After the funeral, David was thrust into the role of caring for his mother while she grieved and I felt even more abandoned.
When we got back home, he began taking more out-of-town jobs. When it came to me, his fuse had grown even shorter and it seemed that everything I did set him off. Any time he wasn’t working at the company, he was down in Beaumont visiting her. I went from seeing him at night and part of the weekend to not seeing him for weeks at a time. It felt like I was being punished, I just didn’t know what my crime was.
I started signing up for volunteer events to occupy my mind and time. That’s how I ended up working the health fair in May that year. Landon Scott set up his booth next to mine.
He commanded the room with his presence and I felt my pulse pick up when he looked at me. Having gotten used to being invisible again, I expected him to walk right past my booth.
When he stopped and stood right in front of me, I noticed several women look over at me, clearly wondering what it was about me that drew him in. I wondered the same thing.
Even after he’d introduced himself and then made his way back to his booth he was still trying to engage me in conversation. There was a younger woman in the booth on the other side of me and I struck up a conversation with her when she mentioned despising housework.
“I actually enjoy it. I crank up my music and just get lost in my own thoughts for awhile. I know some see it as anti-feminism to be domesticated, but it relaxes me when I’m stressed.”
She snorted, “Really? ‘Domesticated?’ You do realize that’s not a word, don’t you?—unless you think you’re a cat!”
She broke into a fit of giggles and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I lowered my head. I was wishing I could make myself disappear when a voice spoke up in my defense.
“Actually, it is a word. And it was used in the correct context—something you might know if you ever bothered to pick up a dictionary.”
I turned to see Landon leaning on the partition separating our booths before swiveling my head over to catch her reaction—I’m sure she had a name, but it wasn’t worth remembering. She stood with her mouth gaping open before beginning three different sentences at the same time. “I was—she said—it was a joke…”
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to his booth. All the while she stuttered and stumbled over her words. I gave him a grateful smile.
The rest of the day was spent with me making my way over to Landon’s booth anytime the flow of people slowed down just to hear what he would say next. He just drew you in—with the way he became so animated when he told stories.
At the end of the day, we were breaking everything down and Landon offered to take my chair back to the front for me. I handed it to him and when our fingers brushed there was a definite jolt, it gave me chills. I felt my face becoming warm as I blushed when he grinned at me, “You felt that too?—good.”
I laughed at myself for thinking that he would’ve been interested in me romantically. I mean, he’d seen my wedding ring and I’d mentioned that my husband owned his own construction company. I didn’t expect anything to come of it until a random encounter a few weeks later changed everything.
It was a Friday that I was expecting David home. He called at five as I was driving to the grocery store to stock the fridge in preparation for our weekend together. He sounded drained as he explained that things had gotten delayed due to the weather and that he would be staying on at least another week until the job was finished.
My heart sank and I began crying so hard that I had to pull the car over. “I haven’t seen you in a week! There’s no way you could just come home for the weekend?”
He sighed, “Beth, I’ve been up for nearly thirty-six hours. All I want at this point is to finish this job up and go to bed. I’m not about to drive three and half hours to come home. I just need you to be patient, please. I’m doing this for us.” I’d heard that argument before and instead of launching into why we needed to spend more time together, I found I felt much the same way he did—exhausted, drained, and tired of fighting.
“Fuck this, David. Fuck this job and living like this,” I struggled to get the words out over my sobs, “I can’t do this anymore.”
I hung up on him just as a truck cut me off to get into the right turn lane. I was seeing red from my phone conversation and the fucker in front of me just messed with the wrong person. I turned right and sped up before whipping my car in front of his and slamming on my brakes. I laughed as the driver laid on his horn and continued on my way to the store.
A few minutes later, I realized the same truck was tailgating me. I pulled into an empty parking lot and the truck pulled in behind me. Everything in me screamed that I had just done something incredibly stupid and risky, but my rage begged to differ. I jumped out of my car, ready to fight.
“What the fuck is your problem—” The words died in my throat when I realized it was Landon.
He took in my fists at my side and my blotchy face and burst out laughing. “God damn, I thought I’d have to drive all over this city to find you, Elizabeth. I never guessed we’d find ourselves in a road rage incident.” His smile was so genuine that I found my anger slipping away just as quickly as it appeared.
“Jesus, Landon, you’re a horrible driver!” I smiled at him as I said it and he returned it, dimples on full display.
“Have you been crying?” He approached me cautiously and I took a step forward to meet him.
“It’s nothing…just emotional tonight.”
“I’m not leaving here until I get your number. I made that mistake before. I mean, I’ve seen you drive. I wanna make sure you make it home in one piece.”
I flipped him off, giggling like a schoolgirl in the process.
