Secrets from a Happy Marriage

by Maisey Yates

  “If you would,” Rachel whispered.

  She gave her mom a hug, and then she slipped away, giddy like she’d imagined she might have felt if she’d ever sneaked out of the house as a teenager.

  Her phone buzzed, and she looked down, saw a text from him.

  Dinner?

  A smile curved her lips. On my way.

  She wanted to keep this a secret, keep it between them.

  When she’d been young she hadn’t minded talking about sex with her friends at all. She’d proudly told her high-school friends the first time she and Jacob had slept together and had given them details. Physical measurements. It had seemed exciting and fun.

  As she’d gotten older, she hadn’t done that anymore. She might make general comments with very close friends, before the distance had settled between them.

  But this was... Somehow the intimacy of what they shared felt so deep she could hardly stand to think of it in a room with other people, much less speak it out loud, or let anyone know what they did.

  What he made her feel.

  It was like that corner of the world they’d made for each other during Jacob’s illness had become larger. That space they had created while she was going through grieving the loss of Jacob—and if she was honest, she had been grieving him for years before his death—had grown to encompass not just that diner area, but his apartment, his bed.

  What they had was so fierce inside of her. And she wanted so much to keep it just hers.

  It wasn’t a date.

  It was something she couldn’t explain.

  And if no one knew, then she didn’t have to name it or figure it out. Because then she didn’t have to deal with the accompanying emotions that were beginning to grow inside of her chest.

  It was better that way.

  He texted her just before she arrived.

  Come to the door in the back. I’ll take you straight up.

  She hadn’t realized that there was a door back there that went directly upstairs, but there was. Adam opened it, and the sight of him, in a worn T-shirt and faded jeans, made it feel like the air had been scooped out of her lungs.

  “I can’t imagine you in a suit,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You were in finance.”

  “Yeah. I probably still have the suit somewhere.”

  “I need to see it.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Why not? Maybe I have a James Bond fantasy.”

  “Well, when you put it that way. Maybe.”

  He closed the door behind them and she followed him up the narrow staircase. “What are you doing?”

  “We have to eat, right?”

  “Sure. But...”

  Her words were cut off when they entered the apartment, and she smelled something decidedly undiner like. Pasta. She was certain. And there was a green salad sitting on the table.

  A bottle of wine. Two glasses.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I cooked for you. And I had to make sure that it was different than the way that I normally cook for you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He was feeding her. He was giving her...a romantic dinner. And they hadn’t done romance. Not at all. Everything they’d done in this apartment had happened in that bed. Well, sometimes the shower. But they’d been naked, and their conversations had been short. Between bouts of hard, fast sex before Rachel ran back to her real life.

  “How long has it been since someone took care of you? And I don’t mean in that church meal train, feel-sorry-for-you kind of way. When was the last time someone took the time to do something for you?”

  “I don’t... I don’t know.”

  “You take care of everyone. And the only time you ever let someone else take care of you was when you came into my diner and ordered a hamburger. I like taking care of you, Rachel.”

  “I—”

  “Sit.”

  She was so shocked that she obeyed. Like she was a golden retriever.

  He went over to the stove and took a pan of lasagna out of the oven. She watched him move, his broad shoulders, narrow waist and lean hips. The way that the muscles in his forearm shifted as he worked.

  In this context she could imagine him in a suit. He had authority. Wore it with the same ease that he wore those faded T-shirts. Not the kind of authority that was louder, and demanded respect and attention.

  It was measured.

  Easy.

  He poured her a glass of wine, served her, then sat across from her, looking at her with the kind of intent that made her skin heat up.

  “Thank you,” she said, because it was the polite thing to say, but she wasn’t sure she was actually that grateful. Because it was...

  She didn’t know quite how to do this.

  She’d fallen into the role of caretaker for her family. It had been easier. Easier than sitting around and waiting for bad things to happen. Easier than hoping that someone else would do the difficult things.

  Easier than sitting around and just having feelings.

  And, yes, sometimes she had felt overwhelmed, but then she was able to marinate privately in righteous indignation.

  When someone did things for you...

  She didn’t quite know how to handle it.

  He was easy to talk to. Even with her conflicting feelings. He told her more about his house outside of San Francisco. Told her more about Jack and Callie. They talked about good times with them. Not about his estrangement.

  And, somehow, that led her into talking about Jacob.

  “I knew I was in love with him right away. But, then, I was seventeen. You don’t worry about whether or not something is real when you’re seventeen. You just feel it, and you know. It was the easiest thing in the world. Our relationship was the easiest thing in the world. It seemed so unfair when he got sick. Because we could’ve fixed anything. Could have faced anything. In terms of marriage, in terms of those day-to-day problems that you have. But we couldn’t...make him well. There was no amount of love that could fix it... People feel sorry for us. For me. But I had a great marriage. I don’t feel sorry for me.”

