The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom

by Robyn Harding

  “I will,” I said. “Definitely.”

  “Well…” Portman pressed the button on the end of his pen before returning it to his pocket. “Thanks for coming down, Paige. I’ll let you get on with your day.”

  “Umm… one more thing… Troy.” I suddenly felt shy calling him by his first name. “The paternity test—have you got the results?”

  “Not yet. It’ll take a couple of weeks. Do you think the baby might be this Javier’s?”

  I honestly didn’t know. For some reason, I still felt like Javier might be telling me the truth about his relationship with Karen. But was it just wishful thinking on my part? After last night, I knew I could no longer trust my own judgment. “Maybe,” I said.

  I had expected to feel some sort of relief after finally revealing all the secrets I’d kept locked up inside. Instead, I felt mildly depressed and rather… guilty. Karen had confided in me because she trusted me, and I had let her down. And now, it was very likely that the whole thing would be blown wide open. When Doug found out about Karen’s affair, he would be devastated. Carly would be crushed that her best friend was no better than the hussy who had stolen Brian from her. Trudy would be disappointed. Jane, of course, would understand, but what of all the other perfect, Aberdeen Mist wives? They’d all be looking down their noses, sneering at Karen’s memory. And what would they think when they learned that I had known about the affair for months?

  Unless, of course, Karen wasn’t actually having an affair and her death really was just a tragic accident. In that case, no one need ever know about her fictionalized admittance to me. I would have nothing to feel guilty about—except the fact that Javier was going to be interrogated and, quite possibly, deported. For all I knew, his immigration status could be totally legitimate, but based on the note he wrote to the police, I doubted it. I felt a strong wave of remorse wash over me at the thought of him being sent home. Not that I planned to see him again, ever, but I hated the thought that I had destroyed an innocent immigrant’s life. And I couldn’t help but wonder if my motives were really pure, or if I was just looking out for myself. Was I so weak-willed that the only way I could protect my marriage was to send the object of my desire across the Atlantic Ocean?

  I needed a pick-me-up, a mood-booster, something to get me out of this funk. As if on cue, the Aberdeen Mall rose up on my left, a sprawling mass of interconnected department stores, boutiques and restaurants. Of course! Shopping was the answer! Shopping would numb me to these negative, self-defeating thoughts—at least temporarily. A new pair of shoes or even a new top would lift my spirits, immensely. I would also buy the children each a gift, and pick up a little something for Paul. As I took the mall exit off the freeway, I decided to look at this day as the end of an old cycle full of secrets and lies, and the beginning of a new one. Really, it was a cause for celebration. And what better way to celebrate than an afternoon of shopping?

  It worked. When I left the mall two hours later laden with a number of large shopping bags, I felt much more upbeat. I had purchased a striped purple sweater for Chloe, a hoodie emblazoned with a stylized snowboarder for Spencer; a blue pullover for Paul, and a hip blazer for myself. From now on, I was going to focus on the positive. I was not even going to allow myself to stress out over the money I’d just spent. This was a bright new day. Now, if only I could find my car.

  From my perspective on the sidewalk, I peered out into the sea of SUVs and family sedans. Okay… I had entered the mall through the Gap, so I had to be parked somewhere in the general vicinity. As my eyes scanned the area, I caught a glimpse of someone familiar in my peripheral vision. “Hey, Trudy!” I called.

  Trudy turned toward me. She was burdened with several, dry-cleaned garments and two, burgeoning grocery bags. “Oh, hi Paige.”

  I walked toward her. “Doing a little shopping?”

  “Just a few errands.”

  I looked at her plastic-wrapped clothes. “Picking up Ken’s suits? Is he back from his business trip?”

  “Uh… he’s still in Seattle. These are actually Doug’s.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s been so busy at work that I offered to pick them up for him.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “Well… you know how men are when they don’t have a woman to look after them…” she trailed off with a laugh.”

  “True. Listen, have you got time for a quick coffee?”

