The Double Life: A Novel By Shea Lynn

by Shea Lynn

  I nodded, my heart suddenly heavy. “We can’t just sleep here, huh?”

  Sidney’s lips curved into a warm smile. All traces of her lipstick now gone. “No.”

  “Can we do this again?” I asked.

  “We will have to”, she said, before leaning in closer to me. “I need to see you on a regular basis. Maybe the Dayna-withdrawals are what have me so out of sorts.”

  We walked outside together. The pot-hole ridden parking lot had been half-full when I’d arrived and now we’d closed the place down. She steered us toward my silver SUV and I pushed the button to unlock the doors. The lights flickered and I reached to open the door.

  She touched me then. Slipped her fingers around my arm and asked, “Are hugs off limits?”

  It would have been a great moment for a tension-breaking joke. But the intensity in her gaze made this moment more serious. More savory. Our eyes danced under the dim light in the nearly empty lot and I pulled her to me.

  The rush of her moved through me and all the talk about Job that had been propping me up for weeks seemed to collapse inside me and I leaned my body into her. I wanted to feel her breasts on my skin. Wanted to make her nipples taut and ready. Wanted to pull the white, silk shirt from her pants and slide my hands against the soft, smooth skin.

  I swallowed thickly, concerned but not. Wary but wanting. The fears and the doubts and the worries that sounded alarms for me faded into a quiet hum and were soon replaced by the pounding of blood in my ears.

  She was the first to pull away. Her drooping eyelids and sexy batting lashes gave me an approval I knew Sidney couldn’t give me. I leaned into her again and did what I’d wanted to do from the moment I saw her and the vanilla scent filled my senses.

  I kissed her tenderly. Made love to her lips and slipped my thigh in between her legs. I teased her tongue and she slid her hands around my waist. All of the answers I’d ever wanted were there in that kiss. She moved her hips against my thigh and I pulled her tighter. Wanting to merge with her.

  When I couldn’t breathe, I pulled away, my chest heaving, my head against her shoulder. “You feel so good,” she whispered.

  I kissed her again and our tongues wrestled and I grew wet and wanted to make love to her right there. When we next paused, the lights in the coffee shop had gone out. The parking lot had grown completely empty and the light above us had begun to flicker.

  “I want you,” she whispered, her eyes studying me with heated intensity.

  I was a puddle of liquid in her arms. A moldable, fully shapeable liquid that melted when she was hot and froze when she grew cold. I nibbled at her neck. Teased the skin and held her close to me with my hands wrapped tightly around her butt.

  We moved from the parking lot into my car. We lay entwined on the leather bench seat in the back and I grew ever more swollen and tender as she lay beneath me and I could finally slip my hand across the smooth skin of her abdomen. Our lips teased each other as I lay between her legs, her center pressed into my pubic bone.

  “What do you want, Sid?” I asked, slipping my hands beneath her to squeeze her butt. I chewed on my lip, my desire for her overwhelming me.

  She gazed up at me, her eyes heady with desire, her lips plump and her mouth so sexy and sensual I wanted to rip every shred of clothing from her body and consume every part of her.

  “Make love to me. Touch me. I need you,” she whispered.

  I was already moving beneath the expensive suit pants before she finished speaking and I had landed on the slippery silkiness of her just as she said “need”. She paused on that word. Her hips moving toward me and the “you” coming shortly thereafter. On “you” her eyes, which had closed with longing, opened again and I could see the passion for me in that look.

  The power of this connection between us was what I wanted. The feel of her underneath me was what I wanted. The sound of her voice, in heated moans and lusty phrases was what I needed. She was what I needed. And I didn’t care that we were making love in an empty parking lot. I didn’t care that we were in the back seat of my car. I didn’t care that she didn’t really belong to me. I only cared about loving her and about her loving me and as I closed my eyes and my body pulsed and quaked and tears slid from my eyes, I finally found that universe. And I realized that my universe belonged to her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Sidney

  When I got home that evening, my children were asleep, but their father was in bed, waiting up for me. He eyed me cautiously as I entered the room in my gray pin-striped suit, my black, leather boots in my hand. I sat the boots down by the door and tossed my husband a smile that was laced in guilt. We shared pleasantries and I raced away to the shower, hoping the water would erase the smell of sex before he smelled it.

