Preacher's Wifey (8 page)

The steam room was just a few doors down. I hardly ever went in there, because no one seemed to ever be in there at this time of day to chat with, and I had a phobia of passing out and no one being around to help me. It was a crazy notion, but most phobias were. Today I needed to cleanse my pores and let the mist refresh me, and just maybe some of my personal steam would be left inside.

I opened the door, and a gust of vapor slapped me in the face. Hardly able to see, I walked to the bench and sat down. I stretched my legs out and was just about to lean my head back against the wall when I heard a voice. His voice.

“Steam does the body good, huh?”

I sat up and squinted in an effort to try to see him better in the midst of the haze.

“Seth?”

“Yes, it's me. In the flesh.” He laughed.

“Wha . . . wha . . . what are you doing in here?” I asked, half excited and half annoyed. Didn't this man know I was trying to run away from him?

“You always stutter when you get around me. Or do you do that around other people as well?”

“That is not important,” I shot back. “What are you doing in this steam room? I thought you had a meeting.”

I could still barely see him, but I saw him plainly when he got up and walked over to me. Now he was in full view. He sat down so close to me, his leg touched mine. I closed my eyes, because I did not even want to see the damage the heat from his touch had done to my thigh.

“You want the truth?”

“You think I want a lie?”

“Can you handle the truth?”

“I guess there is only one way for me to find out.”

“Fair enough,” he said and reached for my hand. “The truth is, I did not want to wait until next week to see you. I want to spend the rest of this afternoon with you.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

“You told me, remember?”

“No, not
here,
as in the spa. How did you know I would be in the steam room?”

“I gave the girl at the front desk a nice little tip to tell me what services you were going to be having. When you went in to change, she told me you were coming in here.”

I was infuriated. What if he were a stalker?

“I will speak to her about that. I do not appreciate her telling you without my permission where I would be. That jeopardizes my safety, among a lot of other things that are wrong with it.”

“Did you know the girl who checked you in was hired not long ago as a part-time waitress at the bar?”

“No. But what does that have to do anything?”

“Well, for one, she was there working earlier and saw us having lunch together. You probably did not see her, just as I did not see her, because I was too engrossed in our conversation. But, anyway, she saw us.” In my mind that was still beside the point. It flattered me in a small way that he would go as far as paying someone to find out my whereabouts, but it was also kind of creepy. In the world we lived in now, you could never be too careful.

“Okay, this is in a small way—and I do mean a small way—flattering. But I told you I cannot be seen with you. What if someone else walks in here and sees us?”

“Allyson, we are sitting in the steam room, talking. It could be a simple coincidence.”

He had a point.

“But I am not worried about that happening,” he said.

“And why not?”

“I bought the spa out for the remainder of the day.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if that was a normal thing to do.

“You what!” I exclaimed just above a whisper.

“I knew two things. One, I wanted to spend the rest of my afternoon with you. Two, you would be worried about someone seeing you. So in order to get what I wanted, and for you to feel comfortable with me getting what I wanted, I paid for us to have the spa to ourselves.”

This man was nuts.
Where do they do that at?

“How much did that cost?”

If he did not have my attention before, he sure had it now. Was he balling like that?

“Money is not an issue with me. And it will not be an issue for you, either. So can I please just enjoy my afternoon with the beautiful woman I am sitting next to?”

I was speechless and did not trust any words to tumble out of my mouth. I was glad when he broke the silence.

“So not only do you stutter around me, but at times you lose words altogether. Are you mad? Are you happy? Tell me. What are you thinking and feeling right now?”

“I have no idea what I think or feel. A part of me thinks you are crazy, but the other part of me insanely trusts you.”

“I am not here to hurt you, baby girl. I just want to love you.”

Game! I knew it! It was all game. No man said that to a woman he barely knew. Obviously, he did not know what it meant to love someone, because if he did, he would not use the word so lightly.

“You do not want to love me, Seth. So just stop it, okay? You do not have to say that.”

Without one word, he leaned in and kissed me until my mouth was dry and until it felt all the steam had evaporated from the room.

“I did not have to do that, either, but I did. In time, Allyson, you are going to see I am a good man and can recognize a good woman when I see one. If I for one minute thought I was coming between you and your husband, I would not pursue you the way that I do and plan to continue to do.”

Either he was arrogant or very confident in himself.

“It still isn't right,” I said, dropping my head. I tried to calm my nerves, but his kiss had every last one of them on the edge.

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

“It does not matter. I cannot carry on with you as if I am not a married woman.”

“Okay, fair enough. Can we just enjoy the afternoon relaxing with each other at the spa? As new friends?”

Friends. That was safe, right? I found myself asking that question a lot when it came to him. But I could be his friend. Couldn't I?

“Okay. As friends.”

“Good. After this, you never have to see me again.”

Ha.
That was cute. He knew what he was doing, and I did too. And with every second we spent together, I was starting to forget all my troubles with Byran and his baby momma. There was a new sheriff in town, and his name was Seth Carson—
Doctor
Seth Carson.

