The Affair

by J. L. Berg

  “Hi,” I said, feeling completely awkward.

  “She loves to be tickled,” Candace suggested.

  “Um,” I managed to say, giving the infant in my lap a funny look.

  This made Penny smile. I couldn’t help but smile back. And soon, our unlikely friendship began.

  I booped her nose.

  She giggled.

  She held out one of those chunky little hands.

  I pretended to eat it.

  She roared with laughter.

  “Look who’s good with babies,” Candace said, coming back to the table with two mugs that she placed as far away from Penny as physically possible. Drinking hot coffee with a baby must come with its own set of challenges.

  “I’m a natural,” I boasted. “Who knew?”

  “I did,” Candace replied but added with a mischievous shrug, “But it’s not that hard.”

  Seemingly happy with her brief freedom, Candace sat back in the wooden chair, holding her coffee cup with both hands. “Tell me about your encounter with Reed. Was it awful?”

  With my own hands wrapped around her precious bundle, I began to talk, “It was. It made me question if everything we’d experienced was a lie.”

  “How so?”

  “Did you know that Sawyer isn’t close with his family? Like anyone?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I honestly don’t know him that well.”

  “Me either. He keeps to himself mostly, and I always just assumed he was quiet—a loner, you know? But he said something last night that made me wonder—”

  “What?”

  “You can’t say anything,” I said, not wanting Sawyer’s business to get around.

  “You know I love a good story, but when you come to me, I’m like a bank vault. I’ll never unlock those secrets. You know that,” she assured me.

  I nodded, remembering how she’d been there for me after my very public breakup. Candace and I had never been particularly close in high school, and after, we’d remained merely acquaintances.

  There were friends who’d outright avoided me when news of the divorce broke; friends who treated me like I was to blame for my husband’s cheating.

  But Candace had sought me out.

  She was the true friend I needed, and I wish I hadn’t kept her at such arm’s length for so long.

  “I don’t think Sawyer is treated well in his family,” I said, recalling the distant look in his eyes from the night before.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know, but looking back, it’s starting to make sense. How he was always there at family functions but usually in the background. I just can’t figure out why. Surely there has to be a reason, you know? You just don’t come out of the womb, hating your family,” I said, giving the child in my lap a brief glance.

  “And Reed never said anything to you?”

  I shook my head. “He just said they weren’t close, and there was always an implication that it was Sawyer’s fault. I never had any reason to doubt him. All part of that Reed haze, I guess.”

  I took a breath, remembering the harsh words he’d said. “He said the whole town was talking about Sawyer and me.”

  Her mouth flattened, giving me a less than impressed face. “I highly doubt that. He probably heard it from one person, and somehow, in his small mind, that translates into the entire town.”

  I smoothed the tiny curls on Penny’s head and breathed out the air in my lungs. “Yeah, but what if they are? Talking about us?”

  “This isn’t something you considered when you hired him?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Oh, it’s just when I asked you about it, you seemed like you’d thought it through—that you were pretty resolute in not caring what people thought, especially Reed.”

  I bit my bottom lip, feeling that fluttery feeling in my stomach again—the one I’d felt every time I thought of Sawyer lately. “I guess I just didn’t think of him in that way.”

  “And now?” she pressed.

  Placing my hands over Penny’s ears, I whispered, “And now, I can’t stop thinking of him that way.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “You know you don’t actually have to censor yourself. She can’t understand what you’re saying. Not that you’re saying anything remotely above a PG rating at the moment.”

  “Not in here,” I said, tapping my finger against my temple.

  “Eloise Wood!”

  Laughter filled the small kitchen.

  “Reed accused us of sleeping together. He basically assumed that’s why I’d hired him in the first place, as some crazy scheme to get revenge on him.”

  “And so, naturally, you believe the rest of the town shares his sentiment?”

  “I mean, why wouldn’t they? It’s good gossip,” I said with a sigh. “He is my brother-in-law.”

  “Ex-brother-in-law,” she reminded me. “But let me ask you this: who cares what they think? Who cares what Reed thinks, for that matter?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but she kept going, “If anyone knows how to survive this town’s gossip train, it’s you. When everyone found out about Reed and that girl in the bar, I bet you thought it was never going to end.”

  She was right. I had. I’d actually contemplated moving to a new town just to avoid people and their stares.

  “But soon, they found something else to talk about, right?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “So, don’t let that be your deciding factor. You’ve lived in a small town long enough to know that there is always something new to talk about. Believe me, someone is out there doing something stupid right now, and eventually, they’ll be the talk of the town. Just give it time.”

  She’d finished her cup of coffee, and she held out her hands for Penny, who came willingly. Once she was comfy, sitting upright in her mom’s lap again, Candace motioned for me to take a sip of my own coffee.

  “So, what is it going to be? Are you going to try to make all those dirty thoughts in your head a reality?” she asked with a sly smirk.

  My stomach flipped, just thinking about it.

  Was I ready to take that step?

