Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Milly,” he said, his dark eyes searing into hers. “I don’t expect anything from you. I know you have a life here, and I will not bother you. I just had to see you again.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “We didn’t have enough time.”
Milly forced herself to stand. As much as she needed him to understand that this could not go on, she couldn’t bear the thought of this being the last time, and she didn’t want to dwell on that in these moments they had together now.
“You want to show me around?” she asked, opening the cabin door.
He nodded and led her down the short ladder to a tiny kitchenette with two burners, a small built-in sofa and drop-down table, a washroom, and a full-size bed.
His head was half an inch from touching the ceiling.
“It’s a small space for a tall, strapping man like you,” she said. “Are you going to manage OK in here?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll get a grill for the deck, but I’m going to be at work a lot. I’ll be down here mostly to sleep.”
“I don’t know much about boats, but this one seems like a winner,” Milly said, looking around at the navy-and-white-striped sofa cover and matching bedspread and pillows. “It’s adorable.”
Wes stepped toward her in the cramped space and took her face in his hands. “You’re adorable,” he said, pulling her to him.
“Wes,” she whispered.
Just one small touch from him and it made her woozy. He moved his hand down her neck to her collarbone, tracing the line to her shoulder, examining her.
“God damn,” he said. “You are so beautiful.”
Just hearing his words, feeling his breath so close to her, she thought she might unravel all over again.
When he finally kissed her, running his hand down the side of her body, caressing the curve of her breast, she melted into him, craving his touch, wanting more, desperately needing him.
“I can’t,” she whispered, kissing him again as if it might be the last time their lips touched.
“I have to get back.” But even as she said it, her heart pounding under his urgent touch, she knew she wasn’t leaving, not yet.
Later, he stood on the slip and watched her leave.
She’d stayed much longer than she’d planned, two hours longer, but she just couldn’t pry herself away.
After they made love once, he found new ways to make her stay.
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away, and she wished she didn’t have to leave.
She yearned to fall asleep in his arms, just one time, the gentle rocking of the water below them, but that was impossible; she needed to get back to the children, and she’d insisted she could walk home alone.
On the way, she tried to imagine having him living so close to her.
At first it worried her—how would she have any willpower?
—but by the time she reached her house and walked past the guest cottage where that heated night had unfolded, she had begun to give herself permission.
I don’t belong to Lloyd, she told herself.
I don’t have to be obedient and faithful to a man who wants nothing to do with me.
Lloyd put me in this position: He’s withheld attention from me for months, years even.
He clearly has a lover. Why couldn’t she see Wes?
She rationalized the crazy, reckless thoughts racing through her mind.
Why shouldn’t she be happy? She deserved to be happy, to be desired. She deserved to feel something real.
She opened the back door to the kitchen realizing she had no grocery bags to show for herself, and Leticia rushed into the kitchen.
“Ah, gracias a Dios,” she said.
“Is everything OK?” Milly asked.
“Es Jack. Está triste,” she touched her face as if to show tears. “Es el padre.”
“His father?” Milly began to panic. “Where?” She touched her face and smoothed her hair back, wondering if her lips, swollen and raw from so much urgency, would give her away.
“Ya se fue.” She pointed out the front door.
“Se fue?” Milly repeated, not understanding.
Leticia placed her hands on an imaginary steering wheel and acted out Lloyd driving away.
“He left?” she asked. “He came here and then he left?”
“Yes, si,” Leticia said.
“Did he see me?” she asked frantically. “Did he see me leave with the … my friend?”
Leticia looked at her blankly.
“Did he see me? Did he ask about me?” But it was no use. “Oh God. Is Jack awake?” Milly asked.
“Jack está triste,” Leticia repeated.
When Milly opened Jack’s door he was whimpering and Debbie was curled up in his bed next to him.
“What happened, my loves?” she asked, sitting on the side of his bed, brushing his hair off his damp, red face.
“Did Daddy come to visit?” Jack took a deep breath, but it came out shaky, as if he were trying not to cry. “Oh, Jack, love.”
“I want Daddy,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks no matter how hard he tried to keep them in.
Milly picked him up from his bed and wrapped his arms and legs around her, holding him tight. “I know, sweetheart, I know you do.” Then she pulled Debbie in too.
“What did he…?” She didn’t want to interrogate the children but she needed to know what he knew, if he’d seen her leave the house with Wes, if, God forbid, he’d followed her to the marina. “Did he have to get back to work?”
“He said he was waiting for you, but then it got late and he said he had to return to the studio,” Debbie said, surprisingly calm.
“I asked when he’ll be coming home again, and he said he doesn’t know.
” Jack, still squeezing Milly tightly, took several more staggered breaths. “Why can’t he stay?” he asked.
How could she respond? “Well, I’m not sure exactly, but he must have a very important assignment, because I know he would much rather be with you right now than doing whatever silly work he has to do.”
Jack rested his head on his mother’s shoulder, and she rocked him the way she had as a baby. She felt him trying to catch his breath, and then she felt it get easier, peaceful, and she slowed to a sway.
Once the crying stopped and his breathing calmed, Milly lay Jack down and smoothed his cheek until he fell asleep.
She tucked Debbie into her own bed and read a few chapters of one of her Polly and the Wolf books until she too began to give in to sleep.
She kissed her forehead and went downstairs to see Leticia off.
Finally, alone in the living room, she felt wretched.
Everything she’d told herself as she walked home from the boat, everything she relived now—giving in to Wes, all of it—suddenly made her spin.
How could she be so selfish, putting her needs and desires before her children’s?
She had one job, and that was to protect them.
They needed their father, and they needed their mother to love their father, to fight for him, to do whatever it took to bring him home, not to be off in the guest cottage or on a secret boat making love with another man.
She felt dizzy with the realization, disgusted with herself for indulging in a salacious affair while her son was left at home, crying to the nanny.
Milly put her hand to her mouth, horrified at her actions.
I have to get him back, she told herself. I have to bring Lloyd home for good.