through the exchange that had obviously transpired between her husband and her son, and tried to step lightly as she left the room, not wanting to wake Lamar again. It was fair, she supposed, given that Lamar had to work in the morning—she handled feedings, Lamar handled nightmares.
She fed the little critter, burped him, rocked him for a while till he went off to sleep, and then made her way back to her bedroom. She tiptoed around to her side of the bed and delicately slid under the covers, not waking anyone. Before she closed her eyes, she took a quick glance at the bedside clock. Half past three. She turned onto her side and took one leg out from under the blankets, tucked a pillow under her arm, placed her head softly on another, shut her eyes and thought happy thoughts; it was the last Friday of the month. She and Lamar would begin a decadent evening in just fifteen short hours. She closed her eyes and then ever so slowly a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
The clock radio came to life at five thirty; someone named Bobcat was engaged in a self-deprecating rant about his single status, obviously trying to gently urge his audience to wake up. Normally Lamar would lounge in bed for half an hour, trying to squeeze a few more seconds of rest out of his weary body, but on this morning someone was crying. He glanced to his left and took stock, Laura was asleep, a few tuffs of blonde hair peeking out of the blankets beside him confirmed Josh’s presence in the spider free haven of their bed, and that left the little one—a diaper change was no doubt in the offing.
Lamar dragged his aching, tired body out of bed, and stood; he took a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out, flicked a button on the radio cutting Bobcat off in mid utterance, and then headed down the hall, his eyes barely open, but the stench of his youngest son allowing him to track to the source. He changed the diaper, thanked God and several saints when the baby went back down to sleep in his crib, and hopped in the shower.
The hot water brought Lamar’s senses alive, and it only took a moment before he remembered that it was the last Friday of the month. He smiled to himself and wondered how on earth he had forgotten; this was not a day to be forgotten. He wondered if Laura was aware of the day. Had she known yesterday? It had become their little tradition to not mention anything in the days leading up to it. He’d be at the office by seven thirty; he’d call the motel then.
Laura’s internal alarm clock ensured she awoke at seven o’clock, as Lamar closed the front door behind him. She had actually awoken when the alarm had gone off at five thirty, and had drifted in and out of a light sleep in the ensuing hour and a half. She was tired, there was no denying that, but she’d somehow find the energy she needed to get through the day; she always did. The decadent delight that she’d share with her husband later that night was enough to motivate her.
The little one was crying and needed to be fed, so Laura got up and headed down the hall. On the way, she peeked into Josh’s room, remembering as she did that he wasn’t there; she turned back towards her room, and yelled “Josh, time to get up for daycare.” He didn’t. She entered the baby’s room, and grabbed him out of his crib, nuzzling him against her chest until he stopped crying, yelled to Josh again, and then headed downstairs, her body aching, near exhaustion, but mindful of the lustful prize on the horizon.
As soon as he got to work, Lamar scurried into an empty meeting room, grabbed the phone from the middle of the table, and accessed an outside line. It was seven thirty and past experience told him that he’d get a live voice on the other end of the line. The conversation he was about to have would need to be private; there was no sense testing the nosiness of coworkers, either over or through the porous walls of his cubicle. He took a small piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and dialed the phone number on it; only needing to glance at the number to have it re-emerge from his memory.
“Clarksville Motel,” a raspy voiced middle aged woman answered.
“Yes, it’s Lamar Gordon calling, just wanted to confirm that my room is still available for tonight,” he said and glanced nervously at the closed meeting room door.
There was a pause, and Lamar could hear some papers being rummaged around on the other end of the line. “Yes Mr. Gordon, your normal room will be ready. Now, you . . . only take the half day right?”
“Well half night really,” Lamar said, annoyed that he had to re-explain his unique arrangement every time he called.
“Sounds like you’ll be getting up to no good,” the raspy voiced lady said, losing control of a phlegm riddled laugh which turned into a coughing fit.
