Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance)

by Beverly Taylor

  Cindy frowned. She detested being treated like some weak, frail woman who would run helplessly, at nightfall, into a wooded area when she heard someone chasing her, break a heel, and lie powerlessly among the leaves and debris on the forest floor until her stalker caught up with her.

  “I’m a big girl, Carson, and very resourceful. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you are,” he said. “But I happen to care about you. Probably more than I should.”

  For an instant, his remark hovered in the air between them. “You do?” she asked anxiously. “I care about you too.”

  Carson cleared his throat, again looking cautious, and Cindy guessed she’d read more into his words than he intended. “So tell me the truth this time,” he said, “what’s the real reason why you haven’t married some nice guy and started making babies? As much as you have to offer, I’m sure the men are lined up at your doorstep.”

  She moved away from him and sat up straighter. Because I’m waiting for you. “Like I told you. I’ve been so focused on my career, it’s hard to achieve the right balance.” He didn’t respond, so she continued. “I lived with a guy for a little more than a year. He wanted to get married, but I didn’t. I knew we weren’t right together; it was just a convenient relationship. So he found somebody who was willing to marry him, and I sent them a toaster. After that, I was alone for a while, until I drifted into a relationship with my ex-boss.”

  “Your boss?” Carson’s eyebrows went up at this confession.

  “Ex-boss. I’m not really sure how or why it happened. I don’t make a habit of sleeping with married men, and I’m not usually gullible. I just felt this empty spot inside me, and I thought he could fill it. I was wrong. He wasn’t at all the right kind of man for me.”

  “What is the right kind of man for you?”

  You are. “For starters, one who doesn’t lie.”

  His grin was slow and lazy. “I guess that’s a good place to start.”

  She paused. “I never told you, but I have a daughter, Deanna.”

  “You do? Where is she?”

  “She lives with my mother.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twelve. She’s only staying with my mother until I can get a permanent job and give her a real home.”

  “How long has she been living with your mother? And where does her father stand in the picture?”

  “My, aren’t we curious?” She slumped on the sofa cushion and avoided the question with a generalized confession. “Sure, I’ve made some mistakes with my life, but who hasn’t? Now I’m trying to clean it up and make things right for Deanna—and for me.”

  “I’ve shared my life history and my problems with you,” Carson said. “Don’t you think it’s time for me to listen to yours?”

  Cindy sighed and decided Carson was right. The time was ripe to talk about her past with him. “I was married to an executive stockbroker named Norman,” she said. “We had a good life and we were happy. From the moment Deanna was born, I knew she would be a wonderful daughter.” Her expression went soft. “She had Norman’s beautiful wide eyes, a small, pudgy nose, and a round mouth. The only trait she inherited from me is her height.” She shook herself to full awareness. “She’s the tallest girl in her class and probably the heaviest. When Norman became ill, she seemed bewildered, completely disoriented. She was only eight when he died, and since then, she seems to have lost interest in anything but food—especially fatty foods. I think she feels alone in the world because I was so engrossed in my own mourning that I couldn’t give her the attention she needed. That’s why I sent her to live with my mother and took the counseling job—to try to get my life back together so I could be a better mother.”

  She stopped and turned to look at Carson. To her relief, he looked sympathetic rather than judgmental. “Go on,” he said.

  With another sigh, she continued. “Deanna used to be such a pretty little girl, with chestnut-brown skin as soft and silky as a baby’s bottom. Her bangs used to lie flat across her forehead, and I could pull the rest of her hair into a short, tight ponytail. She was fun loving and good-natured and imaginative, and responsible. She never carried tales or tattled like other little girls. She never cried unless she was seriously hurt. She never made trouble, but she talked a lot and asked a lot of questions in her little-girl voice, and her biggest pleasure in life seemed to be the answers she received to those questions.” Cindy broke off.

  “And now things are different?” Carson prompted.

  Cindy nodded. “I’m her mother and a counselor, and I spent months trying to reach her, to understand why she was so withdrawn and antagonistic by turns.” She sighed.

  “And at the same time, I—I felt empty because I’d found the perfect man and then I’d lost him. I thought we’d be married forever and a day. As time passed, I began to look for another ideal man, trying to separate the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats. But my search for the perfect mate interfered in my relationship with my daughter. So when my mother asked me to leave Deanna in her care, I realized she was right. It was the best thing for both of us.”

  While Carson was making his comments, Cindy’s mind drifted to a recent confession her mother had shared with her.

  “When I was young, I was very pretty,” Cindy’s mother had said. “I was conceited and in many ways rather insufferable. Your father fell madly in love with me, poor man, and I’m afraid I took advantage of it. I was in love with him, too, but I was interested in society and money—not that they’re not important, mind you, but I put too much importance on them—which is why I feel guilty about your father. He gave me every material thing my heart desired. I used his love and didn’t appreciate it enough when I had it.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “But that’s all in the past now. I thank God that Jesus came into my life when He did. We have to think of the future—your future. We have to think about a proper school for Deanna. And pardon my saying it, dear, but we have to think about a financially secured husband for you.”

