“I don’t think I can ever trust Troy,” Sarah blurted.
“Okay, that’s the perfect example of a non sequitur.” I spoke to the twins.
“Don’t repeat the word for the hourly vocab lesson.”
I looked skyward.
“Are you trying to come up with a Hitler quote or story?”
Slowly, my eyes met Sarah’s. “You’re funny.” I stood Ollie up on my thighs so she could see Sarah’s face. “Hitler isn’t funny, but your mom is.”
Freddie wiggled happily in Sarah’s lap. “He’s so cuddly.” After kissing the top of his head, she asked, “So, were you?”
“Actually, I was praying Maddie would parachute in to save me. She’s so much better at these types of conversations.” I let out a puff of air.
“Translation, you want me to stop harping about Troy.”
“Not at all. I’ll do my best to fumble through it, Lizzie style.” I tried to look confident.
Sarah laughed. “I feel bad—”
“For hating Troy?” I jumped in.
“No, for being hard on you when dealing with your family situations. Like your father and Helen. Maddie sleeping with Peter—not when they were engaged but after Peter married Tie. I rode you hard sometimes. Now the shoe is on the other foot. For so long, it’s always been just Mom and me. Smooth sailing, while your family... And now, with Troy…” She smoothed a few errant hairs on top of Freddie’s head. He was falling asleep. “We may have to call Mom to pick us up after all.”
I stared into our son’s face, smiling. “You’re right, you know. Having all of you in my life has helped me become a better person. More relaxed. Confident. Loving.”
Sarah beamed, holding Freddie tighter in her arms. “Look at you, growing more comfortable in your role as wife, mother, and History Club leader.”
“I’m going to take the high road yet again and ignore that last part.”
“But you wanted to point that out. Again.”
“Absolutely, but—” I orbited a finger to stop her. “Let me say the most important part. None of it would have happened until I learned to trust you. You, Sarah Cavanaugh, are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. And your mom, who is even harder on me than you, raised you right. She’s loved our children as if they were her flesh and blood, even though we used my eggs—”
She snorted, but I think it was unintentional or meant to be subtler. Either way, she said, “I think I know where you’re going with this.”
“I’m glad one of us does.” I laughed. “You don’t have to like Troy, but maybe you owe it to your mom to give him a chance. This world needs more love and happiness.”
“I can’t believe you’re taking Mom’s side,” she said in a defeated, albeit much calmer, tone than she usually used when discussing Troy.
“Why does there have to be sides when it comes to love? Besides, before we had these two”—I smiled at the twinks—“I remember you encouraging me to repair the relationship with my family for their sakes.”
Before Sarah could jump down my throat, Ollie started to fuss, giving us limited time until it turned into her typical screaming meltdown.
Sarah was on the phone with her mom within two heartbeats, and I got to my feet, walking and bouncing Ollie in my arms. “Look at the birdie, Ollie. Isn’t she cute? So small and hopeful someone will feed her.”
Judging by Ollie’s wailing, she wasn’t going to be a bird watcher.
Sarah crossed the bridge to prep for Rose’s arrival. “We’re in luck. She’s only a couple of blocks away.”
“She’s always there for all of us,” I said pointedly to Sarah to reinforce my earlier comments, and then I spoke to our fussy daughter. “Do you hear that, Ollie? Grandma’s super powers have kicked in once again to save the day!”
Ollie ceased crying, reaching for my face with her tiny hands.
“Do it again?” Sarah urged. “In the cartoon voice.”
I repeated the line many times until Rose’s SUV pulled up with Troy in the driver’s seat. That was going to go over with my wife as well as a turd sandwich. Her blazing eyes confirmed my gut instinct.
After loading the twins, Sarah said, “There’s not enough room for both of us. Lizzie, you go with Mom, and I’ll ride my bike home.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Her nostrils flared. “I could use some alone time.”
“Totally get it.” I kissed her cheek and then managed to squeeze into the back seat between the two car seats.
“Since when do you prefer riding your bike?” Rose, with one hand on the vehicle door, asked in a disbelieving tone.
“Please, Mom. I’ve been with the twins all day. I’ll see you at home. Troy,” she said in a forced polite voice after turning her back to hop on her bike.
Troy hefted my bike into the back of the SUV, whistling “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Did he do that all the time as a result of teaching first graders or only when nervous?
I encouraged Ollie to wave goodbye to Sarah as we pulled out of the parking lot.
Rose peered between the front seats. “What’d you do this time?”
“N-nothing,” I stammered.
“Lizzie…?” She seemed determined to have me be at fault, but surely, she’d picked up on Sarah’s coldness toward Troy. Even I, the clueless one, had. Or was she like Neville Chamberlain during the lead-up to World War II, determined to stick his head in the sand and trusting Hitler to keep his word?
Troy placed a hand on her thigh, and Rose retreated, facing forward, although, I caught a few glimpses of her observing me in the visor mirror. Each time, I offered a weak, innocent smile.
For the entire twenty-minute ride home, thanks to traffic, both twins fell fast asleep. The only sound in the car was Troy’s whistling. I wanted to scream, “How I wonder what you are!”
