Hard Choices: An Erotic Romance

by Joan Farraneau

  “True that, my friend, true that.” Brian gets up from the table and walks over to the fridge. He brushes his long stringy hair back from his face as he pulls open the door and bends down to look inside. “Anyways, you know what we need now?” he asks. He pulls two bottles of beer from the shelf and holds them up to show me. “A morning after drink. Nothing better to cure a hangover.”

  “Ugh.” The sight of the beers almost makes me throw up right then and there. Even so, Brian uncaps them, walks over and hands me one, and holds his up. “To second chances,” he says with a shit-eating grin, “for the scariest, yet softest motherfucker I know.”

  33.

  Sam

  I work until noon. Strangely enough, it’s one of the slowest days I can ever remember having. Only two customers come into the diner during my entire shift. Sarah, bless her heart, has taken my leaving as a reason to celebrate as if the world is ending and has been drinking steadily since our first glass of champagne. When I finally hang up my apron and take a final longing look around, she’s standing behind the counter, swaying back and forth with an open bottle of champagne in her hand while she squints and tries to read the newspaper. Mike is watching her through the kitchen window. He knows exactly what is going on and can only shake his head in amusement.

  “Okay, darling,” I say, coming up behind Sarah and wrapping my hands around her. She sighs contentedly and rubs her butt up against me. “It’s time for me to get going.”

  “Aww, so soon?” she whimpers, looking back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are slightly unfocussed and her cheeks are flushed red. “Oh wait, I want you to read something before you go.” She flips through the newspaper before her, searching for something. When she finds it, she folds the newspaper and hands it to me, her finger tapping at a small article three-fourths of the way down the page.

  “Read that,” she declares triumphantly.

  I glance down to where she’s pointing and begin to read:

  Oil Heir Donates $75 Million To Hometown For New Hospital And School

  Forton, Texas – An heir to one of the biggest oilmen in the country, Sean Hartwood, 28, is donating over half of his newly-acquired $200 million estate to his hometown of Forton, with all funds going to build a state of the art, 25,000 square-foot hospital along with a new school for a town that has been in desperate need of funds since the Great Recession. Hartwood’s donation will help create almost 500 jobs for healthcare professionals and teachers alone. His hospital, which will presumably be named after Mr. Hartwood, will have a focus on serving the nearest five counties, comprised of almost half a million people. His school will provide the finest in education for youth in a county where education has long taken a backseat to other pressing concerns. Mr. Hartwood was unable to be reached for comment, though his lawyer was more than glad to give us the names of the local architects who will be responsible for the creation of the school and hospital. Mr. Hartwood’s donation will be the largest donation from a private donor ever to be received in the history of his town.

  Sarah’s watching me closely the entire time I read. When I finally close the newspaper and set it on the counter, my mouth is hanging open. I’m not sure I even understood what it is I’ve just read.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” she asks.

  “But…how?”

  “Apparently his old man was loaded.”

  “But they were always so poor…”

  “Apparently not. Too bad it didn’t work out for y’all, huh?”

  “Yeah, too bad,” I murmur. My mind is elsewhere now. How long did Sean know about this? And why hadn’t he ever mentioned it? I mean, it’s not like I cared one way or the other that he was rich. It was just that…you would think…

  He didn’t tell you because that would mean he would have had to tell you who he was.

  The thought is sobering and instantly clears my head. I look at Sarah. She’s watching me intently as if she’s searching for a crack, though I’m not sure how much of that is just the alcohol. Ever so slowly, I reach behind me and untie my apron.

  “$200 million. Can you even imagine that? You could buy the entire town for that much! Are you sure you can’t work it out between the two of you? I mean, damn! $200 million? You could do whatever you want with that—“

  I stop her with a hand on her shoulder. As much as I believe in her good intentions, right now I’m just not in the mood for it.

  “Thanks for everything, Sarah,” I say. Sarah, realizing what she’s been doing, lowers her head and blushes.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean…I was just thinking about how easy life would—“

  “Really it’s alright, love. It would have been nice. But some things just aren’t meant to be.”

  “Well,” she says, her eyes lighting up as once more the never-ending mischief finds its way back into her brain, “I can’t say I won’t try to seduce him if he comes in here again. I promise to send at least half the money if it works.”

  “You do that,” I laugh, pulling her into me for one last hug. “And then you, me and Mike will run away together.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like more,” she whispers. Her voice is quavering. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, darling.” I hold her away from me, my hands on her shoulders. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Okay,” she nods, looking so sad you’d have thought her puppy had died. “You too.”

  I turn and walk to the door. I need to get out of here before I lose my nerve. I can already feel myself cracking. There’s nothing harder than leaving everything you’ve ever known behind.

  With one foot out the door, I look back at Sarah. I want to take one last mental picture of this place where I’ve spent so many hours of my life. Sarah smiles weakly. Old Mort is still asleep in his corner. I get the feeling that no matter how long I’m gone, this place will always be here, preserved just like this, with Sarah in her apron and Old Mort asleep above his newspaper. Home. That’s what this place was for me. Maybe the only home I’ve ever known.