  To be the source of town gossip again? To put my heart on the line?

  To fall for another Gallagher?

  “Can I sleep on it?”

  I was sure it wasn’t customary for a boss to leave a brand-new employee on their own for an entire afternoon without notice.

  It certainly wasn’t at Timeless Treasures at least.

  Although, to be fair, Sawyer was our first non-related employee ever, so I wasn’t sure what was customary and what was just plain crazy at this point.

  Except me.

  I was definitely feeling pretty crazy at this point.

  After leaving Candace’s house yesterday, I had known I needed more time, and I’d definitely needed space.

  If I could have booked airfare to Antarctica, I would have.

  But alas, I had this stupid thing called rational thinking. Well, that, and an expired passport that seriously needed to be renewed.

  I had known coming back to the store that afternoon would only muddle my thoughts, and they were already pretty murky—filled with semi-pornographic fantasies of Sawyer and me and the things we could do if I did, in fact, decide to dive in, as Candace had urged me to do.

  So, with the sliver of my rationale still intact, I had done the one thing I hadn’t done in, well… forever.

  I feigned a fake illness and took a sick day.

  I had no idea if Sawyer had actually believed in my sudden stomach illness, but it gave me a pause on the conversation we’d started but not finished—the one I’d been mulling over all day.

  What was Sawyer to me? A friend, an employee … or did I want more?

  Candace had been right. I needed to make a decision—independent of outside opinion.

  And that included Sawyer.

  Sitting in my lonely house, I had tried to make sense of my feelings. Hell, I’d e
ven made a list of pros and cons, but I’d come up empty.

  Until the next morning.

  When I awoke, I felt like a new person with a new outlook on life. Suddenly, everything made sense.

  I whistled my way through my shower and sang to myself in my car, and by the time I was walking into the store, I was in such a good mood that my mouth nearly ached from the smile on my face.

  And then I saw him.

  “Hey!” I said brightly.

  “Oh, hey,” he replied, his eyes barely able to meet mine. “I’m glad you’re here early. Can we talk?”

  “Um, sure,” I said, locking the door behind me.

  We would not be opening early today. I’d learned my lesson on that one.

  “I know we kind of left things in a weird place yesterday and I wanted to apologize. I think I overstepped.”

  I felt my heart fall. Or maybe it was my stomach sinking to the floor. Either way, I could feel the disappointment reaching out to every molecule in my body.

  “Oh, no. You’re fine,” I said, trying to level the sound of my voice. Was it working? Or was that a tremble I’d heard?

  “No, it’s not. You’re my boss.”

  “Not really. Well, kind of,” I rambled. “I mean, I’m not your boss in the truest sense of the word. I don’t pay you. This is just an arrangement, right?”

  I swallowed hard, hating myself a little. That was not the right thing to say, and I could see it in his eyes the second the words left my lips.

  “Of course. It’s not like this is a real job.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, feeling awful.

  “I’m going to go make some coffee or something,” he said softly.

  I watched him walk away, the chance to say something sliding through my fingers like sand.

  Say it, Elle.

  Tell him.

  Jump.

  But I didn’t.

  I just stood there.

  Silent. Scared. Sidelined.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday, July 23, 1988

  Sunny

  High 86, Low 70

  Took William his mail. Sally visited, and we went for groceries. I picked up William’s order. My heel is really hurting—heel spur, I think. After lunch, I sat in the chair most of the afternoon and crocheted. After supper, I went to William’s and visited. I watered the plants when I got back. Mary called today.

  I pushed my back against the sofa, stretching my sore neck and hands out. Squinting my eyes, I tried to make out the time on the tiny clock in the corner of my laptop screen.

  Just past eleven.

  I’d been working on typing in these journal entries since I got home nearly five hours ago. For the past two weeks, this had become my sole pastime.

  Well, this, and ordering takeout from whomever in town would deliver to me.

  After about a minute of trying, I’d given up on the dictation software and gone back to just typing everything out. I loathed the sound of my own voice, and I hated knowing I’d have to go back and fix any errors it’d produced.

  Plus, the whole thing reminded me far too much of Sawyer, and if I had to be around him all day, I certainly didn’t want my brain filled with thoughts of him all night as well.

  Things at work since our less than cordial conversation had been incredibly professional. We both arrived every day in the morning, said our hellos to each other, discussed anything pertinent to the business, and then went our separate ways.

  No long conversations. No endless Q & A sessions.

  I couldn’t even remember the last time I had seen him smile.

  Well, not at me at least.

  I’d begun to leave the sales floor to him since he was so good at it while I handled new inventory, bookkeeping, and other managerial-type things. It allowed me to stay holed up in my office for the majority of the day.

  It was a win-win for both of us.

  I knew he was working beyond his three-hundred-dollar rental fee that we’d negotiated on. In all honesty, a few hours a week would have sufficed—something I’d told him a week ago. But despite the notification that he was overworking, he still continued to show up.

  Every. Single. Day.

