In the lobby of her building, she met Manuel, who took her drenched coat and shook it off. Too depressed even to respond to his cheerful banter, she got in the elevator and leaned heavily against the side, spent. The door began to close behind her.
The door jolted open, stopped by a reaching arm. She could feel him right away—practically smell him—and then Lawrence stepped past the doors and into the elevator. A burst of fear ran through her, accompanied by excitement.
Without a word, Lawrence kissed her while the doors closed. Sarah’s hesitation fled at his touch. As his tongue found hers, her anger dissipated, and she felt again that she was his. She felt excitement run through her body, hot within the chill of their wet clothes; she had to have him. The days she’d spent without him forgotten in the rush of reunion.
The elevator doors opened, and Sarah guided Lawrence to her door, fumbling for her keys. Thank God Eric was away. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Reluctantly she pulled away, catching her breath.
“Where were you?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “I needed time. I won’t leave again, Sarah—not unless you want me to.” He hesitated at the door.
“I don’t want you to,” she admitted. Her eyes went to the door, then found his again.
They were inside in a moment, kissing again as she kicked the door shut behind them. She unbuttoned his wet shirt as his hands sought out the edges of her own soaking clothes. She thought she’d never experienced such intensity before. She didn’t even care how he had found out where she lived. None of it mattered to her. She was just thrilled to see him.
She looked deeply into his mesmerizing eyes, caressed his strong chest. He pulled off the last of her clothes and stood looking at her. To her amazement she wasn’t ashamed of her less-than-perfect body and its softness, or her age. In his gaze, she knew she was beautiful. She also knew there was no turning back from this moment; she would be an adulteress, a thing she had despised and vilified. But in that gaze, even that was transformed: in that gaze, she knew she no longer cared.
He slowly pulled down her panties and kissed her between her legs. She moaned softly as he licked faster, exploring her with his hands and mouth. He stood up and looked her in the eyes, then pushed her against the wall, kissing her all over. He took her firm nipples into his mouth and devoured them; after a moment they slid to the floor together, unable to wait any longer. He slowly pressed into her, and she moaned softly, relishing each thrust. Her thoughts of guilt and loss were forgotten. She let her body go, surrendering to his touch, and they moved as one until they came together in a climax that felt as though it shook her every cell.
Afterward, they made their way to her bed, tracing one another’s bodies with their hands. It was jarring to have a different man’s body occupying it, a different man’s face; Lawrence was bigger than Eric, but his face was softer and more round. She lay for a while, looking into his smoky blue eyes before she spoke.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said quietly.
She realized she wanted him again. Was this what obsession felt like? She was afraid, startled by the intensity of her own feeling.
“What is it?” he asked, as though reading her mind.
“Nothing,” she said, furrowing her brow. “It’s just that—now you know me. The mystery’s over, at least part of it.” She smiled apologetically at him.
He didn’t answer.
“That’s my husband,” she said, gesturing to a photo on the nightstand beside them of Eric and her, on their wedding day. She realized—could it be, for the first time?—that she wasn’t smiling in it.
Lawrence reached past the wedding photo for another one of Sarah with her children, all smiling. The kids were smaller then; it was how she often thought of them.
“Beautiful family,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said sadly. Jason hardly resembled that little boy anymore, with his soft eyes and open face. “They’re in boarding school,” she added, her tone oddly accusatory.
“Do you miss them? I’m sorry, stupid question. Of course, you must. Why are they there?” Lawrence stroked her cheek gently.
She sighed. “I guess Eric wanted them to have a normal life.”
“What exactly does that mean?” he inquired.
She hesitated. Would it be telling him too much? “I suppose I’ve been a bit—well, depressed and out of sorts, the past few years. He—Eric—he wanted them to be away from that for a while.”
“Depressed? Why?”
“I don’t really know why. I mean, sometimes I think I do, but I don’t.”
“The triad of depression,” he said softly.
“What’s that?”
“‘I’m not good enough, this world is a miserable place, the future is hopeless.’ Negative thoughts become vicious cycles.”
“That sounds familiar,” she said. So they knew that about each other, too.
“We have to let go of those thoughts,” he said. “It’s a choice, living in the moment. No one’s ever fully happy. That’s a myth we all subscribe to.”
“I know. It’s just… I feel like—I’m underwater and gasping for air, only the air never comes.” She smiled back at him, into his clear eyes. “I’m not sad now.”
Lawrence pulled her in and kissed her. “That’s good,” he said in a husky voice, kissing her again. “That means I serve a purpose.”
“I guess you do,” she breathed, giddy again. A wild idea occurred to her: the country house.
He reached across her to place the photo back on the nightstand, face down.
Together they fell back into the cloud of sheets, the darkness of the room hiding them.
ENTRY, OCTOBER 30, 2018
Patient: Sarah Rock
Age: 39 (Dob: 12/7/1978)
Sarah was extremely agitated today. She seemed dehydrated and tired, as if she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She also continues to lie to me, sometimes transparently. But we broke through a little today. She mentioned feeling helpless, even lost, in her daily routine. She briefly reminisced about Halloween with her children and wished she were spending it again with them this year.