  Cindy smiled and eased back into consciousness. “I’m working on it,” she whispered.

  “Working on what?” Carson asked.

  “Oh, uh,” she blinked, “working on strengthening my relationship with my daughter.

  “Good idea,” Carson agreed. “Sounds like your Norman was quite a guy.”

  Cindy nodded.

  “Imagine, all this time I never knew you were married or had a child. I’ve always thought—well, never mind, it’s getting late anyway, and I suppose we can continue this conversation at another time,” Carson said.

  In truth, neither Carson nor anyone else could ever take Norman’s place in the center of her heart. That space was dedicated solely to him, forever. But Carson was a very attractive man. She liked his new mustache, which made him look manlier than ever. His tall, muscular body and his cleft chin, along with a tendency to laugh in spite of his problems, had touched something inside her that had been even lonelier, even emptier, than she’d realized. Falling in-love with him was easy. Finding a permanent spot in her heart for him would be just as easy. Only not in the center, but somewhere close by.

  * * *

  It had taken Cindy only one week after Carson had settled into his new place to fabricate a story that her apartment had caught fire. She asked him about letting her move in, only for a few weeks until she could find a reasonably priced place to rent.

  “What about the consequences?”

  “Are people talking?” Cindy returned. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “Not yet, but they might if I let you stay here.”

  “Let them. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “My wife might think differently.”

  “She might, but so what?” Cindy said cattily.

  “You’re right,” Carson thought over. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I’m just a porn addict to her. She’ll misinterpret this too.” After giving it light consideration, he said, “Of cours
e, you can stay here until you find a decent place.” He added a bit of annoying humor by saying, “Only here, you wouldn’t have to worry about a lot of trees and bushes.”

  Chapter 16

  Ordinarily, Katharine would ignore the monthly postcard from the doctor’s office reminding her it was time for a checkup. She would schedule her annual examination at her convenience. But this time, she felt a checkup was a good idea. Even though her lovemaking with Carson had been infrequent recently, it hadn’t been absent altogether. She wasn’t convinced he’d been faithful, and she was well aware of the risks of infidelity.

  She’d read a pamphlet from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention stating that a person can contract an STD and have no symptoms for weeks, months, or even years and that STDs are contagious even when no symptoms exist. She was aware of it. The pamphlet was just a reminder.

  If Carson and Cindy had had unprotected sex . . . . Just the thought of it terrified her. She picked up the phone and punched in the number to schedule an appointment.

  * * *

  In the exploratory room following her gynecological exams, the doctor found a chain of tiny blisters starting on one side of Katharine’s back and circling her upper torso.

  “How long have you had these?” he asked her. “Have you been having pains in your chest, around your ribs?”

  “I didn’t know about the blisters on my back, it must have just occurred. But I did feel chest pains a few weeks ago. I thought I was having a heart attack. I’ve been having some personal, well, marital problems, and I attributed the chest pains to the stress.” She turned her face away in embarrassment, feeling that it was necessary to share this information with the doctor so he could give her an accurate diagnosis. She didn’t want to discuss her concerns about Carson’s fidelity if she could avoid it, and she saw no need to mention the body enhancement program.

  The doctor was forthright. “You have Herpes Zoster. Shingles. It’s usually very painful. I’m surprised you didn’t come see me earlier.” He removed the rubber gloves and tossed them in the trashcan.

  “I have herpes?” Katharine’s voice high and shrill.

  His smile was thin and weak. “You don’t have genital herpes. Good news, huh? What you have is a virus, probably triggered by stress.”

  “Did I contract this from someone who was already infected?”

  “No. Shingles is a painful, blistering rash caused by the varicella virus, which also causes chickenpox. It’s stored in dormant form in the nerve cells of people who’ve had chicken pox and can reawaken as the result of stress or trauma or a weakened immune system, which is why it usually affects people much older than thirty-five. It affects only a limited area of skin, but it may make you feel surprisingly tired and run down, even depressed.”

  “Is there any medicine I can take for it? Will it ever go away?”

  “I can give you some cream to reduce any itching. The infection will eventually go away. It’s not life threatening, but like I said, I’m surprised you didn’t come see me before now. It puzzles me that you haven’t experienced any sort of pain. Usually, shingles’ patients can’t bear to have clothes touching the affected area.” He pulled a small pad from his lab pocket and began scribbling a prescription. “Here we go,” he said, handing her the prescription. “I’ll be back shortly with the results of your blood tests.”

  He left the room and she got dressed. As she sat on the hard, cold, swivel stool, she imagined the doctor and nurse bursting into the room to tell her that she had HIV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, hepatitis B, human papilloma virus, or some sexually related cancer. Wasn’t that what life was all about, a test of how much a person could endure? Maybe this was why Carson left. What if he felt some kind of itching or burning and thought I’d given him a STD? But that would be ridiculous of him to think. What if it turned out that this Herpes Soster, or whatever it was called, was actually contagious? Or what if he knew that he was infected by Cindy or some other woman and didn’t want to spread the disease to me? Maybe that’s why he’d stopped having sex with me, or very little of it.

