Waking Amy (Amy #1)

by Julieann Dove

  He pulled up behind my car. I grabbed my bags from the floorboard. It was dark now and I thought about the walk from my car to the front door of my house. I hadn't left a light on. Thoughts of a mugger watching me from a distance sent a chill up my spine. I was such a chicken. A minute went by before I moved again. Images of me being dragged into the bushes at knifepoint ramped up my heart rate.

  “Mark?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know it sounds silly, but would you mind following me home? There have been a couple of incidents a few streets over from mine and I don't have anyone to check on me. To make sure that I haven't been killed and dumped, if you know what I mean?”

  I thought about how pathetic that sounded. “You know what? Never mind. I'll be fine.”

  I opened the door and got out before he could say anything. I waved goodbye and got in my car and drove off. I tried to put a blanket on the thoughts of him with his lips and hands on my body. To suffocate the fire within me. How it felt to be desired. To have someone want to know if I wore lotion or gargled mouthwash. Then I threw a blanket on the thought of walking to my dark front door. I tried, instead, to think of what was in my kitchen to eat. A stale bag of rice cakes, a frozen PF Chang's steak-and-pepper entree, trail mix, and frozen waffles. I had just bought another box for Wesley. He ate two every morning before work.

  I pulled up to my house and took my keys from the ignition. Holding my house key firmly, I began to speed-walk to the front door, leaving my packages in the car for daylight retrieval. If someone tried to grab me, I'd jab them in the throat. Half-way up the sidewalk, I spotted Mark parked along the street watching me. His parking lights were on. Pounds of anxiety evaporated from me into thin air. I slowed my gait and smiled at him. A smile that transcended the need for words. I was safe.

  The house was pitch black, like a monster house in a scary movie. The darkness had cloaked it into something fearful. Not the charming little three-bedroom cottage with blue siding and white flower boxes on the oversized windows. No, even the man on the moon was hidden by heavy clouds, threatening rain. Creepy cricket noises peppered the small front patch of grass. I moved slightly, to have the streetlight reflect on my lock. As soon as I twisted it open, Mark appeared and grabbed the handle, stepping me inside. Pushing me up against the wall, he placed one hand on the nape of my neck. The other one grabbed me at the small of my back, pulling my hips closer to him.

  My purse dropped to the floor as my lips parted, waiting for his tongue to enter my mouth again. Riots were breaking out inside me. Unleashed passion that I never knew lived inside me was sprinting back and forth inside my chest. His fervor incapacitated me. I fell shapeless within his strong arms. His lips moved over mine, sucking and teasing my lips until he tasted me completely. I heard myself express a small moan.

  He quickly pushed himself off me and held me by the arms, locking distance between himself and me. Dim light from the outside street shone on his face. His chest heaved up and down. His eyes rushed back and forth, as they looked at me. I suppose he wanted me to say something. What could I say? I was still working on controlling my own rapid breaths.

  “The whole way over here, I imagined doing that again. I had no right. You're someone's wife—my patient's wife. The guy that's too stupid to know what he's got. And you have no clue how you've ruined me with your simple beauty and innocence. Amy, you don't even try and you render me a faithful man. Only in my dreams and only with you.”

  He walked off the porch and disappeared into the darkness. Disheveled and panting, I watched as his headlights drove off. Suddenly, I awoke. For years, I had been asleep. Living day after day in a coma of my own. Suffering from the repetition of running on a gerbil wheel. Never feeling much more than that I was sharing a house with a man I had conjugal visits with once a month.

  But now … I never felt more alive.

  Chapter Six

  My routine was off-kilter the next day. Not only wasn't I going to work as usual, and Wesley wasn't home like every day, but my core felt different. I barely slept the night before, replaying the moment that stood out from any other in my life. As if someone had finally found the cord and plugged me in.