Landon had caught me at a point where I was so vulnerable and craving some attention—so instead of refusing to give him my number, I told myself it was just a little harmless flirting. I’d already been worrying that perhaps I’d made a mistake in marrying David. I played the what-ifs over and over again in my head. What if I said no when he asked me to marry him? What if I didn’t let him buy me a drink that night? What if I would’ve put my foot down on him traveling for work? It was maddening. I thought having someone I could talk to, one who didn’t know David, might really help keep me sane.
I told myself it was platonic and that nothing would come of it. We began texting back and forth throughout the day—nothing that I would be worried about David reading.
He’d check in and see how my work day was going—David wasn’t even remembering to do that at the moment. I’d spoken to David every day since I’d met him, but it seemed that he didn’t have time to take my calls when he was working now.
A couple of weeks later, after yet another fight, I decided to forego champagne in favor of something stronger. I raided the bar and found a bottle of vodka and five shots later I found myself incredibly aroused and texting Landon.
I expected him to leave after witnessing me vomit, but he helped me into bed and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning in bed alone and I cringed at my actions from the night before. Shame brought a flush to my cheeks and I imagined that Landon was probably long gone and in the process of changing his phone number.
It startled me when he walked in the bedroom a few minutes later with two to-go coffees. I pulled the covers up, suddenly feeling modest.
He grinned at me, “How you feeling, champ?”
I groaned and closed my eyes, “I feel like dying…still working out whether it’ll be from this hangover or embarrassment.”
He chuckled and handed me a coffee before sitting down at the foot of the bed.
“You know, I can’t say I’ve ever made a woman physically ill before,” He dodged the pillow I chucked at his head before continuing, “So, now that you’re sober would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
I swallowed a sip of black coffee before answering him, “Are you sure you w
anna hear this? There’s still time for you to make your great escape.”
His eyes turned serious, “Elizabeth, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since we met. I’m here because I want to be, not out of any sense of obligation.”
As we talked over coffee, he asked me about David and I found that I felt safe opening up to him. I shared some of my fears and worries concerning my marriage while he listened quietly. I told him about my anxiety disorder and the debilitating attacks I sometimes suffered. He didn’t try to solve my problems or even speak ill of David and I had to admit, it felt good to get some of it off my chest.
Landon genuinely seemed to enjoy my company. He didn’t even try to kiss me before he left that morning—nothing that could be construed as a romantic gesture. He left with the promise that we would get together again soon.
When David told me he was going to head straight from his job in Midland down to his mom’s house a few weeks later, I texted Landon to see what he was doing. He invited me over for dinner and I was relieved that I wouldn’t be left on my own.
While the layout was similar on our homes, my house seemed cluttered compared to his. He had a neutral beige tone painted throughout the house and the walls were bare. Leather couches and a glass coffee table made up the décor in his living room with a few pictures along the mantle above his fireplace.
One was a picture of Landon and a gorgeous brunette who had to have been at least 5’11”. They were standing against some railing with their arms around each other. I gestured to the picture, “She’s stunning—let me guess, she’s the ‘one that got away’ and you keep her picture as a reminder of what you’ve lost.”
He laughed as he looked over at her picture. “That’s Katya,” He said it like “caught ya”—it sounded so exotic. “Her dad is from Russia, so her name is the Russian equivalent of Katie. We dated for a while before she took a job in Denver, so I guess she could’ve been ‘the one’ had she stuck around.”
I stared, mesmerized by her features. “She looks like she could be a model.”
He popped the top of a beer and took a swig, “She was, in college.”
Of course she was. I felt a pang of jealousy rise up in me and I had to tamp it down and remind myself that I had no claim on him. I was married and he was just my friend. Regardless of what When Harry Met Sally would have the world believe, men and women could be just friends. I just needed to get rid of these emotions—seeing her stirred up some of the old feelings of inadequacy and I could feel the cold fingers of anxiety curling around my throat.
I made an excuse about washing up for dinner as Landon walked out to check the steaks on the grill. I found that I was slightly shaking from my unplanned reaction to seeing Landon’s ex-girlfriend. If I wanted the rest of the evening to be enjoyable, I needed to relax and remember that I was married to a wonderful—if albeit, mostly absent man.
This is the point of the story where I should’ve looked at myself in the mirror and evaluated why I was there. All I saw was a woman desperate for physical affection.
When I came back into the kitchen, Landon offered me a glass of wine, and I accepted it gratefully. There was no way I’d trust myself to drive home under the effects of alcohol, but at the moment I didn’t care. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
Given what had transpired between us a few weeks earlier, I expected our meal to be awkward. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sitting and talking about the inane things we’d done during our work week, I felt comfortable—like it was something he and I had done for years. I found myself easily distracted—mesmerized by his mouth, imagining that he was mine and that we had dinner like this every night.
I lost track of time and realized I needed to get home so I grabbed my purse and walked back into the kitchen where he was washing dishes.
“Landon, thank you so much for dinner. It was nice of you to invite me over. It gets kind of lonely eating alone.” I tried to laugh the last part of my statement off as a joke as he pulled me into a tight hug.
