In Confidence

by Karen Young

  She showered—forgoing the long soak—and turned the covers back on her bed. Waiting up for Ted was something she usually did, or rather, she’d been in the habit of doing so until his hours became so erratic. Now that she knew about the affair, that intimate little ritual of marriage was ended. She felt a pang, knowing Ted probably hadn’t valued that effort on her part for the past year, anyway, considering his infatuation with another woman. He’d be sleeping in the guest room now and was probably relieved to do it. She lay flat on her back, dry-eyed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She vowed he wouldn’t see her desolation or find her red-eyed and weepy when he finally showed up. But hours later as the clock struck two and then three, she realized he wasn’t coming home at all.

  The numbness that had gripped her until then suddenly disappeared. Since the moment Ted had admitted the affair, her stomach had been in a knot, but she’d crammed so many other things into her day that her personal problems had been crowded out. How could he be in love with someone else, and Francine Dalton, of all people? Francine and Walter were their friends. Walter, older and more settled in Rose Hill, had partnered up with Ted when they’d first started the practice. A few years later, he’d married Francine, who’d been twenty years younger than Walter. Francine, Rachel thought now, was twelve years younger than Ted. It was ludicrous.

  It was crushing. A sob caught in her throat. Just last month, she and Ted had celebrated their eighteenth anniversary at a restaurant with Walter and Francine. Had there been signs of Ted’s infidelity then? She thought of the new suits he’d suddenly decided he needed, the silk boxer shorts he’d begun wearing, the diet he’d undertaken to lose weight, the ambitious exercise program he’d been fixated on at the gym. Moments of sexual intimacy between them had become increasingly rare. She remembered the ongoing search for an additional partner in the practice that required trips to Dallas or Houston or Los Angeles, Boston, New York. Always excluding her. How had she been so blind? Didn’t a wife sense these things? Didn’t she somehow know deep down in her heart that her husband had fallen out of love with her? Is that what had happened? Had Ted fallen out of love with her and she hadn’t noticed? But how could that be? She was a psychologist. She was supposed to be able to read people, to see beyond the obvious. Was she a failure there, as Cameron Ford seemed to think, as well as in her role as Ted’s wife?

  And now, what next?

  There was no school the next day, Saturday, and fortunately Nick and Kendall were still sleeping when Ted finally came home. Standing on the sunporch drinking a cup of black coffee, Rachel waited while he went into the kitchen, poured himself some coffee and then went looking for her. At least, she assumed he was looking for her. She said nothing, unwilling to call out to him as she once would have done to let him know she was in the sunroom. After a few minutes, he found her.

  For a moment, as he stood in the door, they simply looked at each other. He still wore the Armani suit from yesterday, she noticed, although it was somewhat wilted and he’d removed his tie. The ends of it dangled from his jacket pocket. His shirt was open at the throat and she saw a faint mark near the collar. Francine’s lipstick, she guessed, and felt a surge of raw rage. She took some satisfaction that he looked tired and his eyes were red-rimmed as if he’d had little sleep. She could guess the reason now.

  “Where were you last night, Ted?”

  “I stayed in the cabin at the lake.”

  “And you didn’t think to call and let us—the kids and me—know that?”

  He didn’t answer, but shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it onto a rattan chair. “We need to talk, Rachel.”

  “Was Francine with you at the cabin?”

  “For a while. Then I took her home.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I apologize for not calling. I should have. I thought it was for the best last night…now that you know, I mean. I figured you’d need some time to come to terms with—”

  “With the fact that my husband is a liar and a cheat?” She set her coffee down before he could see her unsteady hands. “After eighteen years, it takes more than a few hours to come to terms with something like that, Ted,” she said bitterly.

  “I didn’t plan this, Rachel, I swear to God.” He eased himself down onto the chair. “And neither did Francine. I can’t explain it, how one day we were just friends, and then…the next thing we knew, it was something else. It just…happened. She and I—”

  “It just happened that both of you ignored sacred vows? It just happened that you schemed and planned ways to sneak around? It just happened that you forgot what was at stake for you, the father of two children?”

  “I know it sounds bad.” With his gaze fixed on his coffee mug, he shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand, but what we need to do now is figure out how best to handle it.”

  Rachel sat gingerly on the edge of the rattan settee. She was thinking back to the countless times they’d been together with the Daltons, two couples, compatible, friends as well as business associates. “How long has this been going on? How long have the two of you been sleeping together?”

  Ted turned his face away, flushing with discomfort. “I don’t see any point in going down that road, Rachel.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You don’t see the point? You tell me you’re in love with another woman and you can’t help yourself, but I’m not supposed to ask whether or not you were having sex with her at the same time you’ve been having sex with me? Then let me put it this way, Ted. Either you answer that question or this conversation is over and any hope you had that we can—” she used her fingers as quote marks “‘figure out how best to handle it’ is zero. So I ask again, how long have you been sleeping with her?”

  “A year,” he replied tightly.

  A year. Shocked, she stood up quickly and moved across the room. She and Ted hadn’t made love often lately, but they had certainly not given up sex altogether. Now she wondered how she could have been unaware that his heart wasn’t in it. Had he been imagining Francine as his partner? She was sickened at the thought.

