“So then what happened” he asked, fully engaged in the story.
“So my plan was to keep doing my own thing, finish school and wait until I was making good money before divorcing Daniel, but in 2007 when I was nearly done with the program, he up and left me for one of his mistresses. Probably the point in time when I was hurting most financially and that is when he left.”
“Wow, sounds like a great guy!” he noted sarcastically. What about the kids?”
He had struck a nerve. Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “He hasn’t seen the kids since,” she explained. “He lost a ton of money in 2008 when the housing bubble burst and the market was wonky. He owes me a lot of back support. He hasn’t even attempted to see the kids, and I think it’s because he’s a failure and he’s embarrassed. They’re old enough to understand that now.”
James shook his head. “I don’t know what to say, Sarah,” he confessed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
Sarah wiped away a tear and shrugged it off. “He was an asshole. I fell for him. It’s just as much my fault.”
“Don’t say that,” James argued. “What kind of man abandons his children? What kind of man doesn’t want to know or see his children?” He took Sarah’s hands into his own. “I know I’m not a father ...yet...but I would want to spend every second I could with my kids.”
Sarah saw an opening to shift the conversation away from her. I feel exposed, she thought. I have shared too much. “So...is that something you want? Kids?”
James’ pupils expanded as if he was trying to envision his future. “Yeah, I suppose I do...someday.”
Sarah nodded. “Well, you’d make a great father. Any kid would be lucky to call you dad.”
His eyebrows shot up, “What makes you say that?”
Sarah considered his paternal qualities carefully before responding: “You’re smart, you’re funny, good with my kids. Patient. Attentive...well, you are in person anyway...” She thought about his incommunicado spells, the dichotomy of his attention when they were together versus when they were apart. “And physically you’re a specimen; you’d be passing on great genes.” She took a deep breath and added, “And because you have convictions. You believe in something...and you’re willing to fight for it.”
“I’m flattered,” he laughed, “It’s a high compliment considering what an amazing mom you are to Abby and Owen. You know what it takes better than I do.”
“So,” Sarah tested the waters, “I guess we just need to find you a woman worthy of having your baby!”
James smirked, “Yeah, know where I can pick one of those up?” He laughed again and Sarah played along, still baiting him, gauging his response. “Well, I may know someone actually.”
Sarah’s heart began to pound against her ribs. He doesn’t realize I can’t have any more children, she thought. “Who’s that?”
She fully expected him to play along. To say her. To throw her a bone.
“My high school sweetheart,” James said. There was an eternal pause before he added: “We’ve been back in touch.”
Sarah was speechless but tried with every ounce of her strength to stay calm, to dig a little deeper. “Oh?” she managed, a single, clear syllable. It felt like a gong ringing inside her head.
“Yeah,” James said, trying to be nonchalant. “I saw her when I was back in Ohio for Christmas. She just got divorced...no kids yet though...she’s a nurse. It was really nice to see her again.”
Sarah’s heart was in her throat. “Uh...were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now,” he said, his voice tinged with defensiveness.
Her nerves were crying out like a million daggers stabbing into her. She felt the shock reverberating through her from her spine to her extremities. Wanting to know more. Wanting to know nothing. Wanting to take back the entire conversation. Her love of information won out: “Did you sleep with her when you were home?”
He nodded, “Yeah.”
She got off the bed and walked across the room to the window. She stood, trembling, wondering if she could put one foot in front of the other and make it out of the room. My clothes, she thought, I need to put my clothes back on. She started to gather up her shirt and socks. Where’s my bra? Shit.
He stayed on the bed, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Why are you mad? You’re fucking that Polish guy!”
“Which I told you about. BEFORE I fucked him,” Sarah retorted. She pulled on her socks adamantly, the anger welling from deep inside. “This happened two months ago and you’re just now telling me?”
“I didn’t think you’d care,” James explained. Now he was silent and his blue eyes looked dull and gray.
Fully dressed, she turned and looked at him, noticing a furrow in his brow for the first time, the precursors to crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. It was as if he’d aged ten years since the beginning of their conversation. “So, what’s going on with you two?”
James cleared his throat and stood up, still nude. He grabbed a towel off the chair near his bed and wrapped it around his waist. “I don’t know,” he said softly.
It sounds honest. But...that’s not what I want to hear, I came here intending to break up with him. Instead we end up making love and then I spill my guts about my failed marriage. What is wrong with me? He fucked another woman and didn’t tell me? I don’t need to know anything else. I just need to leave.
He watched her standing there, shaking with anger. He kept his distance but looked her straight in the eyes. “We broke up when I went off to Basic...then we lost touch when I got married to Becca. This fall she found me on Facebook and we reconnected.”
Sarah’s brown eyes were glaring. “So?”
“We hung out when I was home. She came over to the house a few times. We reminisced. It was fun.” His voice seemed small. Too small for his body. And now the tone was apologetic, not defensive.
He knew he was wrong not to tell me, she observed. “Still talking to her?”
He nodded.