  I was lucky. He was a little preoccupied and I lathered in soap suds, still high from her touch. Still wanting her. Still swollen. My body wouldn’t listen to my mind and but I had to come out of the shower. Had to get ready for bed and be my husband’s wife and my children’s mother.

  I dressed in pajamas and watched my husband watching me. I swallowed the guilt that plagued me and sighed deeply before walking over to him. I leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  It made me feel better and it made him feel better. The hazel eyes lit up like Christmas lights and he smiled. “Hey there.”

  I swallowed thickly. “Thank you for calling Dayna for me. It was good to see her. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  My husband smiled shyly. “I’m always thinking of you, Sid.”

  I nodded. And I apologized for being such a bitch. I apologized for my recent lunacy and all but promised that things would be different. I made him feel good and I felt good and when he puckered his dark-pink lips, I kissed softly and rubbed his cheek.

  I was pathetic. This was pathetic. But what was the alternative?

  I headed back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and tie a scarf around my head. I was in the mirror, brushing my dark hair into a wrap style, when I went to smooth out the back of my hair and felt more scalp than I should have. I felt again, before dropping the brush on the sink and feeling back there with both hands.

  I couldn’t deny it. There was a partial circle right at the back of my head, directly above my kitchen. It wasn’t fully exposed. There was hair, but it was thinning. I found my hand mirror and stared at this strange patch for nearly ten minutes. Rubbing it and rubbing it, sliding coconut scented oil over the skin there, hoping to soothe the irritation that had caused this strange occurrence.

  This was nearly catastrophic.

  My hair was my crowning glory. Inherited from my mother, it grew thick and full and with a little bit of coconut scented oil, it hung shiny and healthy, like a mane of heavy, black corn silk. I straightened it regularly with a mild chemical relaxer and wore it straight, yet curled at the ends.

  I combed my hair out, to see if the patch was noticeable when my hair was down. The long, thick, strands hung down slightly past my shoulders, framing my oval face, parted more to my right than to my left. As I played with my hair and turned around in the mirror, I realized my new patch was only visible when my hair was up and against my head.

  “What’s next? A plague of locusts?” I whispered to myself, as I finished wrapping my hair and tied my black scarf around my head.

  The good mood I’d had when I’d first come home began to dissipate and my eyes were narrowed even as I turned out the light in the bathroom and made my way to bed.

  “Everything okay?” Aaron asked.

  I nodded, padding across the semi-dark room in my bare feet, the glow from the television guiding my steps in the room.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  I slid into bed. “Yeah. I’m sure. Just a long day.”

  Aaron shut off the television and scooted over to me. I eased my backside towards him and we spooned comfortably. Though I was in his arms, in his space, my mind was far, far away.

  “How was your day?’ I asked.

&nbs
p; I hadn’t asked him that in a long time. I couldn’t even remember the last time. And his pause in answering and the slightly curious lilt in his speech when he replied let me know he was surprised at my inquiry.

  “It was…it was good,” he began, before vocalizing details that seemed to fade away before they hit my ears.

  My head was full. Thoughts of loving her in the parking lot. Remembering the feel of her skin. The sound of her voice. And then the plague of the patch at the back of my head.

  I’d had one of these before.

  And Janelle had been the one to notice it. We’d been preparing for bed after a long night of studying, flirting, and heavy petting. I’d squeezed myself out of her arms to dress for bed and had been standing in her room, in front of her mirror, wrapping my hair.

  “Sid?” she said.

  I grinned at her in the mirror. “Yes? Miss me already?”