  “You say you spent the night at our lake house thinking,” she said, her tone quiet and just a bit unsteady. “You said we needed to discuss how to handle…it. I need to know what we’re to handle, the aftermath of your affair or a divorce?”

  “It’s not that simple, Rachel.”

  “Why not? The way I see it, there are only two options. You end the affair and we’ll see if it’s possible to save our marriage. Or, you continue the affair and I file for a divorce.” Her heart was pounding. Was this the end? Could he really be serious?

  “I don’t want to give her up, Rachel. I can’t give her up.”

  She stared at him. So his desire for Francine was that overwhelming. “Then you want a divorce.” White-hot pain settled in her chest. Rachel tried to imagine being so enthralled by passion that Nick and Kendall didn’t matter. Or being able to ignore her marriage vows when it was convenient. But she simply couldn’t.

  “I thought we’d try a separation.” He rose and went to stand at the glass wall looking out. “Like I said, it’s not as simple considering the circumstances. There’s the practice. And Walter…Walter doesn’t know yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Francine plans to tell him.”

  “When?”

  “When the time is right.”

  Rachel laughed bitterly. “Would the time have been right for you if I hadn’t surprised you at lunch yesterday?”

  “We knew we were on borrowed time,” Ted said, turning back. “What I’m asking for now is just that…some time. Let me try to figure out the best way to handle this. Hell, Rachel, I spent the whole night worrying about what to tell you, what—”

  “After having sex with Francine, I assume.”

  “—what to say to the kids,” he plowed on doggedly, “whether to move out, wondering what Walter will do when he’s told. It’s going to be a big mess. I don’t have to tell you that.”

  �
�No, you don’t have to tell me that,” she repeated. “And as for Walter, I can guess what his reaction will be. He’s twenty years older than Francine and tends to be possessive. If you recall, she was married when they met. She got a divorce to marry Walter. He’s crazy about her. He’s an old-fashioned guy. He likes the idea that she belongs to him. He’s not going to take this lying down.”

  Ted shrugged. “What can he do? She doesn’t love him anymore.”

  “Oh, she loves you now?”

  He looked her in the eye. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  Was it? Was he saying he felt unloved by Rachel? Had they drifted into the familiar rut of married couples who took each other for granted? Did she no longer see Ted as sexy and desirable? Was it her fault that he’d looked for someone who did see him that way? But…Francine?

  “How long will it be,” she asked him, “once the two of you finally get together, that she gets bored with you as she apparently has with Walter and begins looking for someone new?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Really.”

  “Really.” After a moment, he sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Their gazes held, Ted’s defensive and stubborn, Rachel’s filled with disbelief and disgust. Then the moment was broken by the sound of the doorbell. But before either could react, it rang again. And then again.

  Ted swore, glancing at his watch as Rachel hurried away to answer. “Who the hell can that be so early?”

  Before she reached the foyer, the sound of the chimes gave way to the crash of a fist pounding on the door. At the peephole now, Rachel peered out, her eyes going wide with dismay. Walter Dalton. Quickly, she turned the deadbolt and, before opening the door, said to Ted, who’d followed on her heels, “It’s Walter, and if I were you, I’d get ready for a very dicey encounter.”

  To Rachel, Walter Dalton had always looked more like a boxer than a physician. He was fifty-two years old and no more than five eight or nine in his stocking feet, with heavy shoulders and a neck thick from his years as an athlete in high school. But his short, iron-gray haircut and pugnacious features belied a gentle manner that sick children seemed to sense instinctively. There was nothing gentle about his demeanor now. Just the opposite.

  He looked beyond Rachel to Ted. “What the hell’s going on with you and my wife, Ted?” he growled.

  Rachel glanced quickly to check that no neighbors were out, then reached for Walter’s arm and pulled him over the threshold. “Come in, Walter,” she said, trying for a calm tone. “I’ve got fresh coffee in the kitchen. The kids are still asleep.”

  “I don’t want any goddamned coffee. I want some answers.” He lowered his head on his neck and looked narrow-eyed at Ted. “When I got home last night, my wife met me at the door with some kind of crazy talk about you and her. I better hear you say it’s a lie or I swear to God, Ted, I’m gonna kick your ass from here to Dallas after I’ve sliced your dick off.”

  “Calm down, for God’s sake, Walter,” Ted said, glancing toward the stairs. He reached for his partner’s arm, but Walter shook him off. “We can talk in the sunroom.”

  “You’re not denying it?” he bellowed.

  Rachel put her finger to her lips. “Please, Walter. The kids. I don’t want—”

  Still breathing fire, he gave Ted a ferocious glare before muttering a gruff apology to Rachel and sending a quick glance to the stairs, still mercifully sans the children. Lowering his tone somewhat, he said to her, “Do you know what this son of a bitch has been doing with Francine behind our backs?”

  She sighed, urging him along toward the sunroom. “I do.”

  He frowned darkly. “You know they’ve been screwing around and you didn’t say anything?”