  She felt sad sometimes, but never sorry.

  “What kind of man was he?”

  “Nice. Very even-tempered, which is a bonus, since I’m not. He liked to take things slow. He was a photographer, and we would go for long drives, and sometimes...he wouldn’t even take a picture. He wanted to look at the scenery, to see it and take it all in first. And then sometimes he would go back for a picture. But he was big on experiencing life. Especially as things went on, and his health deteriorated and it became clear that his life would be short. He was so good at that. At taking in those moments.”

  “I’m not very even-tempered,” Adam said.

  No. She could sense that. Even though she’d never really seen his temper, there was a sharpness to his personality, beneath the affability. A firmness about him. That authority that she’d been thinking about earlier.

  It was very different than Jacob.

  She wondered if that was why they generated so much heat.

  A sharp kick hit her chest. She felt guilty having those thoughts. It was just...very different. Things were new between them, but sex wasn’t new. You couldn’t compare that to two fumbling virgins who had all the excitement and enthusiasm of new lovers, but absolutely no methodology.

  Or maybe it was because they’d both lost before. So when they came together they held on a little tighter.

  Whatever the reasoning. The sex with Adam was...

  Something else.

  He’d also made her dessert, which he promised was good, because it was cake and not pie, and therefore not overly complicated.

  He was right. It was delicious. And the whole meal, she didn’t have to get up.

&nb
sp; And for a moment she wondered.

  If her life could be like this. A life with a man like this. Who took care of her. Who was passionate, who wanted her.

  Panic twisted in her gut, and she kissed him. Because when she kissed him she couldn’t think. And when he stripped off her clothes, she couldn’t second-guess anything.

  Because whatever else was happening between them, this was easy. Or natural. And it didn’t require thought.

  And when they were through, she curled up against him, exhausted. Sated. He took care of her in bed, too. Made it all about her. About her pleasure. Time after time. He was never satisfied with just once. As if somehow it made his own pleasure less, and she hadn’t known men like that existed.

  She should leave. But she looked up at him, and his blue eyes, and she didn’t want to go.

  She wanted to stay in the strange moment. Where she felt like she was someone different.

  Where she felt like she could have what she didn’t think she really could.

  This man who touched her and held her in ways she’d been starving for.

  Who created a fire within her that she hadn’t known could exist.

  She ached for that. For the intensity.

  She and Jacob had settled into soft and beautiful, and moments. Just moments. Those moments that he had appreciated so much had been such hard work for her to love. The whole time her mind was just racing ahead to what would happen when that moment was over.

  She was glad he hadn’t lived that way.

  Losing him by inches had altered the fabric of who she was. Her mind had always been on the moments after. The time she’d have to live in on her own. Alone.

  And who she was in the aftermath...

  She had been gentle hands. Soothing voice.

  And now she wanted rough, calloused hands and gruff words. A meal cooked for her, and the kind of sex that made heat ignite inside of her whenever she remembered it.

  She shut her eyes, and she let exhaustion roll over her. And just for a moment, she let all the guilt drain away.

  She let herself admit that she wanted this.

  That it was what she needed.

  Adam wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, curling her against him, wrapping his body around hers.

  She just wanted to stay. Wanted to lie there and smell his skin, his sweat. Such a strange and primal thing that desire brought out in people. She wanted to enjoy it. Living. Being a human. Being a woman. Stripped back to these basic parts.

  The beauty of sleeping against a solid male body.

  So she closed her eyes, and she let herself have it. Defiantly.

  But when she woke up it was morning.

  And she knew that she had made a mistake.

  31

  I can’t come home yet. But I will. You’ll keep my secret, right?

  —FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY SUSAN BRIGHT TO HER SISTER, FEBRUARY 1962

  EMMA

  Emma touched her necklace, then let it drop. She was nervous. To the point of shaking, which was silly. It was all silly.

  She’d thought about calling Catherine before she’d come. Catherine wasn’t a virgin, and her friend could’ve at least walked her through the basic mechanics. Not that Emma didn’t know the basic mechanics. But there was something to be said for hearing a narrative account versus having just read science books, and the odd scene from a romance novel that she’d snuck out of her grandma’s room now and again.

  She hadn’t talked to Luke beforehand, because she felt weird about that, too. Which was maybe not the best sign. If you didn’t quite know how to broach the subject of sex with the man you wanted to have it with.

  She walked into the garage and looked around. “Luke?”

  He came out from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag. He froze when he saw her. She supposed that she was dressed a little bit more...up than normal.