  “Ohhh,” she said, regretfully. “I can’t. I was just picking up some groceries to take over to Carly’s. We’re going to whip up a few lasagnas for Doug to keep in the freezer. That way, he can just defrost them when he’s hungry.

  “Great idea.” There it was again: that niggling feeling of… pettiness. Carly and Trudy had obviously appointed themselves Doug’s caregivers. That was, of course, when they were not helping all of Denver’s barren couples conceive, in the name of our deceased friend. And what was I doing? I was trying, with negligible results, to find out what really happened to her. But would anyone appreciate my efforts? Or were Karen’s secrets best buried with her—or rather, burned and scattered across a picnic area at the foot of the Rocky Mountains with her?

  Trudy gave my hand a squeeze. “I’ve gotta run. We’ll see you soon.”

  “Right… Okay. Bye.” I forced a warm smile. I had to stop being so full of doubt and negativity. This was a bright, new day; the beginning of a happier, more positive cycle.

  That evening, when I bestowed the gifts I’d bought upon my family, I felt incredibly upbeat, even jolly—like Santa must feel. Chloe adored her striped sweater and Spencer, though slightly less enthusiastic about new clothes, thought his new snowboarder hoodie was really cool. Paul immediately tried on his pullover. It fit him perfectly and emphasized his broad shoulders. “Thanks babe.” He kissed my cheek. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing special,” I said. “I just realized how lucky I am to have such a great family.” I could feel myself becoming emotional. “I wanted to buy you all a little present, that’s all… “

  “Well, thank you. Did you get yourself something, too?”

  “A really cute blazer.”

  “Great. I thought you might have bought yourself a new dress to wear to the party.”

  “Party?” I asked, bemused. “What party?”

  “The department’s fiscal-year-end celebration for exceeding our sales quotas.”

  “You never told me about it.”

  “Yes, I did, Paige. Ages ago.”

  “No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”

  “Maybe you were just distracted. A lot has happened lately.”

  “You didn’t,” I muttered, but decided not to force the issue. I had been incredibly preoccupied. “When is it?”

  “Friday.”

  “Friday? As in, tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, my God!” I went into panic mode, storming into the kitchen. Paul followed me. “I don’t have a sitter! I don’t have anything to wear!”

  “Call Mrs. Williams. Or, Katy Baldwin. One of them will babysit.”

  I rummaged violently through the junk drawer in search of my address book. “Why do I always have to take care of all of this stuff? Why can’t you ever book the babysitter?”

  “I don’t have their phone numbers at work, that’s all. Here…” he stepped in and extracted my address book within seconds. “I’ll phone them now. You go look through your closet for something to wear.”

  “I have nothing!” I cried.

  “Wear that black dress… the tight one.”

  “I wore it to the last Christmas party!” I screeched. God, men could be so stupid.

  “Okay. Sorry!” Paul was getting exasperated. “It’s really nothing to freak out about.”

  “Easy for you to say! You’ve known about it for weeks. You’ve got tons of clothes. I’ve got one dress, one formal dress!”

  “You can go shopping tomorrow.”

  “I volunteered to bake muffins
tonight for Spencer to take to class tomorrow!”

  “Okay... tomorrow morning, then.”

  “You really think it’s that easy to find a new outfit? Well,” I scoffed, “you obviously don’t have to deal with a small bust and extra long torso.”

  Paul looked at me in silence for a moment. “What’s going on?” he asked slowly.

  “What? … What?”

  “Why are you getting so upset about this party?”

  I busied myself putting away the dishes sitting in the drying rack while I tried to compose an answer. I could think of several reasons for my chagrin. Paul’s office parties were excruciatingly dull, especially for someone like me who had less than no interest in computer stuff. Sadly, they often culminated in an argument between my husband and me, since I found his colleagues painfully boring and he seemed to find them both entertaining and hilarious. And after my morning meeting with Detective Portman, my nerves were completely shot. I knew I was blowing the event out of proportion, but at the moment, it felt somewhat overwhelming. Besides all that, I really did have nothing to wear.