Then she remembered what had initiated this conversation. He had revealed that he may have found a potential mother for his children. Something that I can’t give him. All the feelings she’d had before about being a toy for him, someone to fuck and spend time with till he found a woman his own age came flooding back to her. It explains everything. Why he was so distant when they weren’t together. Why everything had to be on his terms. Why she always felt she was yielding to him. She was stuck inside his Sarah Box.
I don’t want to be in a box anymore. “I’ve got to go, James,” was the only thing she could articulate. She could feel the tears burning the corners of her eyes like they were made of acid.
“What?” he seemed confused. “Why? I don’t understand why you’re so jealous.”
Sarah shook her head, breaking a tear loose and sending it streaming down her cheek. “The fact that you don’t understand just further illustrates why I need to leave.”
He tried to take her hand; she squeezed it for a moment and then let it go, watching it flaccidly flop back down to his waist. He looks like he’s in shock, she realized. “James, this kind of information is critical to your relationship with me. It’s the type of thing we should have discussed before two months elapsed. You compartmentalize me. You don’t want the different facets of your life to touch. And I get it, I do.” She forced a tiny smile, her convictions rising. “But I’m holistic. Everything is connected for me and I can’t be boxed up like this.”
“I’ve never promised you anything, Sarah. I thought I could do whatever I wanted.” The defensiveness had re-emerged. There was no point in arguing, she could see he was firm. He didn’t think he was wrong.
“I guess not,” Sarah said coolly. “Good luck with everything, James, and I mean that.”
She picked up her purse and dug out her keys, exiting the room all at once, multitasking so she could distract her mind and carry her body away from that room, that house, that man
. She felt like she was getting in her car, starting it up, and driving in reverse away from a giant cliff that she had nearly driven off.
Ten minutes later, James remained in the same spot. Frozen.
***
Chapter Sixteen
The Conference
It wasn’t just the plane lifting at take-off, it was also her soul. The past week had forced her into survival mode: no sleep, no food, harried packing for her trip, and avoidance of all modes of communication. She had a singular focus: her conference, with a secondary agenda of enjoying her homeland. Rachel had wanted to accompany her at the last minute, thinking she could make a few wedding arrangements with less hassle in person. Sarah had looked at her best friend, silence and desperation gripping her dark eyes, hoping to send the message that she needed alone time with every fiber of her being. She needed to heal.
Settling into her seat, her head back and ear buds cranking soothing tunes into her skull, she reviewed the events of the past week. Three days after she left his house, James had texted her: I’m sorry. Can we talk? She didn’t respond. She knew she would only be reeled in again by his magnetic power over her, and really, there was nothing more to add to what she had said before she left.
Two days after that, he tried calling, but didn’t leave a message. And that was it. Two attempts at contact rejected, and now she could move on. Too little, too late, she surmised, trying to ignore the fact that her heart ached. She switched The James Channel off for good. My mountains will restore me. I’ll feel like a brand new person after this week away.
She sought solace and strength, so she’d left Maryland two days before the conference was slated to begin. She wanted a little extra time to enjoy her mountains and to put the finishing touches on her presentation. The weather forecast looked phenomenal for early March so her suitcase was burgeoning with both hiking gear and professional attire. Nothing like going from hiking boots and flannel to three inch pumps and a suit, she mused from their cruising altitude.
When she landed in Denver there was a text waiting from Rachel: James hunted me down. He really wants to talk to you. I told him you’d already left and he seemed devastated.
Sarah sighed and texted back: When was that?
Last night.
And then: Are you going to talk to him?
Sarah felt a little stabbing pain as she considered the question. She didn’t want to decide now. She didn’t even want to think of him at all, but she knew she should try to understand what had caused her to fall so hard and so fast. And closure, closure would be good, she thought. She texted Rachel three indefinite, but honest, letters: IDK.
She waited for her suitcase at the carousel and helplessly endured a slew of thoughts tossing in her head like laundry in a dryer. Why am I so hurt? was the question she wanted an answer to, the one most difficult to unearth. If I knew that our relationship was doomed to fail, why did I let it go this far?
She traced back over the six months since she’d first met James and one thing resounded again and again: he never felt for me the way I felt for him. There were all sorts of reasons, all sorts of potential obstacles that may have gotten in the way: my age, my looks, my having kids, PTSD from the war, not really knowing what he wants.
And I can’t change any of those things.
***
The drive to the hotel was jam-packed with snarled traffic. Sarah was starting to regret renting a car instead of relying on public transportation, but she wanted a chance to drive over to her hometown of Breckenridge to see her Aunt Sally, her mother’s sister; and to drive down to Colorado Springs. She had promised Rachel that she’d take some pictures of three possible reception venues since that was where the wedding would take place. Finally, after hitting nearly every red light in the entire city of Denver, she whipped the little black Nissan into the circular drive in front of the hotel and gratefully handed over the keys to the valet. She felt completely done: I’m done with travel. Done with people. Done with thoughts. Wine and a bubble bath, that’s all I want tonight.
