Before my eyes, an image pops up on the screen that makes my heart fall down to my stomach.
It’s a photo of Asher and me this afternoon in the water, making out like teenagers. I can feel the blood rushing from my face as the horror of the situation becomes reality. Someone knows what happened in Miami. And they have the pictures to prove it.
Who could have sent this to me?
I go back to the original message and look at the address. I don’t know who it is. But the photos were forwarded to someone else. I stare at the other email address, hoping, praying it’s just my imagination. I blink once, twice, but there’s no use. It’s still there. These photos were sent to someone else. It’s an address I know all to well, and the sight of it makes me want to vomit.
Gabriel.
What have I done?
I scream at the cab driver to drive faster down the Long Island Expressway. I have to get home. I need to find Gabriel. I try calling his phone again, but my phone dies.
The cab pulls up to the curb outside our house, and I throw money at the driver before he speeds off.
The house is pitch black. I don’t know if I should wait here for Gabriel to call or get myself on the first flight to Chicago. I need to see my husband. But first I have to change. I have to shower and get the Asher off of me.
I rush through the front foyer and up the stairs. I open the door to our bedroom and head toward the bathroom, when a shadow in the dark frightens me.
A tall, dark figure is sitting in the chair in the corner. I switch on the lamp beside the bed.
It’s Gabriel.
Red, puffy circles hide his navy eyes. Dew streams down his cheeks while his once strong and lean stature is surrendered to the arm of the chair. Wavy brown hair stands up on all ends. Disheveled and disdained.
“Gabe.” I start toward him, but he holds up his hand, halting me in the middle of the room. A glass of dark-brown liquid is in his other hand. A half-empty bottle beside it. He is still in his suit pants, his jacket thrown haphazardly on the floor. His sleeves are rolled up, one three-quarters and the other hanging lower. His tie is undone and his shirt unbuttoned halfway. He has water stains on his hands from either the liquor or the tears.
He’s looking in my eyes, but instead of looks of love, there is only despair.
“I can explain.” I take a step toward him again, but his mouth opens to speak.
“Explain what?” His voice quivers. “This?” He holds up his phone to show me the same photo I saw in the cab.
I turn my head from the sight. Bile rises in my throat. Where do I begin?
“I left, Gabe. I couldn’t do it. I left to come home.” My bottom lip trembles.
“Did you fuck him?” The accusation comes out of his mouth like venom filled with anger and resentment.
I stand there stunned.
“Did. You. Fuck. Him?” His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with rage.
With my head lowered, I answer the only way I can.
“Yes.”
“AHHH!” Gabriel screams.
Rising from the chair, he throws his glass toward the wall. I jump and step back, afraid for what his next reaction might be. Not that I’d blame him. Gabriel turns his body away from me. His hands are on his hips. His body grows frigid, his back muscles tighten, and I can see his rage building.
He turns suddenly and looks at me with fresh tears in his eyes.
“You whore!” he screams.
Air leaves my body, and I struggle to breath. I have never seen such hate in his eyes. He called me a whore. Isn’t that what I am?
Wait a minute. Doesn’t it take two to tango?
My jaw sets into a quivering mess of rage. My fists ball up to my sides. How dare he treat me like this when I, at least, had the decency to wait to talk to him about his own indiscretions?
“You hypocrite!” I cry.
His eyes look at me in astonished confusion.
“Don’t you pretend you had nothing to do with this.” I point my finger violently at him. “Don’t tell me there is nothing going on between you and that tart in the park. What’s her name…? Becca!”
Gabriel’s jaw drops with amber liquid wet on his lips. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell does Becca have to do with any of this?”
“I heard her, Gabe. I heard her talking about you!” Finally, I’m letting it out. “And I found her panties. You asshole. I found her underwear in the car!” My eyes well up with tears. Saying it out loud makes it so real.
“What are you talking about? Why would Becca’s underwear be in our car?” He’s trying to control his breath.
“Well, if they’re not hers, then whose are they?” The thought frightens me. How much do I not know? “Who are you fucking, Gabriel?”
He looks at me with clarity. His eyes widen in a stunned expression. “Is that why you did this? Did you throw away our marriage because you think I’m having an affair?” He covers his mouth with his hand. “Is that what this is about, Kat? An eye for an eye?” He lowers his hand. “Would you really throw away almost ten years because you think I cheated?”
It’s a statement more than a question. Have I been wrong this entire time?
No. I’m not wrong. I know what I found.
“Don’t make me feel crazy, Gabriel. Whose underwear did I find?” It’s a simple question.
Staring at me, his eyes search mine for something. An answer? A reason? I don’t know.
His lean, strong frame looks downtrodden. From his perfectly straight nose to the cheekbones that make him one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, only sad features mask his melancholy face.
I stare back at him and wait for him to do something. His jaw remains clenched and his eyes grow redder as they continue to glower back at me.
“Good-bye, Kathryn,” Gabriel says, turning to the left and walking out our bedroom door. He slams the door behind him as he leaves down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door, and out of my life.