Upon arrival, the twins awoke ready for their next adventure. We set them up at the craft table with large colorful buttons they couldn’t swallow and flat plastic sticks.
Sarah, who didn’t have to contend with traffic, beat us home and prepped the supplies in anticipation.
“I never knew parenting involved so much playtime,” I joked in an effort to diffuse the unease.
“I use art and games all the time to keep my students involved.” Troy sat down on one of the tiny chairs like a seasoned pro, immediately joining in on the fun.
“Sarah, can I have a word?” Rose asked.
My wife stared as if Rose had asked her to eat a dirty diaper. Finally, she said, “Sure. Let’s go in the library.”
They left in silence.
Troy glanced at me with a sympathetic expression. I wanted to say I wasn’t the issue; he was. Would Sarah confess to her mom? Or would she throw me under the bus? I kinda hoped she laid the blame at my feet to avoid even more awkwardness. At least until I figured out a way to ease Sarah’s concerns, if I could. This was a whole new side of Sarah, and quite frankly, I was mystified. Sarah the rock was crumbling.
I took a seat next to Ollie and said to Troy, “How long have you been teaching?”
“Since I graduated from college.” He plucked a bright red button, half the size of his hand, to be the head to the rainbow stick person he was making.
Was that last week? Come on, Lizzie. Give the man a break, and don’t act like Sarah. “Did you always want to teach young children?” I fished for Sarah’s benefit, although I didn’t subscribe to her pedo theory.
He laughed. “Not at all. When I entered the teaching program at CSU, I wanted to teach high school students. But, then I volunteered at an elementary school and fell in love with the job. Seeing the excitement of a child reading for the first time. Writing their names. It’s almost addictive to be around them.” Troy ruffled the top of Freddie’s head, which had much more hair than his sister’s.
“And they probably don’t have cell phones they’re surreptitiously trying to read to stay on top of social media. Heaven forbid someone miss the latest tweet about
national donut day or whatever.”
“I do love donuts.” He glanced down at his slight paunch.
“Who doesn’t?” I agreed.
“Why’d you decide to become a history professor?” he asked, craning his head to see Ollie’s masterpiece. His graying temples added a sense of gravitas. “It reminds me of a creature in a Stephen King novel. I wonder if she’ll be an author.”
I studied Ollie’s stick person, with more arms than an octopus, and then compared it to Fred’s fort-type stack of buttons that leaned more than the Tower of Pisa. “And, we may have an architect.” Ollie swiped her creation with a tiny hand, sending the buttons and sticks skittering to Fred, who started to stack them on top of each other. Ollie, not getting the reaction she wanted, began a new project.
Raised voices drifted into the room. To distract Troy and the twinks, I said, “As for your question, I didn’t set out to teach. I loved studying history and stayed in school until I had to do something. Lecturing helps me learn even more, now that I have to understand the material in order to explain it.”
There was a shout.
A slammed door.
The creak of the door reopening.
Heavy footsteps.
Rose rushed into the room, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Troy! It’s time for you to take this old, easily manipulated, and desperate fool home.”
Troy quickly got to his feet.
Sarah stood defiantly behind her mother.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.
“I know the way!” Rose flipped around, not meeting Sarah’s eye on her way to the front door.
Troy gave a supportive smile to me and then Sarah before tailing Rose, his head tucked down.
“I take it your conversation went well.” I gazed at Sarah to judge her willingness to talk.
Which apparently turned out to be zero percent.
After she rushed upstairs in a huff, I asked the twins, “Looks like it’s just the three of us for dinner. What shall we have? Caviar and champagne, Fred?”
Freddie responded with a giggle, one arm over his head, and Ollie chucked one of the buttons at me.
“You, Ollie Dollie, take after your mother.”
This prompted even more giggles from Fred. Ollie clapped her hands.
Chapter Six
“Don’t shoot!” I shimmied into the bedroom with my arms reaching for the sky.
Sarah, sitting up in bed reading a paperback, glared at me, but her face softened after a few seconds. “Are the kids in bed?”
“All quiet on the Western Front.” I put a finger to my lips.
She rolled her eyes. “A World War Two comparison to our kids?”
“World War One actually, but I think you know that, English Teacher Extraordinaire.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Guilt flooded her expression.
I lay down next to her. “It’s a new thing I’m trying.”
“When did you get funny?” She smiled, although her eyes brimmed with sadness.
“When my wife started acting like me. Isn’t this opposite day?” I squeezed her arm.
She sucked in a breath and released it with force. “I screwed up.”
“Want to talk about it yet? Or shall I draw you a bath, ply you with wine, and then force you to talk?”
“To talk?” Her voice oozed sex appeal.
“You’re taking impersonating Lizzie seriously.” I propped my head on a bent elbow. “Yes, to talk. I know you. You need to talk about things.”
Sarah chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over her words. “Maybe I’ve been wrong this entire time. It’s best not to talk. Look what it got me earlier.”
“I can make a strong case that not talking causes problems as well. Or do I need to remind you about couple’s therapy?” I cracked a smile.
“Where’s the middle ground?” She placed Fifty Shades Darker on her lap, spine up to keep her place.