And he was rich.

I walked into my house, still feeling like I was floating on a cloud.

The afternoon with Seth had been great. We talked about everything, from our childhood to our five-year plan. It was intriguing to hear about how he grew up in the country, planting vegetables in his great-grandmother's garden and shaking pecans from her tree. He spoke fondly about his grandmother, who had raised him in a small two-bedroom shack that was filled with love and plenty of food. His own mother had left him with his nana, as he called her, for a weekend and had never returned. Several months went by before they received the news that her body had been found in a ditch not too far from their house. She had been raped and beaten and was left for dead.

Hearing him tell the story and watching him relive it was painful. The way he described in detail his feelings as a ten-year-old losing his mother made me feel as if it had happened to me. I listened intently as he recounted his memories of learning how to be the man of his nana's house after his grandfather passed suddenly a couple of years later. He had a tough childhood and was pretty much a recluse throughout his teenage years. He did not spend his weekends going on dates like other guys his age, but rather riding tractors, feeding cows and horses, and tending to the land of his great-grandmother, Big Mama.

I enjoyed listening to him and watching him light up when he talked about his grandmother, who was now an elderly woman, sick with renal failure. It was obvious he loved her dearly and felt responsible for taking care of her for the remaining years of her life. He paid for her to live in the best senior citizens' facility that Augusta had to offer. There she received around-the-clock care, and anything she wanted or desired was at her fingertips, and if not, he provided it.

My phone buzzing on the kitchen counter stole me away from the memory of the tender moments we shared. I read the text from Seth.

I miss you already.

“What are you smiling about?”

I jumped at the sound of Byran's voice. Seth's text had taken me from reality for a moment, and I did not hear the door open or close.

“How was your day?” I said, hugging him, hoping to avoid answering his question.

“It was good. I figured I would come home a little early so I could take you out for a nice dinner and, if you feel up to it, a movie,” he said, grabbing me around the waist.

Was this a dream? I could not remember the last time we had gone out on a date. He was always so busy with church or one of the other businesses that I had quit expecting to have a date life. Besides that, we had been on such business terms as of late, the last thing I was expecting was for him to treat me like a . . . wife.

“Wow. What did I do to deserve a date on a weeknight?”

“I was sitting in my office today, praying about us, the situation we are in, and all the things I have put you through lately. I felt very bad about it and was able to appreciate you in a whole different way after putting some things in perspective. Allyson, you know this, but you deserve a whole lot more from a man. Yet you have sacrificed everything you want and desire to make me happy. I love you for that.”

My mother was right.

He leaned down and kissed me passionately. Then in one big, unexpected swoop, he picked me up, sat me on the island, and continued to kiss me, as if he would never get another opportunity to do so. I melted into the kiss, and before long we were taking off each other's clothes and tossing them across the room. His shirt landed on top of the refrigerator, and my skirt crash-landed in the sink. He laid me down on the island and made love to me. It was so intense, tears crept into my eyes. I could feel the warmth from his body searing me inside, in places that had not been so much as warmed in recent weeks. If this man did not love me, he sure fooled me.

His tongue explored my body with the sole purpose of pleasing me. His hands roamed in an effort to discover new spots. His gaze into my eyes was so powerful, I was forced to look away. We moved from the island to the kitchen table, and from there we concluded our love dance on the floor.

We both lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily. Several parts of my body were still smoking, although the fire was burning out. All he had to do was blow on me, and I would be amped up and ready to go again.

“That was so good, baby,” he stated.

“Good is an understatement. It was amazing.”

“Yeah, that too.” He laughed.

“A girl could get accustomed to being swept off her feet—literally swept off her feet,” I said as I rubbed my finger down his chest.

We both laughed.

He grabbed my hand. “I am going to do better, sweetheart. I have made the decision to go back to treating you just as good as I did before we were married.” He turned over to face me, stroked my chin, and looked into my eyes. “I promise.”

Who was this man? Was this the Lord answering my secret prayers? Well, I knew one thing. The Lord sure was working in mysterious ways, because Seth Carson had crept up into my head space and was taking up a large portion of it.

My response was simply a kiss. I scooted closer to him and laid my head on his chest. If we could live in this moment forever, it would have been all right with me. The man that had come home tonight was the man I had grown to love.

The sound of the house phone ringing startled us both, because it never rang unless it was an emergency. I immediately thought about my mother, who had called earlier to say she wasn't feeling well. I jumped up and made a mad dash to answer it.

“Hello?”

“I am so sorry to call your home, Allyson. But may I please speak with Byran?” the female caller asked.

She did not need to say her name. My instincts told me who she was, and instantly my palms became sweaty and my heart began a race that could compete with the Indy 500.

“Sure. One second.” I inhaled deeply. “Byran, it's for you,” I said, pointing the phone in his direction.

He looked confused, as if he could not imagine who would be calling him at home.

“For me?” he said, puzzled.

“Yes, for you.”