  Today I felt torn like a ripped sheet, fluttering in the wind. It was only yesterday that I had a plan. Heck, last week I thought I had a husband and a future. Nothing was a sure thing anymore. Nothing but this feeling of chronic jitters I had adopted that came after kissing Dr. Mark Reilly. Comparable to a dope addict who no longer had a fix or a way to find a fix. I was now ten steps away from the direction I had started out. Turned around and still spinning. The roller coaster ride was compliments of Mark too. I grabbed my journal next to the bed and opened it to a blank sheet. Visual evidence of why I couldn't think of him and that kiss would have to be realized and written down.

  1. Mark Reilly has probably slept with half of the female population in the greater part of Portland, never having gone on a second date with any of them.

  2. I'm married.

  3. He's a player. I'm his quest. I'm tomorrow's trash in his female recycle bin.

  4. I'm married.

  5. I'm married and Wesley will be a different man when I become a different woman. We will be happy.

  6. Forget Mark Reilly. It's only business.

  I read the words again, purposely omitting a “pro” list. Although if there were one, I'd have listed feeling different—good different. Woozy different. Like a girl with a crush. That's all it was. A crush. I was due for one. In one of those trashy magazines I read at the hospital, it said it was healthy to have a crush. Someone other than your significant other to light a little flame in your stale relationship. It even suggested to be flirty. Perhaps it just got you primed for your partner. I didn't see how it hurt to feel a little light-headed around a particular person. I'd simply conveniently forget how physical yesterday was with Mark, and then get on with my life. No harm, no foul. Anyway, all the lessons, all the reading, it was for the sake of my marriage. There was no sabbatical here. It was all business.

  I loaded my phone on the speaker docking station and began to get ready. I picked a playlist from the nineties and found myself singing into my hairbrush, while winking in the bathroom mirror. I even applied eyeliner and lip-gloss. It was hard not to smile at my reflection. I had it going on. I was just a little concerned that I was thinking more about Mark than I was about Wesley. Perhaps I was on a sabbatical. Wesley was, after all. He was lying in bed, getting some much needed rest, while I was busy preparing for a new start for us both. Now, to keep my head on the goal: winning my husband back.

  A couple nurses recognized me and waved as I passed them on the fourth floor. That is, the older ones, not the pretty little things who had their own crushes on Mark. Those were the ones who gave me the sly left-eye squint, subliminally sending me messages to lay off their turf. I got the message and ignored it. They had no idea who they were messing with. I already had a date with him for the weekend. Not to mention, I had kissed the guy. But I tried not to think about that. If I pondered too long on that detail, I'd have to go to confession. As it stood, I had put it out of my mind, said five Hail Mary's and denied myself dessert for the next three days. Penance, check.

  It would certainly be lonely without Mark on duty today. I would try and find the sliver of positive in his absence, and come up with a solid plan for when Wesley woke up. Figure out how I could turn this mess around. All the groundwork was done. Wesley and I were married, owned our house, and had successful careers. I knew what he ordered at any restaurant in town. In fact, he'd always go to the restroom and ask that I order his dinner for him. We were broken in like old shoes. Now I knew what it was to feel alive and could inject some of that into our marriage to wake up our sleepy relationship. I'd be happy, he'd be happy, and we could live happily ever after. But was the feeling interchangeable? Could Wesley make me feel like Mark did? He used to—when I would sit and fantasize about him. Way before he actually became my husband.


  I walked into the room and stood five feet away from him in his bed. There was no change to his appearance. No look of disappointment. No accusatory eyebrows. He had no idea what a cheater I had become. I stood in front of him a fallen woman. After whispering in his ear how sorry I was, I'd just put it behind me.

  After all, the intention was to save my marriage, not to indulge in passion. I was innocent. It found me. It wasn't as though I set out to find the tiny root of ecstasy that had been bundled up inside me for years. Hidden, therefore never being missed. Barely, faintly existing. There was no doubt that it had awakened now. Of course, I would make myself overlook who awakened it. That was a minor detail.