He murmured into my hair, “Oh Elizabeth,”
I clung to him, the wine was in full effect and I was wet with wanting him. He abruptly stepped back and before I could fully comprehend what was going on, his mouth was on mine. His tongue found its way inside my mouth.
I moaned and he instantly released me, mistaking my pleasure for distress.
“Oh my God—Elizabeth, I’m sorry.”
I reached up and brought his mouth down on mine again. Desire flowed through every part of my being and I couldn’t tell you if it was the alcohol, him, or a combination of both. Without a word, he picked me up and carried me into his bedroom as I ran my nails up and down his spine. His hands were working to get the zipper down on my dress when he brought me to the edge of the bed. I stood up and shimmied out of it before reaching down to take off my black stilettos.
“Leave them on. Please.” He was gazing at me with such intensity that I had to look away, my face flooding with color. He walked closer and tipped my chin up, “Hey. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re beautiful.”
I nodded, too overcome to say anything coherent.
He alternated between removing his clothes with one hand while the other worked to get my underwear off.
“Are you on the pill?” His question pulled me out of my stupor.
“No—David just uses condoms normally.”
He stops me with a finger against my lips, his voice husky, “Hey, I don’t need your reasons. I just need to know if you want this,” at the word ‘this’ he gestured between us, “If you do, there’s only enough room for me and you here.”
While my mind was put off by thoughts of David, my body was filled with a heady desire, ready to be possessed. I quickly pushed him to the back of my mind, along with my inner romantic, who was not at all on board with my decision. I was mentally thumbing my nose at her when I responded, “Landon, I want you. And this.”
He let out a breath he’d been holding and I realized that he wasn’t sure how I was going to respond. He grinned wickedly at me, “You’re not going to puke on me?” He rolled over and grabbed a condom from his wallet, sliding it over his impressive length.
I shook my head and unhooked my strapless bra, tossing it aside before either of us could change our minds.
Landon managed to utter, “Fuck,” before climbing over and forcing his fingers inside of me. “God, you’re wet. I want you to come for me.” I did, almost instantly, before he picked me up off the bed and pushed me up against the wall, my legs wrapped tightly around him. He used his free hand to pull my hair loose from its bun, while his teeth grazed along my jawline. He buried himself deep inside me and I came apart—it was so unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
I’d love to say that I left immediately, went home, and cried in the shower. Yeah, that didn’t happen right away. I participated in more promiscuous activities with Landon, both of us working to memorize every inch of the other’s body. I didn’t make it home until well after midnight, after telling Landon that what we’d done was a one-time thing—“scratching an itch” if you will— and that we could never do it again. He laughed because he knew that I was lying.
Once I got home, his touch still searing my skin, the enormity of what had happened hit me. I went and sat on the back porch, in shock. I was a cheater and I could never take it back. I could never again say that David was my one and only. When I got cold, I went back inside and began scrubbing the house from top to bottom as if doing so would rid me of my guilt. When that didn’t work, I ran a hot bath, scrubbing my skin until it was pink and raw. Then, the tears came.
I looked at myself in the mirror and was disgusted. I’d wanted a male companion to replace David while he was away, how could I have not seen it leading to this? Although I knew that I was ultimately responsible for my actions, I felt rage towards David for pushing me into my current situation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When David arrived home a coupl
e of nights later to find me cooking dinner, I was incredibly jumpy. I was certain he would know just by looking at me that I had been with another man. If he suspected anything though, he never gave it away. He actually seemed more content, like the David I knew before he lost his dad. He was healing, it was apparent.
We sat down to dinner and he proudly told me of the work they’d accomplished down in Midland and how big the town was getting with the current oil boom. He spoke of his mother and how she’d asked about me when he was down there visiting. They’d gone through some of his dad’s things. When he described how they sat on the floor side by side, alternating between laughter and tears as they relived memories of John, it felt like a knife through my heart.
My sweet, caring husband was dealing with the biggest loss in his life and I’d basically run right into the arms of another man. What kind of a woman does that?
I found myself comparing him to Landon. Where Landon looked put-together, David was much more laid back. The word disheveled came to mind, but that seemed a bit critical for the man sitting in front of me. He broke me out of my reverie when he asked me what I’d been up to over the weekend and I lied, saying I held a Netflix marathon on the couch. At that point I still thought what Landon and I had done was a one-night stand—something never to be repeated again. It was best to keep it to myself and chalk it up to a temporary lapse in judgment.
He claimed exhaustion from the long drive and said he wanted to go to bed. I grinned and offered to join him. I’d gotten my fix from Landon and I thought I could go back to being the wife he needed. Plus, I needed to clear my conscience. I needed my husband to drive away my guilt over what had happened. I’ve read statistics that state women only cheat when they’re emotionally finished with their marriages. That wasn’t true for me though. I loved David, but he’d been so distant and I just needed to fill that void with another male presence. At least, that’s how I justified the entire thing so that I could sleep at night.
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