I sit on the bed and grab the house phone. Reluctantly, I make the call and have the conversation I’ve been dreading for days. Gwen promises to have Jackson here first thing in the morning.
I wake not knowing what day or time it is. Hell, I don’t really know where I am.
I’m home. It’s Sunday. And my husband’s side of the bed is empty. Proof my greatest nightmare has become a reality.
Throwing the comforters off my body, I get up and head into the bathroom and run the water. I slept in my suit last night, too intent on crying to change my clothes.
Unbuttoning my shirt, I see my bikini top. I rip it off in haste, desperate to wipe away my sins. I do the same with my skirt and bikini bottom. If I could, I’d burn them.
Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water wash away all traces of Asher from my body. The way he kissed me, caressed me, all the memories. Taking the loofah, I scrub my body raw.
It’s no use. I can sanitize my skin, but I can’t erase his touch or, more importantly, his words.
“I. Want. You. Kathryn. I want you. I want you. I want you!”
Get out of my head, Asher!
“Fuck it… I need you.”
Please. Stop.
“What you’ve done to me in the last few weeks has been amazing… You make me thirsty for more. And I’m not ready to give that up.”
His words are still sweet in my head.
“If you walk out that door, it’s over between us. I know it.”
I walked out on Asher. And Gabriel walked out on me.
As promised, Gwen pulls up bright and early with my sweet angel in tow. And in a very un-Gwen fashion, she doesn’t say a word. I’m grateful for the silence.
Jackson and I spend the morning playing with his shape sorter. I try to teach him the different colors and shapes and how each one fits in a very special tiny hole designed just for it. The point is lost on his little mind, and all he wants to do is eat the blue circle shape.
Jackson has enough of the s
hapes and takes off for the couch. His chubby little legs crawl across the room, and he uses the cushions to raise himself up in a standing position. He must be very proud of himself because he looks behind him and sends me a beaming smile. I clap my hands and applaud for him. He claps as well.
I take a few of his shapes and place them on the edge of the couch, forcing him to cruise along the length of the couch. He does it like a pro. He should. He’s been practicing this little trick for weeks. I clap for him again and he claps back.
Just when I think he’s done with his tricks for the day, he brazenly turns around and stands freely with his weight against the couch. I’m surprised by his ability. I clap once again, but this time, Jackson doesn’t clap back.
With determined eyes, he heads toward me. His hands up in the air, he takes a small wobbling step toward me and braces his weight midair. I put my hands out in an attempt to catch him if he falls. I’m close but far enough for him to walk to me.
“Come on, Jackson, walk to Mama.” My arms are spread out, and I encourage my angel to walk forward. Jackson takes another wobbling step with his other foot and follows it with a quick step with the other before crashing into my arms.
“You did it!” I beam, kissing him all over his face. “You walked to Mommy!”
For the first time in a while, I cry not of sadness or irritation. No, these are happy tears. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.
After the morning’s excitement, Jackson is ready for a nap. I lay him upstairs in his crib and grab the monitor before coming downstairs. He should get at least two hours of sleep.
Entering the kitchen, I see Gwen standing at the counter, pouring two cups of coffee. I knew her silence would only last so long. And it’s time for me to stop being such a chicken shit.
Gwen leaves one cup on the counter and picks up the other, carrying it into the living room. I could have sworn she would have wanted a heart to heart at the kitchen table. I watch her take a seat on the sofa and pick up a magazine, casually reading it while sipping her coffee.
I grab the other cup and contemplate taking it to my room before following her into the living room. I take a seat on the couch opposite her and take a sip.
Gwen is sitting with her legs crossed and the magazine loosely lying open on her leg. She looks disinterested in engaging in a conversation with me. The silence is making me uncomfortable.
“Fine, I’ll bite.” I know what she’s doing, and it’s working. “Where would you like to start?”
Gwen is still thumbing through the magazine, taking in the pictures. “Perhaps you can start with why I woke up at the crack of dawn to bring my grandson home to a half-empty household?” she says without looking up.
I shift uncomfortably. “Mom, Gabriel…” Do I even want to say it out loud? “Gabriel walked out on us last night.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, still looking down. “And why did he do that, honey?” Her tone is nonchalant yet slightly condescending.
“Why do you think he left? To get into some other woman’s panties, I presume.” The anger comes raging back through my bloodstream as thoughts of Becca, the underwear, and who knows what else start to replay in my head.
Gwen just nods her head. “That’s interesting. You see, I thought it had something to do with this devastatingly handsome man right here.”
I look up to see Gwen holding the magazine up and the photo of Asher standing in his office. Why do mothers always know everything before you even tell them?
My mouth is dry. This is exactly what I’ve been avoiding. I should tell her the whole story. I should start from the beginning. I need to explain what the last few weeks have been like, the park, the department store, the car. I need to tell her everything, but I have a feeling she already knows.
Tears fall slowly down my cheeks as I bury my head in my hands. “I’ve made a mess of everything.”
Gwen puts down the coffee cup and closes the magazine. The couch dips as she takes a seat next to me, curling one leg under the other, leaning into me. Her hand rubs my back the way she used to when I was a kid. “There is no mess too big to clean up.”