  Things were different now. The feeling of emptiness didn't echo so loudly in my ears. The daffodils in the yard seemed more yellow. I could hear the birds hiding in the bushes, singing quietly to one another. Why couldn't Wesley just wake up so that I could focus on him and what it took to take care of him? To consume my time and thoughts in making him better. Not Mark Reilly and the tiny snippets of thoughts that flashed in my mind like slides of a montage: his gorgeous smile, his full lips, his light blue eyes, the feel of his hips as my hands rested on them when he groped my tongue with his.

  Who else did Wesley have to take care of him? I'd been doing it for years. Even when he dated my sister. Every heartbreak scar that he wore came with the overlay of care that I had used to put him back together. I was ready to do it again. I talked myself into being ready at least.

  I dozed off in the chair. When I awoke it was three o'clock. I sat on the edge of the bed and held my husband's hand, stroking it. “Wesley, you can wake up now. I read the letter, but you don't have to leave. I'll be better. I'll be the wife you want. I can't take losing you. I'll go out when you want. I won't care that it's a Tuesday, and we have work tomorrow. I won't even complain about eating those spicy, nasty wings in that filthy sports bar, covering my ears because of the loud mouths yelling at the television screen. I'll make love in the living room, in the kitchen, or even in the car. But not mine. It's too small and people could see in. Your Jeep is a bit bigger, but you have leather seats. That could hurt if my skin got stuck on it, especially since it's getting hotter outside now. Who cares, I'd live through the discomfort. I can be like my sister, if that's what it takes. Just wake up. I can't bear to spend another night alone.” Or to be trusted with Mark Reilly.

  I watched; nothing happened. Not even the steady beats of the machine went off-kilter. I knew he was in there somewhere. Waiting for the perfect moment to wake up and finalize his decision. I just wasn't sure if I could truly live with the answer, no matter which one it was.

  I looked at him one more time before leaving. The nurse was taking his vitals. I was hungry and figured it was as good a time as any to go. The hallways were picking up with visitors. A lot of them were holding bouquets and balloons. Some of the more somber faces were holding hands with loved ones, their eyes darkened with the shadows of puffy circles. I considered myself lucky. Wesley wasn't in immediate danger. He had survived the wreck, passed all of his CAT scans, and was peeing regularly in the bag affixed to the bed. All I had to do was keep exercising my faith that all of this was for the greater good of our lives.

  I walked to my car and found Mark waiting inside his own car, parked right next to mine. My heart flopped. “How long have you been here?” I was both excited and wary.

  “Not long. You usually leave about this time for dinner, don't you?”

  “Talk about stalker.” I smiled and walked to his window. No need to mention last night. He probably grabbed a call girl on the way home, and his manly needs were met. Gigolo.

  “We need to talk. Can we grab dinner or something?”

  “Sure. Do you want me to follow you or what?”

  “I can drive to your house, so you won't be driving home in the dark.”

  “You make me sound like a weirdo or something. I'm just freaked about walking from my car to the house. I need to invest in a weapon and shed the damsel-in-the-dark distress.”

  “Just drive to your house. I'll meet you there.” His smile hid something.

  A thousand thoughts crossed my mind on the way home. Why did he have to be so freaking handsome? That wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and killer smile would be the death of me. Sure, the first lesson is free. Then you're hooked. He should come with a Surgeons General’s Warning.

  Furthermore, what did he need to talk about? I didn't want to talk anymore. Talking wasn't an achievable skill for us at this point. I had no control over how he made me feel. I just wanted to fulfill my end of the deal and move on with Wesley. He was my rock, and he needed me now. Not the stud, Mark Reilly. I'd be nothing but a badge of completion for him. Maybe a married woman was a new sport for him to consider. I'd be happy when Wesley got out of the hospital. I wouldn't have to see Mark anymore. Win, win. Or was it?

  After I parked, I went in the house and turned on the porch light while he waited in his car. I did a quick look in the hall mirror to set my mind at ease. Just as I thought, there was no wanton look there. No mouth-watering, irresistible Amy. My lip-gloss had even disappeared. It was just me. Ready or not, to find out what Mark Reilly wanted to talk about. I strolled out and got into his car, hoping the rapid heartbeat inside me didn't show as vibrations on my shirt.