“Hmm . . . thanks,” Lamar said and glanced back again at the meeting room door. “We’ll be there to check in at seven.” He hung up and scurried back to his cubicle. Everything was set. From experience, he knew that the rest of the day would drag. God, he had waited a month for this day.
Laura Gordon was dealing with the day’s first crisis; Josh had convinced himself that the gigantic spider from the previous night had likely, along with several thousand relatives, invaded his day care and was waiting there for him, hidden in the washroom or the coat closet or some other dark place. He wasn’t going to day care—not today. Laura tried several angles, some based on the rationale thought which went hand in hand with good solid parenting, others relying more on bribery and deception, but it was no use, Josh was staying home. This didn’t represent a huge problem, Laura wasn’t working, and they had put Josh in day care more so he could get some interaction with other kids than for any other reason, but secretly, Laura had been hoping for a bit of rest today. She loved her son obviously, but the two hours of solitude when the little one was napping, and Josh was at day care were truly golden hours, to be savored and enjoyed. No matter, Laura thought to herself, ten more hours and she’d be alone with Lamar, a baby sitter minding the boys. Ten more hours and Laura could scratch an itch that she had been carrying for a month.
It was early afternoon and Lamar was sitting in a meeting with six other people. It was one of those meetings that he needed to be seen at, but would actually get no value from attending. He dutifully stared down at the papers in front of him as if they held all the secrets. His mind was focused on his wife, the image of her sleeping head nestled into her pillow, her delicate facial features giving way to a supple neck, her chest heaving slightly in rhythm with her breathing.
“Lamar.”
Lamar heard his name, and his focus snapped back to the present. He had no idea of the context with which his name had been used; whether he had been asked a question or not. He looked up and nobody seemed to be looking at him. The woman beside him, whose name he couldn’t remember, began to speak and he appeared to be safe. He tried to stay focused on the meeting but within minutes, his tired mind was back in bed with his wife. And then in an instant he snapped back to the present again. Had Laura called Meghan? Had she remembered? He’d call Meghan after the meeting to confirm that she’d be at their place at six to baby sit the boys.
Four o’clock and Laura was catching her second wind. It was downhill from this point; two hours and they’d be kissing the boys goodbye and heading out to the motel. She mustered energy that she didn’t actually have and became a whirlwind of diaper changes, vacuuming, cookie baking and spider hunting. Somehow she had found time during the day to pack their bag. A single bag for both of them which sat inside the front door. It held everything they’d need and would at least minimize the embarrassment at the motel. She was sure that they were the talk of the motel office, checking in for five hours and all, but at least the bag would allow a somewhat dignified arrival. Her mind flashed back to the moment when the alarm had gone off earlier that morning . . . she had made it. She was tired, achy and sore, but she had made it through the day. Lamar would be home any minute.
Lamar burst through the door at a couple of minutes after six and wrapped his arms around his wife. She smelled wonderful. He stepped back and looked deep into her eyes. “Are you set?” he asked.
“Yeah, did you eat something?”
“Yeah, ate something around fo
ur, you?”
“I’m fine, I’ve eaten.”
“Is Meghan here?”
“Yep.”
He kissed her deeply and held her tight. Her body fitting perfectly into his arms. He took his shoes off, ran into the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement, kissed each of the boys, said hello and goodbye to Meghan and ran back upstairs, jumped into his shoes, grabbed his wife’s hand and led her to the car.
The Clarksville Motel was located on the outskirts of their little suburban domain, five minutes into the green solitude of the country. It was good to get away from the burger joints and the strip malls and the little box buildings with their energizer inhabitants going through the mindless motions of everyday life. There was something ageless about seventh line, the strip of two lane highway which led to Clarksville; there was the old Gator Drive In, where Laura and Lamar had spent many nights and seen very few movies, the Five Star driving range where they had had their first date, both of them nervously slicing golf balls into the black night, and then making our furiously in the parking lot, and Trendle Nurseries, the site of their worst fight—Laura eventually driving off, leaving
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