  I sighed deeply and turned around to face my husband. “I’m sorry. I’m overreacting.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just wish I’d known about it sooner so I could have been prepared.”

  “Honestly, Paige, I really think I told you.”

  “Whatever…” I waved it away with my hand. “I think…” I sighed heavily, again. “I think you and I need to reconnect.”

  “Oh,” my husband said, seemingly surprised, “I thought we kind of had.”

  “Well… we kind of did, but I need more than that.”

  “Okay…” he said, thoughtfully. “Maybe when the kids have gone to bed we could do it in the shower or something?”

  “I’m not talking about sex this time.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” This puzzled him. “So… reconnect how?”

  “Emotionally. Spiritually.” This appeared to puzzle him even more. Apparently, I would have to spell it out for him. “We used to be a team, Paul. Lately, I feel like we’ve been too wrapped up in our own lives. You’re completely immersed in your job, and I’ve been absorbed with…” —It took me only a millisecond to find the right word— “my grief. We need to come together again.”

  He moved toward me. “You’re right.” His arms reached out to embrace me. “That sounds good.” We held each other in silence for a long moment, a contented smile playing on my lips. It was the new beginning I had hoped for; I could feel it. I would invest all of my energy back into my relationship with my husband, into my family. It felt so right.

  Paul pulled back and looked at me. “Maybe later we could still… you know, do it in the shower?”

  “Maybe.”

  Chapter 20

  We didn’t end up doing it in the shower, but still, I felt positive about this next phase of our relationship. Paul and I needed to be more cohesive, less insular in our separate lives. I was glad I had finally spoken up about it. I was also glad that I managed to find a knee-length, champagne-colored dress that flattered my small bust and extra long torso. Plus, Katy Baldwin, a skinny blond teenager with a mouthful of orthodontics had agreed to baby sit. Maybe this party wouldn’t be as painful as I was expecting? I vowed to have a positive attitude.

  I tried, I really did. The evening had started off quite well. When we first arrived at the upscale, Italian eatery, Paul was attentive. He introduced me to his colleagues—or rather, reintroduced me. Over the last six years I had spent approximately twelve evenings with these people, but I usually needed a quick refresher upon meeting them again. I smiled warmly as I shook their hands, asking about the ski chalet they had been building last time we met, or their daughter who had just been heading off to college in Idaho.

  But by the second cocktail, conversation was rapidly deteriorating. Paul seemed to have forgotten my existence as he immersed himself in animated discussions about difficult clients, crashing thingamabobs, and golf scores. I found another wife standing idly by and managed to strike up a conversation. Unfortunately, I soon found out that she was childless and extremely devoted to her career in banking. With less than nothing in common, our idle chitchat quickly petered out. My husband, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life. Thanks to a continuous stream of scotches, he was getting louder, more gregarious, and definitely more obnoxious. Surely someone would tell him to shut up soon? But to the contrary, the other guests seemed to find him incredibly amusing. I was grateful when we were summoned to the dining area for our meal.

  The food was excellent. The conversation was not—at least not to someone who had no understanding of software protocols, had not been on that team building retreat in Vegas, or dealt with client, Natalie Devon, a.k.a. Nastily Devil. I was used to this, from the past dozen or so events, so I smiled pleasantly and tried to concentrate on my veal and red wine. But I couldn’t help but feel some resentment toward my husband. After our heart-to-heart about reconnecting and presenting as a cohesive unit, he was basically ignoring me. He was so engrossed in relaying his many humorous anecdotes that it was like he’d forgotten I was there. When dessert had been served and it was apparent that the evening was going to progress in this manner indefinitely, I knew I needed a break. I leaned over to my husband.

  “Paul,” I said, quietly.

  “No way, Damon! They needed that upgrade. Haven’t you ever heard of upselling?”

  “Paul…” I tried again.

  “Give me a break! You’d sell your grandmother the AP3000 and she doesn’t even own a computer!”

