by Cindy Miles
The arguing in the background of the call became more heated. Still muffled, but there was a noticeable increase in fervency and volume. Every now and then, she could hear the man’s voice more clearly. Patrick’s voice.
Erin noted it in a marginal way, her main focus on the fact that her whole sense of self had just shattered into a million pieces. The fragments lay at her feet on the industrial gray carpet of the Northern Kentucky airport.
So much for traditional values.
“You want me to put the kids on the phone so you’ll believe me?” the furious woman demanded suddenly. “Would you like to hear what Pat’s children think of the woman destroying our lives—”
Erin’s hands shook as she stabbed the disconnect button and missed. She pressed two more times before her finger made contact with the button and ended the call.
The sudden quiet hum of normal conversations around her felt jarring. Her ears still rang from the accusations and anger. When her phone rang again, her fingers were steadier as she turned the device off. She would never use that phone or that number again.
“Miss?” an older gentleman approached her, a kindly smile on his weathered face, a newspaper tucked under one arm of his corduroy jacket. “Don’t forget your bag.”
He pointed to her suitcase in the waiting area and she vaguely recalled he’d been seated near her earlier. They’d talked about the weather and the local baseball team. It seemed like a million years ago.
“Thank you.” She nodded. Swallowed. Forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, her whole body numb with shock. “I’ll go get it.”
Patrick was married. The man she thought she loved had children.
Grabbing the smooth tortoiseshell handle of the suitcase—a suitcase she’d packed so carefully and hopefully—Erin strode up the concourse and away from the flight that would have taken her home. Away from the Finley family, who expected her to show up with Mr. Right just in time for dinner.
She should be embarrassed about being so stupid and blind that she hadn’t known the love of her life had been lying to her every second they’d been together. He’d lied in the worst and most clichéd manner possible. He was married. She should feel ashamed to be an unknowing “other woman” in an era where most of her friends performed Google searches on any guy they dated.
But Erin wasn’t ready to acknowledge any of those things just yet because most of all, she felt deeply sorry that she’d wounded an unsuspecting woman—a mother, no less—whose world must be falling apart faster and harder than Erin’s today.
Focusing on the pain she’d inflicted helped keep some of her own fury at bay—at least until she arrived at her car. She dropped her bag in the trunk, then slid into the driver’s seat. Once the doors were safely locked and the windows rolled up, she succumbed to the urge to pound her fist on the steering wheel and scream. She was done with Patrick. Done with men who had complicated lives and too many secrets. Life at high speed didn’t suit her. Time to slow down. Regroup. And hope the day would come when she didn’t feel the need to scrub her skin with disinfectant to get rid of the memory of Patrick’s touch.
She needed to pack her rental place and get far away from the adulterous ass who’d done nothing but lie to her. Any other day it might have made her smile to think that what she really needed was to get back to Heartache.
Copyright © 2015 by Joanne Rock
ISBN-13: 9781460379882
Those Cassabaw Days
Copyright © 2015 by Cindy Homberger
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