  She closed her eyes, intertwined her fingers beneath her chin, and began a silent prayer.

  The doctor cleared his throat, indicating his return. “God did answer your prayers,” he said as she opened her eyes. “Your tests came back clean.”

  Katharine practically leaped off the stool. She pranced into his arms and hugged his neck tightly. He started laughing. It was an unprofessional thing to do, but with good news like that, her emotions had taken control.

  Releasing her embrace, she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you, Father,” she said fervently. “And thank you, doctor,” she added, returning her gaze to the messenger.

  “See you in a week from today.” This time his smile was effectual and full of promise. “Oh, and one more thing. The Herpes Zoster turned out to be only a rash caused by a case of trepidation paroxysm. In other words, it means an anxiety outbreak. You may want to consider seeking the assistance of a family therapist. It will help to eliminate any future outbreak.”

  Once he’d left, she vaulted around in a happy circle, unable to sit still. “My Deliverer has given me a clean bill of health,” she said aloud. Then Carson and Cindy intruded on her thoughts, and her smile faded.

  Soon afterward, the nurse returned and handed her a card with her next appointment on it. The date was fine with her.

  * * *

  As a follow-up visit, Katharine entered the lobby to her doctor’s office. He wanted to ensure the rash on her back didn’t become infected and, in fact, was healing. To her amazement, the rash was practically gone which meant she didn’t need a referral to a dermatologist.

  The last time she was there, the doctor had misdiagnosed her infirmity without so much as an apology. With her best friend’s husband being a physician, she was well aware how difficult it was for a doctor to admit guilt. Nonetheless, she was immensely satisfied with the outcome.

  She crept softly to the front window, spoke to the receptionist, and scribbled her name on the sign-in sheet. Four other women were patiently waiting for their names to be called. Three of them gave her a quick glance as she sat down and returned to their own business. One was reading a romance novel, another a magazine. The third was whispering into her cell phone and occasionally glancing up at the television, while the last one sat with her arms crossed and eyes closed.

  The woman using the cell phone and the one reading the magazine were called into the examination rooms. Katharine was informed that she would spend the next twenty minutes waiting for her turn. She picked up a copy of Atlanta Medical Today magazine and casually flipped through the pages. It was a special edition entitled “A New You.”

  Chapter 17

  Week after week after week, Katharine had tried the alternative medicines and mechanical gadgets the manufacturers promised would give her a larger cup size and enhanced buttocks in as little as fifteen days. Unfortunately, despite her dedication, good dietary habits, and daily exercise routines, the results weren’t there after twenty days or even after thirty days.

  With Carson living away from the family, she was growing desperate. After reading her own personal copy of “A New You” edition of Atlanta Medical Today, she decided her only alternative was breast and buttocks implants. She had to save her marriage, her future, and if implants were what it took to make and keep her husband happy, then so be it.

  Katharine opened the drawer and pulled out the cutout magazine ads that lay beneath her slips together with the photocopied picture of Carson and Cindy. She picked up the telephone and called Natalie.

  “I’ve decided to go through with it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Have you asked yourself the question: do praying women and Godly women do this kind of thing?”

  “It’s been on my mind.”

  “Obviously, you feel it’s okay to do.”

  Katharine answered with
absolute quiet.

  “I don’t know, Kat. This vanity-type cosmetic surgery all seems unnatural to me.”

  “Unnatural? What’s so unnatural about it? I mean, you wear makeup, dye your hair, have your fingernails manicured and paint your toenails, right? And all that to enhance your appearance. Am I right?” She didn’t wait for Natalie to respond. “So is it vain and unnatural for you to do those things to your body?”

  A brief silence followed before Natalie asked, “Has Carson stolen all your self-esteem?”

  “This has nothing to do with my self-esteem. I’m not concerned about my appearance—”

  “Obviously your husband is,” Natalie said sharply.

  “Precisely. And this is for my husband’s happiness. A wife should always please her husband, no matter what.”

  Natalie was silent and Katharine guessed she was biting back a sarcastic remark. “Sounds like low self-esteem to me,” Natalie said finally.

  “Well, it’s not,” Katharine said defensively. “Carson’s awards banquet is in three months and I intend to look my best.”

  Natalie had taken a quiet position again before saying, “Remember the rapper, Kenya, or something like that?”

  “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about—Kanye West.”

  “I read an article that suggested his mother had died of cosmetic surgical complications. It stated she went into cardiac arrest.”

  Katharine’s expression went dim. “That was pretty sad. I believe she was in her fifties, which makes it more risky. I’m in my thirties, so the risk factor is decreased.”

  “Has Carson asked you to attend?” Natalie jumped off the surgery subject.

  Katharine allowed her to throw in the towel, recognizing Natalie had lost the power to reason another course. “No, but since I helped to get him this award, I feel I’m entitled to be there. I believe I deserve this award as much as he does.”