  I had a feeling he was nervously waiting for someone to purchase a piece from his furniture line, but so far, it hadn’t happened. I could see the disappointment in his face each day, but he wouldn’t talk to me about it.

  He would barely talk to me about anything.

  Which was why I’d made this journal my new life goal.

  Everyone needed a hobby, right?

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I let out a tired sigh. I’d lost count of how many entries I’d typed out of my grandmother’s journal. I was nearing the end of this particular binder, which should feel like some sort of milestone but I knew it was just a drop in the bucket. There were at least six more waiting for me in the guest bedroom, if not more. Each binder covered somewhere between three and five years.

  It was a lot.

  I didn’t know how many times I’d typed out entries about her garden and her crossword puzzles… her senior citizen group and her trips to visit William. This particular binder covered the month of July from the late nineties all the way through the millennial. She’d died in 2010 at the age of ninety-three. So much time. So many years. The simplicity of her life was what truly amazed me. Year by year, very little had changed.

  I couldn’t help but wonder, was she happy?

  She’d rarely written about my grandfather. Remembering my visits during these times, I knew she used to stop by the local nursing home to see him every day, like clockwork.

  Why didn’t she include that in her journal?

  She’d written about everything else—from the loads of wash to the types of plants she was growing. But Grandpa was omitted, almost completely.

  It was something that unsettled me, and I wanted answers.

  I wanted to ask my mom, but it had been weeks since we last talked, and the jaded part of me was holding out, waiting for her to make the first move. It was petty, but I couldn’t help it.

  But I still had questions, which left only one viable option.

  Checking the clock, I knew the time difference would be in my favor. It might be eleven here, but it was only nine o’clock in the mid-west. My mother might have left her hometown to put down roots elsewhere, but her sister?

  She’d stayed.

  “Hello Aunt Sally,” I said the minute I heard her distinctive voice greet me on the other end. It was so loud that I nearly had to pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Eloise! Well, isn’t this a nice surprise! How are you, my dear?”

  “Good,” I answered, suddenly feeling like I was twelve again. Her larger than life personality always seemed to have that effect on me.

  “Well, lovely. And how’s the weather out there? It’s getting chilly here already. Can you believe that? They’re calling for snow this weekend. I am certainly not ready for that nonsense.”

  I smiled, recalling my aunt’s hatred of snow. She and her mother had that in common. I’d recorded several journal entries where Nana had complained about the infernal snow and cold.

  “The weather is fine, a typical Southern fall; hot one day and cold the next,” I said before adding, “Hey, I’m actually calling about Nana’s journals. I had a few questions for you.”

  “Oh, yes. Your mom said she’d pulled those out before she left.”

  “You’ve spoken to my mom?” I asked, trying not to sound jealous, but clearly, I was.

  “Oh, yes. We spoke when she got there. I wanted to make sure she’d arrived safely. And then I checked in a little while later. But I haven’t heard from her in a week or so.”

  That was alarming.

  “Do you think everything is okay?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s just adjusting.”

  Aren’t we all?

  “So, are you going through the journals? I’ve always meant to, but there were
just so many; it seemed a bit overwhelming. Plus, my mom’s life wasn’t overly interesting.”

  Tell me about it.

  “That’s actually kind of what I wanted to ask.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been transcribing her journal entries.”

  “Transcribing?”

  “Entering them into the computer, saving them on the cloud, so they will preserved in case something ever happened to the actual journals.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Her voice was soft and full of something I couldn’t quite pin. Gratitude maybe? “Thank you so much for doing that. I would have never thought of that.”

  Me either, I thought, remembering it wasn’t actually my idea in the first place.

  But I moved on, wanting to get to the reason I’d called her. “While transcribing one of the journals, I’ve begun to notice a pattern.”

  “A pattern? What do you mean?”

  “Well …” I began to stumble on my words. It was one thing to realize something, but it was something else entirely to explain it to someone else, especially when that someone else could take it the wrong way. “This particular journal was written when Grandpa was in the nursing home, and I’ve noticed that Nana doesn’t mention him much.”

  “Oh.” It was a simple word, but the way she said it carried weight.

  “It’s just … I remember visiting during this time. I know she went to see him every day. Do you know why she doesn’t mention it in her journal much?”

  There was a long pause. It was a foreign concept for my aunt—the idea of silence. Usually, she was anything but, and I was always trying to find ways to shut her up.

  This was sort of alarming.

  “My mom was a woman of very few words—as you might have noticed by now. She wrote the facts, and that was about all. She rarely spoke her feelings, and when it came to Dad, well, there were a lot of feelings. I don’t know all of them, but I know a lot of pain and sacrifice goes into caring for a spouse for that long. His disease was slow; it tore away at him, bits and pieces at a time. Alzheimer’s is a terrible thing—for everyone involved.

  “By the end of it, she was a stranger to him. Not a wife, not a friend, not even a companion. Just a stranger. It was a lot for her to cope with. Halfway through, it started to be too hard for me to visit, but your nana, she never wavered.”