  “I only found out yesterday, Walter.” They entered the sunroom, she still keeping a cautionary hand on Walter’s arm, Ted following warily. “Let me get you a cup of coffee and we’ll try to straighten all this out.”

  “I don’t want any coffee. Make it bourbon instead.”

  “I’ll get it,” Ted said, moving hastily to the small portable bar they kept stocked in the sunroom. He found the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and took a glass from a hanging rack, then tipped to pour it with a shaky hand. Warning him with a look, Rachel took the drink from Ted and handed it to Walter, who knocked almost all of it back in a single swallow. His eyes locked with Ted’s as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You better have a good story, partner. Otherwise, life as you once knew it is over.”

  “Let’s all sit down,” Rachel said, telling Ted with a look to find a seat across the room. Then, patting the place beside her on the settee, she managed a smile at Walter. “This is going to be difficult for all of us. And I think you’re right, Walter. Our lives are changed.”

  Walter ignored the invitation to sit and instead looked hard at Ted. “It’s true, then? You’ve been screwing my wife?”

  “We didn’t plan it, Walt,” Ted said. Sweat now glistened on his forehead and his face was pale. “Sometimes these things just happen.”

  “Tell me, Ted, just how long have you been screwing her?” Walter’s tone was soft with menace.

  Ted stood up. “I think you should discuss those details with Francine. She—”

  Walter slammed his glass on the bar, took three steps across the room and grabbed the front of Ted’s shirt. “If I ask you for details, you bastard, then you be man enough to answer,” he said between clenched teeth. Although he was three inches shorter than Ted, he outweighed him by a good forty pounds. Tightening his grip, he gave a twist to the shirt and Ted suddenly couldn’t breathe. Feet scrabbling, he made a strangled sound, trying to keep his balance and loosen Walter’s hold at the same time.

  “Walter!” Rachel pulled frantically at his elbow, but it was like trying to move a stone statue. “Please, Walter, stop! Don’t, please, don’t!” But Walter was past hearing…or caring. He drew his fist back and let fly a hard right at Ted’s face.

  “Oh, my God!” Rachel watched helplessly as the two men crashed over the coffee table. The glass top shattered. Books, photos, a potted orchid and mementos went flying. Blood spurted from Ted’s nose. Both men rolled about, grunting and gouging and kicking, each trying to find an opening to strike a blow.

  “Dad! Mom! Jeez, what’s going on?”

  Rachel turned to find Nick in the doorway, staring in amazement. “Nick, oh, thank God, help me stop them!”

  The boy hesitated only a second before dashing into action. “You take Dad and I’ll take Dr. Walt.” Wading into the fray, he got a good grip on the back of Walt’s collar and pulled tight, momentarily choking off the older man’s breath. Rachel didn’t need to do more than grab at Ted’s arm. Once he had a chance, he scrambled out of Walter’s reach and got hastily to his feet, swiping at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his expensive shirt. He stood heaving and trying to catch his breath, watching warily as Nick kept a firm hold on Walter.

  “I’m okay,” Walter said to Nick, shaking free of the boy’s grip. “Sorry about that, Rachel. Nick.” Then he turned back to Ted. “No apology to you, you prick. And don’t think I’m done with you yet. Francine may be determined to leave me, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever belongs to you.” Giving his shoulders a quick hunch, he straightened the collar of his golf shirt and began tucking in the tails. That done, he looked briefly at Rachel and Nick, standing stunned and silent before turning back to Ted. “What the hell’s the matter with you, you dickhead? You’ve got everything a man could want right here in Rachel and your kids and still you go poaching my territory. What, you think the grass is greener on the other side? My side,” he emphasized, jabbing his thumb toward his chest. Then, shaking his head, he crossed the room to leave, but at the door, he turned back for one final shot. “You’re a goddamn fool, Ted.”

  Four

  “Dad, Mom, what was that all about?” Nick demanded in bewilderment. “I heard the commotion and when I get downstairs I find m
y dad and his partner at fist city! Jeez.”

  “It’s nothing,” Ted said curtly, tearing a paper towel from a roll behind the bar. “Go on back upstairs.”

  He dampened the towel and pressed it to his nose, unaware of a cut near his eye, which Rachel could see beginning to swell. Walter’s first blow got him square on his nose, but he must have landed a blow that glanced high off the cheekbone. He’d have a shiner soon that wouldn’t fade before Monday, when he’d have to show his face at the practice. She wondered how he’d explain it to the staff.

  “Go upstairs?” Hands propped on his hips, Nick stared at his father. “You’re kidding, right? You were in a fight, Dad. A real knock-down, drag-out with Dr. Walt. Jeez, he’s supposed to be your best friend.”

  “Nick—” Rachel began, but he wasn’t finished.

  “The coffee table is smashed,” the boy said, waving an arm at the desecration in the room, “you’ve got a busted nose and a shiner, and you say it’s nothing? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s personal,” Ted said, talking through the towel. “I’ll explain later.”

  Nick made a disgusted sound and turned to his mother. “What did Dr. Walt mean, that Francine would never belong to Dad?”

  “Nick—” She put out a hand and felt something twist near her heart. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t think—”