The Woman in the Park

by Teresa Sorkin

  She knew she had no choice; she was already there, wherever he wanted to take her. She took Lawrence’s hand and let him lead the way.

  They stood close, not speaking a word to one another in the crowded train. She observed the people around her in a strange haze, like figures populating the background of a dream.

  The crowd drove them closer together, and his hand slid along her leg, sending heat through her. She blushed, and he moved closer. She couldn’t contain a quick laugh. Had she met this man before—seen him and forgotten? Had she ever felt this way before?

  As they got out she caught a glimpse of herself in the train window. Her hair had come undone in their hurried walk through the station; she looked feral and exotic. Lawrence guided her out to an unfamiliar part of downtown. It was like they had traveled to another city: even the air smelled different, felt lighter. A momentary thought of Eric crossed her mind, and she pushed it away.

  “His own fault,” she muttered.

  “Did you say something?” Lawrence asked. She only shook her head.

  The Cat and the Owl, as it turned out, was a small, dusty bookstore. The aisles were tight, the aging shelves heavy with books. It was like entering a jungle of old knowledge. She couldn’t believe she’d never been here before.

  He guided her gently with a hand at her back. They walked toward the back of the store where a handwritten sign proclaimed Rare Editions. A hunched-over clerk sat beneath the sign, practically as ancient as the books he watched over.

  “Don’t mind him—he’s been there for 200 years,” Lawrence whispered into her ear as if reading her mind. She giggled. “Look,” he said, pulling her gently by the hand toward a set of glass cabinets. It was like watching a kid in a candy store. “This is my favorite part of the place. I can get lost here. First-edition Hemingway, Proust—even Shakespeare. But here, look at this,” he said, reaching past her to pick out a book. He leaned in close, and she could smell his body: salty and fresh, sun, sea and woods.

  “Zola—first edition of Thérèse Raquin,” he announced proudly.

  Sarah beamed, holding the book.

  “This is incredible.” She wasn’t sure if she was talking about the book or him.

  “I knew you would think so. It’s been here for so long! There’s so much to explore here if you have time to really look.” The charming smile shone again.

  Sarah touched the book gently and smelled the paper—wood and dust. “I must be pretty closed off,” she said. “I thought I knew all the good bookstores in the city.”

  Lawrence took her hand again.

  “I’ve got a confession to make,” he said.

  She smiled, uncertain.

  “I’ve watched you in the park for a bit. A few times before the other day. That was just the first time you noticed.”

  Sarah felt her face flush. She was flattered but cautious. “You did? Why?”

  “You just seemed…lost. And I was curious about you. I wondered what a woman like you was doing all alone in the park. Then when I saw you reading so intensely, as if no one else was around…I realized I needed to know more about you.” He looked intently at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this.” He smiled apologetically.

  “No, it’s all right,” she said. “I don’t know why, but it is. It’s just…you said I seemed lost. Sometimes it feels like I seem that way to everyone.” She shook off the subject, looking straight into his eyes. In the dusky obscurity of the bookstore, their deep blue was transfixing.

  Without warning he pulled her to him and kissed her. She felt his tongue open her lips, and she let him in, fading away with each caress of his soft tongue. After a moment, she pulled away.

  She shivered a bit, covering it with a laugh, as he brushed her hair back from her face.

  “We don’t know anything about each other,” Sarah whispered. It seemed all she could do to let him know how crazy this was. But then he kissed her again, and all her doubts slipped away. This time it was his turn to pull back, and as he did his hand closed around hers, holding the book.

  “It’s yours,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” She blushed, confused.

  He nodded, pride in his eyes. “I ordered it for you. They had it waiting for me.”

  “But how did you know that I would come here with you today?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” he said, shrugging. “But I hoped you would.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Laurent was astonished to find his sweetheart handsome. He had never seen her before as she appeared to him then. Thérèse, supple and strong, pressed him in her arms, flinging her head backward, while on her visage coursed ardent rays of light and passionate smiles. This face seemed as if transfigured, with its moist lips and sparkling eyes. It now had a fond caressing look. It radiated. She was beautiful with the strong beauty born of passionate abandon.

  THÉRÈSE RAQUIN

  After they said goodbye at the subway stop, she watched him walk away, the afternoon sun on his shoulders. When he had gone the length of the block, she expected him to turn around, and he didn’t.

  She felt a sudden panic. They hadn’t exchanged numbers or even last names; he’d said he wanted to keep it in the moment, and she hadn’t insisted. Expectations killed relationships like theirs, he had said—and so she had been left with nothing but the book and the hope that they would find each other again.

  She walked up Lexington Avenue alone, feeling as though she were living someone else’s life. Passing a corner store not far from her building, she saw rows of flowers in all hues. She usually bought white flowers, but this time a bouquet of soft roses in a dark persimmon-orange color beckoned to her. Moments later, she stepped up to the deli counter with her book under one arm and the bouquet clutched in the other, her newfound happiness foreign.