  “Hi,” she said. “I hope you’re...off soon.”

  “What are you doing here, Em?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “You normally call first.”

  “I know. I’m a surprise.”

  Her throat felt impossibly dry. She felt like running away, which was strange, because she was the one who was determined to do this in the first place.

  There was no point waiting on anything.

  Her father was gone.

  He hadn’t been here for her graduation. He wouldn’t see her off to college. Wouldn’t be there for her future wedding, or to ever meet her children.

  In many ways, that made her feel like more of an adult than anything ever could. Those milestones that she’d have without him.

  “Okay, you look like you’re afraid of me,” he said. “And I don’t like that. So what’s up?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, the words coming out in a rush.

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  She blinked. It had never occurred to her that he would think that. That Luke could possibly have even a moment of insecurity when he...

  Well, if anyone should feel insecure about their relationship, it was her. Younger, less experienced and definitely not the kind of thing that he was looking for. He was the object of her long-held fantasy.

  Of course, he didn’t know that.

  Suddenly, she saw all of this from his point of view. That she was standing there looking awkward, and he had no idea what was going to come out of her mouth. That she might be touching her necklace, because she was going to take it off and give it back, not because it was the most treasured thing that she owned, and she wanted to hold on to it now because she wanted to hold on to it forever.

  “I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Luke, I... I’ve had a crush on you for forever. I’m going to sound like a crazy stalker girl, but I took a job at the diner partly so that I could be near you. I mean, I didn’t go looking for the job. Adam offered it to me, but when he did...”

  “You really did that?”

  “Yes.”

  His lips turned up into a lopsided smile. “Hmm.”

  “You think that makes me sound like a stalker?”

  “No. But it makes me feel...good.”

  “I didn’t think you would ever pay attention to me. I was going through one of the hardest things... The hardest thing that I’ve ever gone through in my life. You were just kind of a hot escape. But then we started talking, and you were more than that. You helped me figure out what to do next. And... I didn’t just come to talk.”

  “Where does your mom think you are?” he asked.

  “I told her I was going out with you. I told her I might be late.”

  “How late?”

  “Late enough. Hey...do you have condoms?”

  He dropped the rag. “What?”

  “My friend Catherine would yell at me and tell me that it was my responsibility to get condoms if I want to have sex because we live in a society that demands we take charge of our own sexuality. But everyone knows my mom, and I couldn’t figure out which store to go to that wasn’t like...fifty miles away. So, I was just kind of hoping that you had some.”

  “I—”

  “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  “Hell no,” he said. “I mean... I didn’t mean it like that. No. I’m not.”

  “So you have condoms?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because I think we might need some.”

  “Emma, you don’t have to.”

  “I know. Honestly, though, you’re making it sound like I just offered to clean the whole garage or something, not have sex with you. You’re not exactly selling it. Remember, I’ve never done it before.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I didn’t
say it like that because I think it’s a chore. I just... I don’t want you to think that you have to do this because...you’re eighteen, and I’ll leave you if you don’t, or because you had that feeling that life is short. I felt that way after my dad died. I did stupid stuff. I don’t want to be a stupid thing you do.”

  “That’s not why,” she said, shaking her head. “I want to.”

  Because life was short, and love helped make you, even if it had pain. She’d watched that play out in her mother, her grandmother and her aunt.

  “Emma...” She was pretty sure he was going to argue with her. And, honestly, she didn’t want to beg the guy to sleep with her. But if he was just trying to protect her...

  “If you don’t want to, that’s...well, it’s not okay. It’s kind of devastating. But if you don’t want to, then we won’t,” she said. “But if you’re trying to protect me...please don’t, Luke. Don’t protect me from you. Don’t protect me from life. I’m not a kid. I need to make some of my own choices. I don’t need another person trying to protect me when I already know that life doesn’t come with a guarantee. I want you. I’m here now, and so are you. Let’s make something with that.”

  She found herself being hauled up against him then, and he kissed her, fiercely, holding nothing back. “It was never a question of wanting you,” he said. “But it matters to me. It matters to me to be the first one. It matters to me that you’re younger than I am. And I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Well, that’s part of why I like you so much, so even if I find that annoying, I can’t be mad about it.”

  “You could be,” he said.

  He picked her up, and she squeaked. “Where we going?”

  “To my house,” he said.

  It turned out they didn’t have to go far. His house was a camper, parked out behind the shop.

  “Why did you never mention this?” she asked as she stepped inside the small space.

  “I live here because I choose to,” he said. “I’m saving money. For different things that I want to do with the business. And...since I live by myself, and I’m almost never home. Mostly I just need a place to crash.”