  Amidst his cohorts’ uproarious laughter, I snapped, “Paul!”

  He turned toward me. He almost looked surprised to see me, like he wasn’t quite sure why I was there when I so obviously didn’t fit in. “What?”

  “I left my cell at home. Lend me yours so I can check on the kids.”

  “Okeydoke…” As he extracted his phone, he dove back into his previous conversation. “You’re just in it for the free golf, man! I can see right through you!”

  Dejectedly, I walked to the front of the restaurant and asked the pretty coat-check girl for my wrap. It was a chilly, November evening, but I needed some fresh air. Hopefully, it would cool me off. By this time, I was positively seething at Paul’s indifference to my presence. It was like our reconnection conversation had gone in one ear and out the other. This was going no better than my initial resexualizing efforts.

  Standing on the sidewalk just outside the glass, front doors, I dialed home. Katy Baldwin answered after a couple of rings.

  “Hi, Katy. It’s Paige calling.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “How’s everything going?”

  “Good,” she said, in her high-pitched, vaguely muddled voice. The plethora of metal in her mouth caused a slight speech impediment. “Really good.”

  “Did the kids get to bed?”

  “Yep. Spencer went at about 8:30. Chloe went at nine, and then she read for awhile.”

  “Great… great. …Were they well behaved?”

  “Yeah. They were really good.”

  “Good… good.” There was a long pause as I scrambled for something else to ask. I wasn’t ready to return to the party yet. “Spencer didn’t say any, uh, naughty words, did he?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “No. He was fine.”

  “Okay… well, thanks Katy. Hopefully we won’t be too much longer.”

  “Take your time.”

  I hung up and stuffed the phone into my tiny evening bag. Huddling into my wrap, I stared out at the darkened parking lot and the largely vacant highway beyond. At that moment, I really wished I smoked: it would have given me an excuse to stay outside, away from the party. I wondered how long I could stay away before Paul missed me—likely, until the restaurant closed at midnight.

  Suddenly, I was assaulted by the stinging beam of headlights in my eyes. One of the dormant cars, parked across the l
ot and facing me, sprang to life. I squinted in its direction. It was a nice car, sleek and black. The hood ornament indicated that it was an Audi. As it sidled out of its spot, my first thought was one of envy: at least someone was getting to leave the party early. But the car didn’t appear to be in any hurry to exit the lot. It eased forward, heading directly toward me. The driver, obscured by the glaring lights in my eyes, turned the wheel, and pulled the car up beside me. I heard the electric whir of the passenger window being lowered.

  “Paige. Get in.”

  I leaned down to peer inside. Holy shit! It was Javier! I felt a momentary flash of relief that he wasn’t in prison or some immigration holding cell. But what was he doing here? How had he found me?

  “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “I need to talk to you. Get in… please.”

  “I- I can’t.” I couldn’t, could I? Paul might come looking for me—although, that was highly doubtful. But Javier might want to harm me! Detective Portman’s warning to stay away from him replayed in my mind.

  “Please…” he said again, looking at me with his dark, pleading eyes. Oh shit. He had some kind of Rasputin-like power! “I must speak to you.” Before my rational mind could talk me out of it, I hopped in. With a piercing, squeal of tires, we peeled out of the parking lot.

  Javier was silent as we sped down the deserted highway. It was difficult to read his mood as I sat mutely beside him, frozen in my luxurious leather seat. There was definitely something titillating about being in this sexy car, so close to this sexy man. But I was also uneasy. I didn’t know his intentions, and he was driving way too fast.

  “Can you slow down please?” I said, firmly. He ignored me. “Seriously, Javier! Slow down!” He did not decelerate. “Whose car is this anyway?”

  “It is mine.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t want to be rude and ask how he could afford a car like this on his barista wages, but he must have read my thoughts.

  “I saved for a long time. … And when my aunt died, she left some money to me.”

  “Really?” Skepticism had colored my voice. “Aren’t you the lucky one? I wish I had a rich, dead aunt to buy me an Audi.”