  “So, where are we going?” Keep it light and friendly.

  “I thought we'd go to Thunderbirds.”

  “Wesley's co-workers go there. It's Friday night. I'm not sure it would look good if I showed up with another guy. I'm not hard to please. Drive-thru is fine.”

  “You are an original, Amy. Fine, let's go.” He gunned the accelerator, and we took off in his two-seater stud mobile. It made me feel like Cinderella in the magic pumpkin when I rode with him.

  “The suspense is killing me. What do you have to talk to me about?” I rubbed the sweat of my palms on my pants. Where in the world is this leak coming from?

  “I was going to tell you not to come tomorrow, but my secretary called me and said Mrs. Willis personally made sure I had the day off. So I wanted to get a few things straight.”

  “Okay.” I tried to take it in like directions in a playbook, rather than suppressing the feelings tickling me every time I imagined parading as his wife.

  He pulled into a parking spot at Burt's Famous Burgers and positioned himself facing me. “I want to start over. I want to rewind time and meet you outside of the triage room. Of course, that’s impossible, but let’s pretend, okay? It will help us get through tomorrow. I should never have kissed you, Amy. You belong to someone else. No matter what I feel about that, I respect you and that fact.”

  His tirade sounded more like it was for his good than for mine. Still, I politely nodded and agreed. “Platonic. I get it. We'll have a baby for fun.”

  He laughed. Something he hadn't done since we kissed. “About that. I got you something.”

  He reached behind my seat and pulled out a dress box. I could smell his cologne. It hit the pitch point of my out-of-control hormone levels. “I got you that light purple dress you tried on and didn't buy for yourself. I wasn't sure if you had anything to wear, and since it's for my end of the deal, I figured I owed you a nice dress.”

  I took the box. My mouth formed a perfect O-shape. My breath caught in my chest. No one except my mother had ever bought me clothes. I felt like a princess. “Mark, you didn't have to do that. I wasn't sure what to wear, but I would have found something.”

  I pulled the top off the box and pulled open the tissue paper. I touched the dress collar. It was beautiful, but too pretty for a work outfit. I couldn’t justify buying it. Wesley and I never went anywhere that I could show it off, so I had left it at the store. Mark must have seen how I pulled at it, while looking wistfully in the mirror.

  Wesley would have never done this for me. He just wasn't that type of guy. If I was going to beat these persistent feelings with Mark, he would have to stop being everything I wanted when I imagined wha
t my prince would be. Dreaming had no place in my present world.

  “You shouldn't have. It's amazing, and it was very pricey.” I closed the box, knowing I shouldn't keep it but wanting to anyway.

  “It's my mess you're trying to clean up. It's the least I could do. You looked radiant in it.” Don't read anything into it, Amy. He is a professional smooth operator.

  I couldn't help but give him a hug. I pulled him over to me, the box jabbing me in the ribs. “Thank you so much. I hope I don't do anything wrong.”

  “You'll outshine everyone, Amy.”

  My name sounded so good coming from his mouth. Like he somehow created a new way of saying it. It meant something new. The excitement poured over me, despite my tiny inside warning voices, screaming danger in my ears. My sensory nerves yelled back, “Hey, he smells good. He can’t be all that bad.”

  We ate our hamburgers and fries in the car. I couldn't believe he didn't ask that we sit at one of the outside tables. Wesley still hadn't taken the rule off the table of no eating inside the vehicle. Not only would it start to smell like a food bag, but he said I'd probably spill something in it.

  I kept myself busy with forced thoughts of Wesley and mouthfuls of food, but the smallness of Mark's car was driving me toward insanity. I would’ve tapped my foot, if I could have. Snapped a rubber band on my wrist, if I had one. Anything to curb how I missed the physical touch of Mark. Was it wrong to crave this pleasure? Was there a rehab for this new addiction? I chalked it up to an attention-deprived girl who had gotten a taste of the honey. From a professional beehive. He only wanted something he couldn't have. Just put a cap on the section of your brain marked desire, and take a cold shower when you get home.