  With a sigh that’s half-relief, half-longing, I turn and am gone.

  34.

  Sean

  I don’t leave the house until mid-afternoon. The rumble of the bike between my legs mixes with the sound of thunder in the distance. There’s a storm brewing. A certain heaviness hangs in the air; it feels like it’s going to be a bad one. Suddenly, everything seems more urgent. As I pull out of the driveway, my heart skipping a beat, Brian waves from the porch, a beer in his other hand.

  I open up the throttle when I hit the highway. I’m not sure why I’m in such a hurry. I need to calm down. I have time. It’s not like Sam is going anywhere.

  I go straight to her house, though I realize as I’m about to pull into her driveway that this might not be my best idea. What if her husband is there? And besides, Sam is likely at work. That’s where she normally is on weekdays at this time.

  I arrive at the diner just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Thunder is sounding every few seconds now and every so often I catch a flash of lightning in my peripheral. I park my bike and hop off, my eyes scanning the lot for Sam’s truck. It’s not here.

  I’m debating what to do when I catch movement inside the front window of the diner. It’s Sarah, Sam’s best friend. She’s carrying a plate of eggs and hash browns to a man sitting at a table by himself. He smiles up at her and I see his hand hesitate as he contemplates slapping her ass. She doesn’t notice and the man puts his hand down after a moment and starts in on his eggs.

  The door chimes when I push it open and Sarah looks up from the coffee she’s pouring into the cup of a man who seems to be asleep. It’s the same man that was here the last time Sam and I came in for breakfast. Come to think of it, he was here my very first morning back in town too.

  It takes Sarah a moment to recognize me, but I see her body language shift when she does. She smiles with her lips pursed, takes a deep breath, and struts conf
idently up to me. She seems sad. She also seems a little drunk and sways as she approaches.

  “Hello,” she says curtly. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Sam,” I say. From the kitchen window I see the chef, a large hulk of a man, watching me. I get the feeling he’s preparing himself for a confrontation.

  “What for?” Sarah slurs.

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Sarah turns to walk away. Before she can leave, I grab her wrist.

  “Please,” I implore. “I really need to talk to her. It’s important.”

  Sarah pauses and looks me up and down like she’s deciding if I am who I say I am. Finally, she gives a small nod.

  “What about?”

  “Well, it’s sort of private.”

  “Uh-uh,” she says with a definitive shake of her head. “If you want to talk to her, you are going to have to tell me what it’s about.”

  “It’s…uhh…well…I was hoping—”

  “Wait. You’re going to apologize, aren’t you?” she interrupts, her eyes lighting up. Instantly she relaxes.

  “That’s what I was hoping to do.”

  “I’m sorry, Sean. I’m afraid it’s too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Sam has already left.”

  “Left?”

  “Mmm-hmm. She’s gone.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  “Please.”

  “Hmm, why don’t you tell me what you were going to tell her? Then I’ll decide if I’ll tell you.”

  She says this playfully though I know she is serious. Sam was right: Sarah is an incorrigible busybody.

  “Well…”

  “You know she was really torn up when she found out who you really were.”

  “I know,” I say, hanging my head, suddenly torn by shame. “And I meant to tell her. I really did. It was just…way back when when we first knew each other I had been in love with her—“

  “I know all that. I am her best friend, after all. And I was there.”

  “Anyways, it was her rejection that was the reason I’d left town in the first place. And when I saw her in the diner my first day back, I’d remembered all the pain she’d caused me and I just…”

  I’m losing her and I know it. I take a deep breath and start over.

  “But then something happened. I fell in love all over again. It was like I’d never left. Except this time, Sam loved me too. But I didn’t know if she loved me or if she loved the idea of Luke. And I didn’t want to tell her because I was afraid she loved the idea.”

  “You made it worse by not saying anything.”

  “I know.”

  Sarah sighs. She squints at me as if she’s trying to read my mind. This close, I can definitely smell the alcohol on her breath. After a moment, her lips crack into a smile.

  “Well, I will say that it is quite sweet. Come on. Come on over here. Let’s talk some more.”

  I follow Sarah to the counter. She slips behind it and I drop into a seat. From beneath the counter, she pulls out a half-filled bottle of champagne. I’m still not one-hundred percent from the night before and the sight of it makes my stomach flip. She pours two glasses and slides one over to me. The cook is still watching us intently from the kitchen. He shakes his head as Sarah raises her glass to mine and I catch a hint of a smile upon his lips.

  “You know, Sam is a very special woman,” Sarah says when she’s finished her champagne. She pours herself another. “Very special.”

  “I know. She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Damn, that’s romantic,” Sarah sighs. She glances over her shoulder at the man standing in the kitchen. “I wish someone would say those things about me,” she whispers theatrically.