  She gave me a half smile, her eyes worried. The worry in them made my smile fade.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She slid out of her full-sized bed with its elegant ebony-wood headboard and stood behind me. Janelle’s eyes narrowed as she focused in on the back of my head.

  “Baby, you’ve got this bald patch at the back of your head.”

  “What?” I asked, my hands frantically racing over my scalp to locate the hairless swatch of skin.

  It didn’t take me long to find it.

  “Oh my God. What the hell is this?” I asked, standing profile in the mirror, trying my best to see the damage as well as feel it.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never noticed it before,” she said.

  She calmed me then. Rubbed my shoulders and held me, my back to her front. We stood in the rectangular reflective glass with her arms around my waist and her chin nestled snuggly against my shoulder. Her soft, strawberry scented lips kissed my ear and I momentarily forgot all about the small spot in the back of my head.

  “You’re still beautiful to me,” she whispered.

  “Even though I’m balding?” I asked, my eyes locked on hers in the mirror, my heart now racing with the intimacy of her caress.

  “You’re not balding, Sweetie. It’s probably just a stress patch. It happens to my cousin from time to time. Promise me you’ll make an appointment with your doctor and get it checked out?” she asked, planting silky kisses on my neck and in the tender spot at the back of my ear.

  I nodded, my eyes heavy and hooded with desire for her.

  It didn’t take long for us to fall back into bed and when we did, I forgot all about the small spot at the back of my head. I saw my doctor shortly thereafter and he ran a battery of tests. In the end, Dr. Jacoby concluded that my issue was indeed stress-related.

  My brother was barely out of the hospital then. My parents were stressed and angry with each other. My mother blamed herself for my brother’s illness and my father blamed my brother. At that time, I often served as the peacemaker between the two of them. That familial strife added to the mounting pressures I was beginning to feel regarding my sexuality and my love for Janelle had me ultra-stressed.

  Dr. Jacoby referred me to a therapist whom I met with all of two times before determining I didn’t need some quack telling me how to live my life.

  My brother got better.

  My parents healed.

  Janelle graduated and we split up.

  And eventually, that patch went away.

  Now it was back. And so was the stress.

  I made a vow to start searching for a therapist.

  As the memory of Janelle and I standing in front of the mirror began to fade away, Aaron’s voice began to fade back in. He was in the middle of a story I’d not been listening to, I laughed when he laughed. When he was done, Aaron kissed the side of my face, snuggled even closer and whispered a very loving, “Good-night, babe.”

  “Good night,” I whispered.

  And I lay there in the darkness, waiting for my husband to fall asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Dayna

  Aaron King rang my phone at 9:30 that Wednesday morning.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  I was sitting in my desk chair in my office, drinking my first cup of coffee and going over the day’s schedule. I was dressed down in jeans and a dark-green long-sleeved t-shirt. We were going on an offsite, making a visit to a local shelter to do training with some of the shelter’s staff. Our office had these events nearly once a month and I always looked forward to them.

  Growing up in the church, the importance of serving one’s community was greatly impressed upon my sister and me. And when I went to do these training sessions, often working side-by-side with former addicts and homeless men and women, I always felt as though I were doing God’s work. After our day-long session, the participants would be certified shelter staff and were qualified to offer guidance and support to homeless clients in their shelters and even those temporarily displaced from their homes.

  I was giving the gift of knowledge. Paying forward the blessings of education I’d been privileged enough to receive.

  And after my night with Sidney, I had plenty of gifts to pay forward and a load of penance to distribute.

  “Hey Dayna, it’s Aaron.”

  My mouth went dry. Had she told him? Did he know?

  “Hi,” I said.

  “I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries by calling you yesterday. But I wanted to thank you for reaching out. She seemed much more relaxed when she came home last night.”

  Of course she’d been more relaxed. I had loosened all of the bonds that tied her. Worked every knot until she was putty in my hands. Until time stole her away and we’d scurried apart.