She checked into her room and lamented that it was only four o’clock Mountain Time. She was still on Eastern Time and hungry for dinner. Oooh, maybe I will order room service, she thought indulgently. The less I have to move tonight, the better. She hoped she’d remembered to pack the novel she’d recently started reading. Wine. Bath. Reading. Bed, she itemized her agenda. It sounds perfect, she sighed.
She noticed her phone was flashing with a text when she removed it from her purse. Rachel again: All checked in? What room are you in?
Grrrr. Leave me alone! Sarah thought but hastily punched in: 914. Why? I’m going to bed.
Isn’t it like 4 pm there? Sorry, just wanted to know in case of an emergency. Don’t worry, the kids are fine.
She’d agreed to let Owen stay at Rachel’s house with Thomas. It was the kids’ Spring Break, after all, and she didn’t want them to sit around bored at Grandma’s the entire time. She had also allowed Abby to stay at Chloe’s house, although she was skeptical about trusting her to stay out of trouble. Rachel and Kathy were checking in with her at regular intervals, plus Sarah felt that Abby had matured a lot in the previous few months, so she was optimistic that Abby wouldn’t want to lose the trust she’d gained.
She felt a little guilty about being away during their time off school, but she didn’t have much control over when this annual conference was held. And getting a presentation accepted was quite prestigious. It would look wonderful on her CV.
Sarah popped two ibuprofen and went to find the ice machine. She felt at least fifty percent better having the wine on ice and starting a bath in the large oval garden tub. She was also feeling extremely grateful that she’d upgraded to a suite. How often do I indulge myself? Oh, that’s right, never, she thought, trying to recall when she’d had a spa day or gone shopping for herself. I’m not going to feel guilty about this. I’m going to love every fucking minute of it!
She nearly squealed, she was so euphoric at the thought of her evening itinerary. She was always taking care of someone: Owen, Abby, Rachel, students, or even Pawel and James, to a certain extent. I only want to take care of myself tonight, she thought selfishly. She carried the bucket, wine icily ensconced within, to the bathroom and set it on the tile next to the tub while she eased her clothes off. She had the bottle opener and a glass ready to go as soon as she’d soaked for a while and given the wine a chance to chill.
She caught a flash of her reflection in the mirror. She sucked in her stomach and struck a provocative pose, puckering her lips and sassily placing her hand on her hip. I think I may have shed that 10 pounds of holiday weight this week from not eating, she thought, studying her image. I look pale though.
Her skin was nearly translucent and streaked with turquoise veins under the garish lights. She scanned the wall for a dimmer switch and brought the lighting level down to where she could see well enough to climb into the tub and pour her wine but not much else. Perfect, she sighed, easing herself down into the bubbling cauldron wafting with the scent of jasmine and gardenia.
She slipped down to her shoulders, the heat penetrating her sore muscles like a magical balm. She leaned back against the cold edge of the tub, the ends of her hair absorbing the water and sticking to her neck and arms. Ah, good, I left my phone in the other room, she thought. I’m sure the world can do without the ability to contact me for an hour or two. I forgot to text Pawel, but I’ll do that later. He’ll get over it. She decided to pour the wine even though it was still rather warm. Necessity is the mother of invention, she quipped, dropping a couple of ice cubes into the glass and swirling it around before savoring the sweet, but potent juice on her tongue.
She relaxed and closed her eyes, her wine glass still in her hand. “James who?” she said aloud, laughing into the half-lit emptiness, hearing a slight echo reverberate across the tile. She set the glass down on the marble floor and slipped her entire head under the bubbles. She felt baptized in the swirling waters, as if al
l of her pain would be washed away when she emerged.
She held her breath in the watery silence, feeling the negative energy escaping her pores but suddenly she thought she heard a faint pounding. At first, she assumed it was the sound of blood rushing through her head. Then she heard the pounding become more insistent and jerked up out of the water to listen more carefully.
Sure enough, there was a persistent banging coming from the French doors at the front of the suite. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she thought. They picked a fine time to bring me the stupid extra towels I asked for. She drained the rest of her wine down her throat in one gulp and grabbed the nearest fluffy white towel to wrap around herself. She didn’t even bother drying off; after all, she was getting right back into the tub. With more hot water, she decided, trying not to let the disturbance ruin her previous state of elation.
She left a trail of wet footprints from the bathroom tile, through the thick plush carpeting, all the way to the double doors. She didn’t even bother looking through the peephole, throwing one of the doors open with her free hand, the other clutching her towel securely around her breasts.
The first thing she saw were his blue eyes.
***
Her head was pounding. Damn ibuprofen did nothing, was her first thought before opening her eyes. Everything was fuzzy. Why am I so woozy? she wondered.
She felt a hand on her thigh and jerked herself awake. “Because you passed out,” came the answer to the question she thought she’d asked in her head.
And there is James McAllister, sitting on the edge of my bed. My bed in Denver, Colorado. What the fuck is going on here? And then, with slightly more lucidity: I hope I said that in my head this time and not out loud.
The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 23