I look up at her understanding eyes. “No, Mom, we both have made a mess of this. He’s done things, I’ve done things, and words were said. I’m afraid it’s irreparable.”
“Kathryn Elizabeth, look at me.” She lifts my chin with her fist, looking me sternly in the eye. “I look in your eyes and I see your father. You look so much like him. You know that?”
The thought makes me smile. “You do?”
She continues. “But your personality, that’s all me. Sorry, kid, but you are Gwendolyn’s daughter. I tried to tell you that before.”
I shake off the notion. My mother is flighty, irrational, and a total drama queen.
Damn it.
As the realization hits me, I pose the question. “Mom, you would never, ever do to Dad what I—”
She stopped me midsentence. “Don’t be so sure about that, sweetheart.”
I look up at her, stunned. Is my mother telling me what I think she’s telling me?
“Oh, honey, it was a long time ago. Your father was always on the road, and the other wives were always talking about who was screwing who in what hotel in which city. It’s a lot to play with your head, you know.”
Gwen leans back into the couch and takes my hand in hers. Her head turned toward the window, her gaze wanders off. “Every time your father walked out that door, I wondered what he was doing out there.”
“Mom, maybe he was doing something…” I interjected.
“Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. That I will never know.” She sighs. “His name was Don and he was handsome, charming, and attentive.” She looks back at me, giving my hand a squeeze. “It was short-lived, but it was incredible. He made me feel complete when I didn’t know I needed it.”
Part of me wants to hate her for being unfaithful to my father. The other part completely understands how she must have been feeling to be drawn into the arms of another man.
“What happened? How did you end it?” I asked.
Her eyes soften. “Your father got sick, and I knew there was nowhere I’d rather be than at his side.” With the back of her hand, she brushes away the soft tears that fall down her face.
After what I’ve done to my family, I have no right to judge. But I can’t help it. I always knew my father died with the question of whether or not my mother loved him as much as he loved her. He did everything to give her the house, the clothes, the lifestyle, yet once he was out the door making the money to afford that life, she dove into the arms of another man.
All my father ever wanted was to make her happy, and apparently he couldn’t. Is that what Gabriel thinks of me? The house on Long Island, the clothes, the car… is that why he spends so many late nights at a job I know he doesn’t love? And what do I do? I run right into the arms of another man.
Like mother, like daughter.
“What if Dad hadn’t gotten sick?” Would she have left my father for Don? Is Don the man she should have been with?
“You’re asking me for the answer to a question you’re too afraid to ask yourself.” She brushes my hair off my face and wipes away a single tear that’s fallen down my cheek. “This is a decision you have to make on your own.” She gives my hand one more squeeze and exits the room.
For the next few hours, we live comfortably in silence, embarking in our own personal self-thought. I stop by her room to see if she has enough towels in her bathroom. On the floor, I see a full suitcase. It looks like she’s staying for a while, and I’m glad. I really need my mother to stay.
I don’t have the energy to get dressed up. Jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of Converse are all I can manage. For the first time in a while, I look like me again.
Exiting the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor, I notice an immediate change. I can see the redhead.
The flowers?
They’re gone.
The thought brings me a surrea
l kind of sadness. One I wasn’t expecting.
For the first time since I started working at Asher-Marks Communications, I do what I’ve never done. I finish my work. I lock my door and put my headphones in my ears and listen to music as I write every document, answer every email, create timelines, contact sheets, script pages, prepare itineraries, and create packets beyond packets of information for everyone involved. I only remove my earbuds to make calls to vendors.
Contracts are faxed and sent directly to legal for approval. Gretchen emailed me all the information I requested, so I’m able to get green room and transportation requests in order. Harvey sent me the revised speeches, and I forward everything Erik requested.
Relief floods through my veins at the feeling of accomplishment. Sure, the event is still two weeks away and everything will have to be updated, but to have completed so much so far, I feel confident in my decision.
I grab my files and walk down the hall to Erik’s office. The door is open, but I knock anyway.
Erik is seated at his desk, looking over his computer screen. His hair tied in a ponytail, he’s wearing his signature black. He looks up, surprised to see me standing there.
“Kat, come in. I was just looking over the files you sent me.” He motions for me to take a seat.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll stand. I came to drop off my hard copies and give you my resignation.” I wanted to get the words out before I lost my nerve.
Erik sits there taken aback by my announcement. “Is this because of what I said to you last week?”
“Partly.” I let out a breath. “I have a few personal matters to attend to, and I’m afraid I haven’t been giving you my all. I’ve always given a hundred and ten percent.”
His mouth bends and he lets out a heavy sigh. “This will have to be your two-week notice, then. The concert is in that much time. I’m afraid I can’t let you go before then. You’re under contract.”
I bite my lower lip. I can’t stay here. “If I stay, it will be a… conflict of interest.” I wonder how much he knows.
Erik shakes his head in confirmation. He knows. His fingers tap on the files I placed on his desk. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to complete the task at hand, but it looks like you have everything in order.” Erik scoots back his chair. “I was getting some bad advice…” He begins to explain.
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