  As she searched in her bag for her wallet, a woman walked in. When she saw Sarah, she froze, an inscrutable look in her eyes.

  It was Juliette, again. Despite the cold weather, she was wearing a short dress, the kind that emphasized her long, toned legs. Sarah felt her euphoria give way to self-consciousness.

  “What—what are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I’m—I was getting flowers for a friend.” Juliette looked at her intently. “She lives down the street.”

  Sarah’s mind whirled. Eric was away, or at least she’d thought he was; why did she have to keep running into the woman who was trying to steal him from her? Why couldn’t they keep their affair a better secret?

  Throwing her money down on the counter, she rushed out of the deli.

  The following morning, in the shower, Sarah stood for a long time letting the water wash over her. She imagined Lawrence, his ocean eyes and deep gaze, his strong hands on her. He’d said she was beautiful. He’d watched her.

  She soaped herself all over, imagining Lawrence there with her, watching her now. Her fingers lightly brushed her vagina, lingering there as she remembered their kiss. She didn’t touch herself often anymore. Since things had become difficult with Eric, she found herself thinking of it as shameful and wrong. But today dark liquid heat rushed through every part of her as her fingers moved, Lawrence filling her with a fog of heat, excitement, and lust.

  As she was nearing climax, a breeze blew through the bathroom as the door suddenly swung open. She jumped, her heart beating fast.

  Eric crossed into the bathroom.

  “I’ve been knocking on the door,” he said impatiently. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “God, Eric! Really?” she shouted, her arousal chilling instantly to embarrassment. Had he seen her pleasuring herself? “I thought you were away!”

  “You didn’t answer,” he said again. “I was nervous.”

  Dripping wet, Sarah stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and covering her naked body. She felt embarrassed and exposed.

  “I’m fine! There’s no need to worry about me! What are you doing home, anyway?”

  “We have to talk, Sarah.”
It was his serious, taking-care-of-business voice. Did he know, somehow? She wasn’t ready for this now. Ignoring him, she crossed out of the bathroom to the open window and shut it violently.

  “I still think it would be good for you to go away for a bit,” he said. “Take a break.”

  She faced him defiantly. “What do you mean, go away?”

  “You’ve been acting strangely again, you know you have. You’ve been regressing. Are you even taking your medication?”

  Could he have seen? No—she’d made sure to throw the other half of the pill away when she’d cut it. “Yes, I’m taking my medication,” she snapped. “Not like you’d notice anyway.”

  His expression softened, a little. “Can you blame me for worrying?”

  “Worrying! While you’re off doing whatever you want.” She looked at him with disgust. “You think I believe that?”

  His face hardened. “Don’t start this again, Sarah,” he said. “We really shouldn’t have to go through this every time. You know I have to take these trips. It’s my goddamn job. It’s what keeps us in this beautiful home, our kids in good schools—”

  “You know that isn’t what I’m talking about,” she spat back.

  “I can’t just stop working to cater to your unreasonable jealousy.”

  “Unreasonable?” she yelled. “Christ, Eric. I wish you would just be honest with me, just for once.”

  “I am, Sarah. I can’t be any more honest than this with you.” He took her hand, his gentleness surprising. She flinched. “Please don’t do this,” he said. “I thought—I thought the therapy was helping you. I need you to try. Our kids—”

  She snatched her hand back from him, the rage flaring up again. “Our kids are conveniently gone, Eric. You sent them away. You knew it killed me, and you did it anyway.” It felt even more miserable to speak the words out loud. “I can’t be their mother anymore, except for on the weekends and long holidays.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “You’re as much their mother as you ever were. And we didn’t send them to boarding school to hurt you, Sarah. It was for their benefit. They needed—”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit, Eric! It was to keep them from seeing what’s really going on,” she seethed. “To keep them from seeing that their father is lying and living a double life. To keep them from coming to their own conclusions about what kind of a man their father really is.”

  “Sarah, I know you’re—”

  “You don’t know anything!” she shouted, her vehemence surprising her. “You barely know me anymore! Have you ever noticed how I like to dog-ear my books or write in the margins?”

  Eric looked at her, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “I’ll just go on being this perfect little reflection of what you want me to be, and you—” She looked hard at him, hating him for leaving her so vulnerable.

  Eric moved toward her, but she was already running from the room.

  When he was gone, she went through her morning rituals in a distracted daze.

  Laura called, and for some reason she answered, trying hard to muster enough cheeriness to put her off. That plan had backfired, however, and the call had ended with them making plans to get lunch and talk about the event for the museum committee.

  Laura was constantly volunteering and planning and… well, doing things. She reminded Sarah of herself, once upon a time, the constantly busy, never-sit-still Sarah she’d once prided herself on being. All that activity struck Sarah as tedious these days. Laura was constantly encouraging Sarah to join her, to be “more herself,” and, to make matters worse, when Sarah did join her, Laura tended to pick places where other uptown socialites congregated, eyeing each other’s designer shoes and comparing Birkin bags.

