are you doing?”
A woman’s voice said something too soft to make out.
The smile froze on my lips.
“No, it’s fine...” His voice came through muffled, like he covered the phone with his hand.
Then all went deadly silent.
“Ryan?” I stared at my screen. “Are you still at work?”
“Yeah...” His voice faded again. “Real busy, Sie.”
The woman laughed, a perky little giggle.
I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat and straightened. “I’m doing a video call.”
“Can’t, Sie.” Ryan’s answer came before I could blink. “Later, okay?”
I dug my fingernails into my palm. “Are you by yourself?”
Silence again, followed by some rustling.
“No, with Viv...”
Time slowed down to a snail’s pace, then stood still, cold and implacable.
“Ah...” He suppressed a huff. “Working—with Viv.”
“I...” I swallowed a catch in my voice.” I have a surprise for you when you get home.”
“All right...” His voice receded. “Sorry, Sie. Gotta go. I’ll call later, okay?”
I lay down, numb all over. Was that a Freudian slip or were they truly working late? I closed my eyes and hugged myself, my mind spinning out of control. Something bumped in the apartment above, calling me back to myself. Ryan had worked late before—there was a chance he wasn’t lying. There was also a chance he wasn’t at work at all.
Jaw clenched to the point of pain, I stumbled to the kitchen. The wine and my empty glass stood on the table, but I drank straight from the bottle until I could drink no more. Then I returned to the bedroom and flung myself down on Ryan’s bed. Either way, I’d know soon enough.
My internal alarm woke me at the precise time Austin liked to nurse—2:30 AM. I stared, unblinking, at the empty space beside me. Then, shivering and half-blind in the dark, I staggered to the kitchen to pour myself some water.
I forced down a sip with a shaky hand. A little bird told me Ryan has moved on without you.
Swaying, I grabbed onto the counter. My body seemed to float above the floor; my stomach was like someone had emptied it out of every organ. Sobs, breathless and hoarse, erupted in uneven gusts as I threw open every cabinet door and pulled out every kitchen drawer. The sight of a black paperback with the word “Chasers” and a stick figure of a woman running after a stick figure of a man stopped me in my tracks. I grasped the book with trembling fingers: “Turn the Dating Game on Its Head: The Easy Guide to Make Women Chase You.”
I dropped it like it was something vile—a piece of dried-up vomit, a decaying dog turd. The stark black rectangle lay on top of the white-washed wooden planks. A black hole, into which I was falling, falling, falling. The fiery butterfly fluttered at the bottom, coming to life in the driving rain. He left you for another. Oh yes, he did.
My aching breasts brought me back to the here and now. But the pumping took no time—I had only half the usual amount. I poured the milk down the drain, rinsed the pump, and called the airline to change my flight. The next available was at 10:14 AM.
For three hours, I lay on my back without movement, staring at the ceiling fan through the blur in my eyes. It was a modern brushed steel kind with sharp, square blades. Ms. Perky may not have been Ryan’s type, but she was young, fit, and attractive. Who was I kidding? She was every man’s type. And best of all, she was there. Available and willing. Did they first do it after that video call that left him wanting? They must have kept the condoms at her place. My husband was too on top of things to forget he’d given me the key.
I closed my eyes and begged for a vision—anything to escape this nightmare.