Otherwise, it seems she is transferring her familial concerns to her friend from the park, Lawrence. She insists she is taking her medications as directed, though she is showing signs of having tapered off the antidepressant, though pharmacist confirms that she has been picking up her prescriptions.
CHAPTER 9
But at the present moment, face to face with their anxious expectation and timorous desires, they felt the imperative necessity of closing their eyes, and of dreaming of a future full of amorous felicity and peaceful enjoyment.
THÉRÈSE RAQUIN
Lunch with Laura the following day was on her schedule.
It was amazing how much of a difference seeing Lawrence made, and not simply in the ways she would have expected. As much as she’d wanted to avoid getting together with Laura before, now the added secret made their meeting almost deliriously exciting. She found it a wonderful new thrill to keep so vast a secret from her friend; Laura’s natural inquisitiveness only made it that much more of a challenge, as though getting through an interview with her might somehow prepare Sarah for the more daunting task of concealing the affair from her husband and her therapist.
She wanted to find out, too, whether her friend had seen Lawrence in the park the other day; she knew Laura would never be so tactless as to come out and say such a thing directly. That she had ended her last meeting with Lawrence by inviting him up to the country house with her on Thursday—exactly the invitation she had denied her friend—only made the secret that much richer.
Sarah arrived at the restaurant beating the always-early Laura to the table. The little Pont Neuf Bistro was crowded as it often was on afternoons, full of Carnegie Hill regulars and older folks there for a little light French cuisine.
Laura arrived perfectly put-together as usual, decked out in high boots and a gorgeo
us new autumn coat, a form-fitting white number with a thick fur collar and a tight belt. It made a marked contrast to the turtleneck and wide yellow scarf Sarah had thrown on, on her way out the door; yet despite Laura’s picture-perfect Upper East Side look, for once Sarah felt no desire to compete with her. She knew her secret had put her into a different ball game altogether.
They settled in and ordered seared tuna and frisée salad with mustard vinaigrette. The waiter’s accent was thick enough to be fake, and Sarah wondered if he was actually an actor refining his craft among the easygoing patrons. So much falsehood everywhere, she thought, tickled to be adding to that sea of deception.
The two friends’ conversation flowed easily. It wasn’t hard for Sarah to concentrate on the topics at hand; her mission to conceal her affair from Laura made her genuinely eager to talk about whatever Laura wanted. For an hour they gossiped, planned, and scheduled in the offhand way they’d once been accustomed to, Laura seemingly all too happy to have her old Sarah back. Even the superficiality of their high-society doings felt fitting to Sarah—in hiding something behind them, it was as if she was finally able to use them for their real purpose.
Near the end of their meal, after a deadly serious digression into floral centerpieces, silent-auction items, and vegan food choices, Laura leaned in and squeezed her arm affectionately.
“I’m happy we did this,” she said, nodding meaningfully.
“Me too,” Sarah answered. She realized she almost meant it. “I felt so badly the other day when we ran into each other.”
“There was nothing to feel badly about,” Laura reassured her. “I was just worried about you. I probably pushed too hard.”
Sarah searched her friend’s face for signs of reticence but saw nothing. Perhaps Laura hadn’t spotted Lawrence.
After they’d finished their too-strong espresso coffees and the too-small French chocolates that came with them, they paid and walked out of the restaurant. Laura leaned in to kiss her cheek goodbye.
“Let’s make sure to do it again,” Laura said. “Have fun upstate!”
She hurried off down Madison Avenue, leaving Sarah to wonder just how much that Upper East Side smile concealed.
Thursday could not come quickly enough.
Inviting Lawrence to the country house with her had lent the trip a delicious anticipation. With Eric and the kids away, it was hard to concentrate on much else. She had her hair and nails done, waxed every hair from her body, skipped her morning pills. She couldn’t have them fogging her senses—not now. Only the call to Dr. Robin to reschedule gave her anxiety, and in the end she simply decided not to show up. Paying for the missed session was worth not having to come up with excuses.
She picked Lawrence up by the park, realizing yet again that she had no idea where he lived. A part of her didn’t want to know. He had been right; the mystery was tantalizing and enhanced the magic between them.
They left the city, and the roads became less crowded. They turned onto a winding country road where the trees had lost most of their leaves, the barren limbs showing an expansive sky ahead—autumn sun slanting through the trees, a mellow strobe across the pavement.
She was wearing a skirt, and he rubbed her bare leg as she drove, his fingers slowing as he moved his hand up from her knee. She quivered at his touch as his hand moved further, slowly creeping up her skirt. With a mischievous look he began to caress her, back and forth, and she moaned as she felt herself becoming wet under his touch.
“Stop, please,” she said, the car swerving a bit. Did she mean it? It felt dangerous, but she didn’t want to stop him. If anything, she wanted him underneath her, inside her. But they were moving fast, there was traffic around them—
“Stop,” she whispered again.