  “Anyways,” she continues, turning back to me. She goes to pour herself another glass of champagne only to realize hers is already full. “Why didn’t you tell her all this stuff when you had the chance?”

  “I…it wasn’t…she was married!”

  “So? It’s not like she was happily married. She hates Tim.”

  “I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  “Exactly why I’m here.”

  “Fair enough,” she intones. She tosses back her glass of champagne, hiccups and then giggles. “I’ve gotta say, I always liked you. Even way back when when you were just a nerdy kid in love with the popular girl. I always thought you’d be a good match for her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Though you definitely look much better with all of those tattoos. Tell me,” she says coyly, reaching out to finger the scar on my forearm, “where did you get that?”

  “A fight up in Alaska.”

  “Ooh, such a bad boy. I like that. That’s hot.”

  “Jesus Christ, woman,” I hear the chef grumble from the kitchen. I do my best to hold back a laugh.

  “So…?” I drawl. Sarah is still fingering the scar on my forearm. “Can you tell me where Sam is?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I can. You passed the test. I believe in your intentions. Though I swear to God if you ever hurt her again…”

  “I swear I won’t,” I laugh, holding up both hands. “Scout’s honor.”

  “She’s at home.”

  “At home?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I thought you said she’d left.”

  “She’s leaving. She went home a few hours ago to pack her things. She’s leaving tonight.”

  “Where to?”

  Sarah shrugs. “Heck if I know. I don’t think she does either. She mentioned something about the west coast.”

  “Why is she leaving?”

  “As she said, there’s nothing here for her anymore.”

  “Shit. Okay. Do you think I can catch her before she goes?”

  Just then a clap of thunder rattles the diner, making both Sarah and me jump. The rain is coming down in sheets now. It’s going to be a hell of a drive through this muck.

  “Probably. Though I doubt she’ll be around much longer. You’ll need to hurry.”

  “Thanks.” I finish off my champagne and stand.

  “One more thing,” Sarah interjects. She grabs my hand. “Are you really worth $200 million?”

  “Not anymore,” I say with a wink. “I gave half of it away.”

  “Go get ‘em tiger.”

  35.

  Sam

  How’s a person supposed to fit twenty-eight years of their life into two small suitcases?

  I’m standing in the living room with my hands on my hips pondering this exact question when the first clap of thunder sounds a few miles away. Before me is spread the most important accumulations of my life. It’s not a lot but it’s still too much. I’m going to have to get rid of some. The last thing I want to do is to start a new life built upon the remains of the old.

  I bend down and pick up my favorite pair of shoes. They are worn almost completely through.

  “You two look like you’ve seen better days,” I say as I toss them onto a pile of things I’ve already decided to leave behind. “Though I sure will miss you guys.”

  The first pass through is easy. Most of my clothes and half of my shoes should have been gotten rid of years ago. Funny how we often keep the things we hate just because we know them. A metaphor for my life if I’ve ever heard one. Well, not anymore, it isn’t.

  The thunder sounds again, this time much closer. It’s growing dark outside. According to the weatherman, we’re in for a hell of a storm. The goal is to leave before it hits. I don’t want to be caught on the road before I even have a chance to get out of town.

  Another hour and I’m just about packed. I’ve whittled all of my possessions down to two suitcases and a plastic bag of sentimental things I just can’t bear to part with. There are some pictures—one of Sarah and me; one of my father and mother;
one of a lake on an early summer evening that I one time spent three months at when I was a little girl—along with a few other small knickknacks—a letter from my first boyfriend; a stuffed animal; a keychain with a turtle (my favorite animal) on it. I doubt I’ll keep most of these things for long, but it’s too heart-wrenching to leave them behind now. I hate the thought of Tim discovering I’m gone and destroying them in one of his alcohol-fueled rages.

  “Okay, girl, you did it,” I say to the empty house. I sigh. I’m feeling lighter by the second. There’s only one thing left to do: shower. As my grandfather used to say, ‘there’s only one wrong way to start a trip, and that’s dirty.’

  I stand in front of the mirror in the bedroom as I strip down, the very same mirror that Sean and I watched ourselves in that weekend when we hardly left the bed. Standing there watching my body appear from beneath my clothes, I can’t help but think of him. The sweetness of the memory is made all the more potent by the pain. When I’m naked, I run my hands down my body slowly, for a moment pretending that they are his hands. I shiver as I remember how tenderly and how lovingly he caressed me the morning after our first time, how he made me feel so special, both in body and mind. I will always be grateful to him for showing me the true beauty of sex. Beneath all of these beautiful feelings that make tears spring to my eyes, there is also a vague guilt. If only I had accepted him way back when he’d first declared his love! But how was I supposed to know that it was the sweet men who mattered most? The men who didn’t want you just for sex?

  The rain is really coming down when I finally get into the shower. Lightning flashes frequently, enough that I begin to fear getting electrocuted. How ironic would it be if the very day I decide to leave I end up dying in a freak accident?