  I stood up, nervously pacing around the carpeted floor in the room. “Was she?” I asked, my voice much higher than I wanted it to sound.

  “Yeah. Listen, I don’t want to keep you. Just wanted to say thanks. You have been a blessing. Thank you so much. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate.”

  Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to be so nice? Why? My stomach lurched and I had to sit back down.

  “Dayna? You there?” he asked, puzzled by my sudden silence.

  “I’m here. You flatter me, Aaron. I’m no one special. Just glad I could help.”

  “Well, you’re certainly my guardian angel. Thanks again.”

  I nodded and our call ended.

  I had become just like my husband’s mistresses. He’d bedded several members of the nursing staff. At holiday parties and hospital get-togethers I’d see women winking at him from across the room. They’d pass by and touch him a little too long.

  Cameron wasn’t nearly as discreet as he thought he was. As the women fawned over him, his eyes twinkled, his lips curled and his face flushed. When he’d see me watching him he’d straighten up, wipe the grin from his lips, and pretend to be the faithful man he was supposed to be.

  But I knew the truth.

  And the same women that would flirt with my husband from across the room and allow their touch to linger when they passed him would stand in my face and smile broadly. They’d tell me how beautiful my gown was or how gorgeous my hair was or how I had a wonderful figure.

  And now I was one of them. A duplicitous, sneaky, spouse-stealing adulteress.

  That thought gave me the chills and I tried to shake off the deep pain and disappointment I felt within. It was almost as though I was seeing myself for the first time. Realizing that Aaron wasn’t just an obstacle to be tackled, but a human being. A loving person with a big heart and trusting spirit.

  He was me.

  I didn’t have long to wallow in the repercussions of my actions. One of my direct reports knocked on my door and let me know it was time to head over to the shelter. I was still shaking my head as I left my office and I was still shaking my head three days later as I helped Cameron unpack.

  During the course of our separation, it seemed as if he’d acquired twice as many things as he’d had when he left and my brain hurt,
trying to figure out where it would all go. We were standing in the living room, the first stop for his belongings. We’d spent that Saturday morning ferrying items between his second floor apartment and the moving truck we’d rented for the day. It had taken a little more than half the morning to clear out his place and now all of the items we’d carried out to the truck had found a new temporary home in our living room.

  Emphasis on the temporary.

  Cameron stood next to me, his hands on his hips, a thin white t-shirt clinging to his damp skin. “Dayna, we don’t have to put it all away right now. We can figure it out later.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’d rather just get this all done one time. I don’t want to have to keep walking through this mess.”

  “Girl, a brother is tired. Can I at least grab some water?” he said with a smile.

  I smiled in return. “Yeah. But no time for ice cubes.”

  He stumbled through the maze of possessions, headed towards the kitchen. “That’s cold, girl. Real cold.”

  When he was gone, my smile faded. There was no way in the world I could be comfortable with this mountain of Cameron sitting in the living room. I was struggling so hard to make sense and order of my life. The last thing I needed was to wade through this reminder of his absence in our home. I needed his second bachelorhood put away as quickly as possible.

  And then maybe we could get on with our lives.

  And maybe I could get on with pretending that everything was back to normal and that I was happy he was home.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Sidney

  On Thursday afternoon, a little over a week after making love with her and then finding the patch at the back of my head, I found myself sitting in a plush brown armchair, seated directly across from my brand new therapist. I chewed on my bottom lip and looked around nervously. I liked her office. It’s warm, brown décor had a modern-homey feeling with beautifully glossed wooden floors and a large window that allowed sunlight into the room.

  Dr. Diana Williamson sat down across from me and gave me a warm smile. I’d been surprised that she was African-American. With a name like Diana Williamson I’d expected something else. The room had an earthy scent, like frankincense and her shoulder length dread locks hung down, framing her soft russet toned face. Her locks were thick and started off nearly black at the top of her head, turning copper as they neared the ends that landed below her shoulders. Her posture was nearly regal, but something about her put me immediately at ease.