“I don’t think you really want me to stop,” he teased. He continued to touch her, pushing his fingers deeper this time.
She moaned again, gripping the steering wheel to steady the car. A pickup truck blared its horn as it passed.
The road was almost empty now. She took the opportunity to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road as he kept going, faster, and she gave in completely.
She opened her eyes, panting. He was looking at her, that mischievous smile still on his face. Reaching across for her, he gently pulled her up over the console and onto him, the heat from their breath already fogging up the windows.
They drove again for some time before she stopped the car in front of an old hardware store called McNally’s. It had been there for decades, maybe even a century: a grandfather-father-son shop with lots of character. Sarah had visited it many times. Together they walked up the gravel path, lined with forest green bushes, to the entrance.
Inside, they were met by the stale smell of tools and cigar smoke. Sarah hated cigar and cigarette smoke in general; the smell was putrid to her, reminding her of dead things. Her father sometimes smoked a cigar.
“Do you smoke?” she asked Lawrence impulsively.
Lawrence shook his head, and she was relieved.
Two clerks stood in the front of the store, chatting with customers. Sarah walked toward the back of the store to the gardening section and picked out a couple of pruning tools from a shelf. She’d probably have to replant the tree altogether, but it was worth seeing whether any part of it could be saved.
On her way back she found Lawrence looking at a collection of vintage Swiss Army knives. He was studying one, turning it over in his hands.
“My father had a knife collection when I was a kid,” he said, faraway in thought.
“Another teeny tiny bit of information,” she teased, coming in close. “Does he still collect them?”
Lawrence’s face turned somber. “No, he doesn’t,” he said, his voice a bit harder. “He died.”
Sarah felt terrible. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He replaced the knife. “It’s all right. I don’t know what happened to them. The knives, I mean. My mother took them, gave them away, I think. I always loved them.”
He walked off to the front of the store, deep in thought.
When he was gone, Sarah took the knife back off the shelf and brought it up to the clerk to buy it along with the rest of her tools. She found Lawrence outside, waiting by the car.
“My gift to you,” she said, tapping him with the knife. To her surprise, he kept his face averted, clearly deep in thought. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I thought it would make you happy.”
Lawrence turned to her, pain in his eyes. He took the knife and smiled wistfully at it.
“He was an okay dad, I guess, but fine. My mother, though—she was never the same.” He said quietly and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I do appreciate that you got that for me. It’s been a long time; I don’t know why it sometimes hits me like it does.”
“You were just a kid. I understand.” She swallowed hard. “I lost my parents when I was young, too. They died together in an accident.” She felt the awkwardness it always brought up when she said it, as though she was talking about someone else’s life. “My grandparents raised me.”
“God, I’m so sorry.” His voice had softened again.
“It’s all right,” she said. “They were good parents. And I’ve had a long time to get used to it.”
He drew her in for an embrace. She felt safe for the first time in a long while.
At last they arrived at the country house, a stately white Victorian with big windows and a garden with tall trees and bushes. The house was well kept, the grounds immaculate—except for the old oak tree right beside the house, which conspicuously needed care. Out of place with the harmony all around, it was missing several branches, had a dark spot down the center, and looked as though it were dead.
Lawrence eyed the tree thoughtfully as they parked the car, and Sarah thought he might say something about it when they got out. But he didn’t mention it.
“This place is beautiful,” he exclaimed instead, looking around.
“I us
ed to love coming here every weekend when the kids were little,” Sarah sighed, breathing in the country air. “It was our home away from home.”
“And now?” he asked.
“Everyone’s been too busy to come up.”
They went inside. The air was a bit stuffy, dust motes floating around in the sunlight.
“Give me a hand,” Sarah said, unlocking one of the windows. “These are old windows—they tend to stick.”
They tugged the window up together. A refreshing, cool breeze blew through, and the house felt like a home again.
They headed into the kitchen. Sarah remembered a visit a few years before when she and Eric had spontaneously danced together through the kitchen while dinner was cooking. The kids had sat close by, squinting and shouting in exaggerated embarrassment. Deep down she knew they’d liked it; it had felt good for them all to be together. What had taken that away from them?
They unloaded the car, bringing bags of food into the kitchen. Sarah brought out cheese sandwiches and tomato salad to eat at the kitchen table, and they sat down to eat.
“It feels so comfortable here,” Lawrence said breaking the silence.
“Maybe this could be a place for you to write.”
A loud bang interrupted them.
Lawrence went out through the garden door to see where the noise came from. There was a bird on the ground flapping around, it had hit their window. He touched the tiny bird. It was now very, very still. Sarah stood silent as Lawrence picked up the bird and brought it to the tree, where he laid it gently on the ground on the other side of its trunk. Together they looked at the bird, motionless on the ground.
Inside, they cleaned up after lunch while music played in the next room, its cheery noise oblivious to the small tragedy that had just taken place.
“It was sad—that poor bird was so helpless,” Sarah said. She brought two cups of coffee to the table and sat down again.
The Woman in the Park Page 8