I shrugged.
She laughed. “Look who I’m asking.”
I playfully scouted over my shoulder.
She flicked the cover of the book. “I’ve been staring at the same page for the past hour.”
“Maybe you should try the audio version.” Inexplicitly, I tried to imagine listening to a BDSM book while walking across campus. What would my students think?
“I don’t know why it bothers me.” She yanked the covers higher over herself, knocking the book onto the carpet.
“What?” I asked just to be on the safe side, knowing she wasn’t referring to reading or listening to smut.
“Troy.”
“It’s different—”
“If my mom was a man, it wouldn’t matter to most.”
I couldn’t suppress a smile. “I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted,”—I rapped a finger against the tip of her nose—“that it’s different for you. Your mother hasn’t dated much since your father died.” I paused to evaluate her reaction before plunging on. “I think it’s telling that you cut me off. If this wasn’t your mom, I think you’d be high-fiving Rose. Girl power and all that hoopla.” I waved etcetera.
“But it is my mom. And Troy isn’t my father. For so long it was just the two of us, and now there’s someone else always hanging about, not always in person, but his existence is never far from either of our minds. I don’t see her as often as I’m used to. Then there are the age and money factors.” She leaned her head back, squishing her eyes shut.
“Which is why it’s hard. You’re invested emotionally, and you don’t want to see your mom get hurt. What aspect of their relationship concerns you the most?”
“That he’s using my mom. Her money and connections.” Sarah stroked her left eyebrow. “Do you think it’s weird that Troy finds my mother attractive? She’s not a fitness nut or anything.” Sarah removed her right hand to allow her eyes to bore into mine.
I forced the image out of my mind and suppressed a shudder. “Uh… I don’t know how to answer that.”
She gouged her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Probably for the best. Can we take that bath now?”
I launched off the bed. “With wine?”
“Maybe I should call Maddie.”
“To take a bath with you?” I tutted. “I know I’m being über supportive and understanding, but really, don’t press your luck. You’re my wife, meaning no one else gets naked with you.”
She inclined her head. “Is it odd I’m turned on now?”
“I have that effect—”
“Don’t say it.” She waggled her finger in the air, smiling with ease. “Go, get the wine.” She dismissed me with a flourish of the hand.
I bowed. “At your service.” Before heading downstairs, I slipped into the bathroom to turn on the water. The deep-jetted tub took ages to fill. Passing the bed, I asked, “Anything else?”
“Chocolate.”
I bonked my forehead with a palm. “I should have known. Maybe Maddie can compile a checklist for these types of situations.” I grinned at Sarah and skedaddled before she had a chance to add her two cents.
Sarah eased into the water, resting against me. She sipped her wine and then nibbled on a dark cashew cluster. “Thanks, Lizzie.”
After kicking on the jets, I wrapped my arms around her. “Everything’s going to be okay. You and your mom have a strong relationship.”
“Even after I called her an old fool? And desperate?”
I had hoped Sarah hadn’t actually used those words, but it was difficult to subscribe to this completely since Rose uttered them in my presence. At best, I hoped Rose had deduced from Sarah’s comment. This didn’t seem like the time to point out she should be more judicious when bashing her mom’s boyfriend. So, I said, “Yes. Look at me. I never thought my dad and I could mend fences, and now he comes to birthday parties for our kids.”
“I shouldn’t have said it, though.”
I attempted to wipe away all expression from my face, which had busted me on more than one
occasion. “I won’t argue with that.”
Sarah quenched whatever feelings roiled inside with a deep tug of wine, clearly numbing the pain, which wasn’t the best of signs. Given the argument she’d had with Rose earlier, I opted not to raise my alarm at the moment.
“I happen to know someone who owns a chain of flower shops.” I snapped my fingers to the best of my ability, considering they were wet. “Just in case you want to apologize the Lizzie way.”
“Without words?”
“Exactly. Even a word lover like me avoids them when situations are overly complicated.” I wrapped my arms around her.
“I find that especially so when it comes to idiots uttering the words.”
I squeezed her tighter in my arms. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I joked.
She laughed. Really laughed. “I never thought you’d be the one talking me off the ledge.”
“That makes two of us. Being sensible is exhausting.” I rested my head against the lip of the tub. “Any chance I can talk you into a massage?”
She drilled her elbow into my stomach. “You’re comforting me.”
“I thought I already did. How much do you need in one night?”
Sarah craned her head over her shoulder. “All of you.”
“You may be in luck, because I want all of you. All of the time.” I cradled her right breast in my hand.
She reciprocated by taking my hand and running it down her slick torso and back up.
Soon, our hungry hands explored her body while we kissed to the best of our abilities given our position in the tub. The jetted water helped keep her body afloat, but her neck could only twist so much.
“Take me,” she urged, tossing her head into the crook of my neck. “Now.”
My right hand teased her clit before I inserted two fingers inside.
Sarah reached around the back of my neck, tugging. Her free hand continued to trail up and down her body.
“I love it when you touch yourself,” I said into her ear.
“I love—” Her breath hitched when I drove in hard, ignoring the pain in my wrist from the difficult angle.
A Conflicted Woman Page 6