  As soon as she could get away, Sarah found herself once again in the park. She’d seen no sign of Lawrence yet and had no way of knowing how much longer she should wait around.

  As if in answer, she heard a deep voice speak to her.

  She turned to find Lawrence walking toward her. He pulled her in and kissed her, a long kiss that took her by surprise. This time there was no resistance on her part. She felt her knees go weak as he held her and looked into her eyes.

  “Since yesterday, I’ve been wanting to do that again,” he said.

  “I’m glad you did,” she whispered back.

  Sarah nodded. She realized with a stab of guilt that she’d thought of him more over the last evening than she had of her own family.

  His hand lightly brushed her breast as he brought it to her waist.

  It didn’t matter one bit to Sarah who he was or where he came from. She took his hand and let him lead her. They left the playground area and wandered around the park. They walked around the reservoir, where sunlight floated over the water, runners passing them while they walked in silence. The city spread out above the southern end of the lake, noiseless and magical in the distance. Their two hands locked, Lawrence’s brushed against Sarah’s outer thigh, sending shivers up her spine.

  He broke the silence. “It feels like we’re somewhere else, doesn’t it?”

  She looked over the serene water, glittering in the sun. It did indeed feel like that—like somewhere else.

  “I don’t come here enough…or come here at all, anymore,” she said. “I mean, I used to, when—” she thought of her kids, their days in the park together, “when I had a reason to come,” she finished quietly.

  “I come here a lot,” he said. “In a city like this, you need a special place, somewhere that takes you out of your life, where you can hide. This is it for me.”

  Sarah stopped. “Lawrence,” she said. “We need to clear up at least some of this mystery. I don’t know anything about you, except that you’re well-versed in Zola and you like to talk to strangers.”

  “Only very beautiful strangers,” he said flirtatiously. “And that I write; don’t forget about that.”

  “But you won’t let me read anything,” Sarah persisted. “You see how this could all seem kind of strange, right?”

  His face darkened, and part of her immediately wished she could take it back.

  “People get to know each other too well, they lose that magic, the ability to be each other’s hiding places. Do we want to give that up?” he asked.

  When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “All right, fine—I give up,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender as they walked on. “What do you want to know about me?”

  “Everything,” Sarah said.

  “How about this: you get three questions.” He turned to look at her and smiled.

  “Only three?”

  “Only three. And there are rules.”

  Sarah smiled, already enjoying the game. “I hate rules.”

  “One rule, then,” he said. “Nothing too specific: names, dates, things like that. I want to preserve at least that little bit of mystery.”

  “Then, what’s the point?”

  “You can still ask general stuff. Get creative.” He held her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. “Look,” he said, his voice softer. “I’ll tell you everything there is to know about me when the time is right.”

  She felt her cheeks redden, and she averted her eyes. She took a moment to think. “Did you grow up in New York?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “I have an older sister, Beatrice, who lives in Paris. She married a French doctor and has three little monsters, whom I adore.”

  “That was a good one,” Sarah said, enjoying the interrogation.

  “We grew up very close to each other, my sister and I,” he went on. “Our parents were too busy to take care of us, so we took care of each other.” He turned thoughtful for a moment. “See, I’m not completely unfair; I’ll throw in a freebie or two.” He smiled. “One more question—make it a good one.”

  It was a long shot, but she figured she might as
well try. “What’s your last name?”

  “Nope! Remember our rules. That’s way too specific.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Have you ever had your heart broken?”

  He looked at her intently. “Not yet,” he said.

  Sarah looked away to contain the heat rising in her chest.

  “What makes you want to be so secretive?” she asked.

  He wagged a finger at her. “That’s four. You only get three.”

  ENTRY, OCTOBER 25, 2018

  Patient: Sarah Rock

  Age: 39 (Dob: 12/7/1978)

  Sarah was especially upbeat in today’s session. Her mood swings are becoming more frequent, which is concerning; though she hasn’t mentioned the nightmares again recently.

  She has spoken of her new friend, Lawrence, in connection with her newfound sense of purpose but refuses to go into it further than saying they occasionally speak to each other in the park. She mentioned the book that they are both interested in—Thérèse Raquin. Lawrence is nothing more than a friend to her, apparently the two of them have not exchanged contact information or much information at all beyond their first names.

  Sarah didn’t mention Eric or the kids at all during today’s session or her paranoia about Eric’s coworker Juliette. It was unusual for her. We ended our session early.

  We didn’t work with any hypnosis today; I will follow through with it next session. She obviously doesn’t trust me as she has in the past; I need her to want to be here before we can do the work that is needed.

  CHAPTER 7

  The two sweethearts from the commencement found their intrigue necessary, inevitable and quite natural.

  THÉRÈSE RAQUIN

  “Is it ready to taste yet?” Darcy asked.

  “Not yet, sweetie,” Sarah said. “I’ve got to add some more tomatoes before it’ll be quite right. Just give me a minute.”