He got up from the floor, found his pants, which had landed on the countertop during our clothes toss, and retrieved his cell phone. He pushed a few buttons on the BlackBerry, and the look on his face told me he had obviously missed some calls.

He took the phone from my hand.

“Hello,” he said, turning his back to me. “I am sorry. My phone was set to vibrate, but it was in my pants, and I did not feel it.”

Why the hell didn't he just tell her he didn't feel it vibrating because he was having sex with me . . . his wife?

He continued. “Is everything all right?” He paused. “I will be there as soon as I can. I have to shower and get dressed, but I will be on my way.”

He placed the phone back in its cradle and turned to face me. I was already boiling hot, because I knew that whatever he was about to say was going to send me to the third dimension of anger.

“Allyson, baby, I hate to skip out on our dinner plans for tonight, but—”

I cut him off. “That was her, wasn't it?”

He dropped his head. “Yes.”

“What did she want?”

“She is in the hospital. They think the baby will come tonight.”

“I thought you said she was five months.”

“She is almost six now, but they have tried to stop her labor and nothing is working. Our son may be born prematurely.”

A mixture of emotions flooded my heart, mind, and soul. While I hated to hear that a baby's life was at stake, I also hated to hear the man I loved refer to his son with another woman. I bit the inside of my lip, hoping to numb the hurt I suddenly felt.

“So you have to go there and, um, be with her, I guess?”

“Baby, I am sorry. There is no way I could have anticipated this happening. I am so very sorry.”

If asked to give a dissertation on how I felt in this very moment, I would not know where to begin. While he could not help that the baby was coming early, it was his fault there was a baby at all. What was I supposed to do while my husband was at the hospital, tending to the love of his life? What was I was supposed to do while he was at the hospital, holding her hand through her labor pains? What was I supposed to do while he sat praying and comforting her? Was I supposed to sit by the phone and await his call? Was I supposed to eat dinner and pretend none of this was happening? This was just too much. I felt dizzy.

He stepped to me, and I impulsively stepped away. The man who had just had full access to my body was now a stranger to me, and I did not want him touching me—at all. I did not want him to hug me, because no hug—or kiss—was going to make me feel any better.

“Just go,” I pleaded. “Go take your shower, get dressed, and be on your way. I am sure she is scared right now. Honestly, I cannot imagine how she feels. I don't know what I would do if my baby was threatening to come this early, which gives him a small chance of survival.” I pushed away a lone tear that had slipped from my eyes. “Please. Just. Go.”

He stepped toward me again, but I put my hand up and motioned for him not to come any closer. With his eyes he willed me to understand, and then he turned and walked away.

I wrapped my arms around my waist, leaned against the refrigerator, slid to the floor, and cried. I cried because if the truth be told, this was my fault, as I had put myself in this situation. I could just walk away, but as I was quickly discovering, you could not help who your heart loved. And when you really loved someone, even if you knew you needed to, it was not that easy to walk away. Plus, if I walked away, what would I do? What would I have? Where would I go?

I cried because I knew this was the first night of many. If the baby survived being born premature, he would have a difficult journey arriving at optimum health, and Byran would need to be there every single step of the way. I groaned as I imagined him leaving in the middle of the night because his son was sick, or on holidays because he had to share time with him. I shook my head, trying not to let my thoughts run too far into the future. For the first time in my life, I didn't want to be in my future, especially if it resembled anything of the present.

Byran reentered the kitchen, looking suave as ever. He was wearing Rocawear jeans and a Polo shirt, but even in those—his version of casual—he looked good. I could not help but get a whiff of his Gucci cologne. Anger slowly started pressing its way through me again.

“I'm not sure what to say,” he began. “I don't know if I should say I will call you later with an update or if you even care to know what happens. I know this is not easy for you, and to be honest, it isn't easy for me. I have so many emotions floating through me right now. I am hurt that I have to leave you here, sitting on the floor, crying, and I am also afraid that my son might not make it. And I now know how you must have felt when you lost our baby,” he said as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “I just don't know why this is all happening.”

Was he serious? Maybe the stress of this had him delirious.

“Byran, it is happening because you, like many other men, are only happy when you can have your cake and eat it too. This is happening because you fell in love with a woman who you could not do right by, so you gave up on having her as you continued to love her. You tried, but you couldn't let her go. Thus, you created a mess. The problem with it all is you are married to me and are forced to stay with me and keep your image up for the sake of your career. And that Byran is the reason this is all happening.” A thought came to me. “Exactly what hospital is she in? Because I know you have better sense than to be going to a hospital in Atlanta.”

“Yeah, her doctor is in Chattanooga. It's about an hour and a half away from here.”

“Chattanooga? As in Chattanooga, Tennessee?” While I was hoping he had better sense than to have his pregnant mistress deliver in the city, I was amazed. They had this well planned.

“Yes. Chattanooga, Tennessee.”

“Wow,” was the only word I could get out.

“Should I call you when I get there?” he asked hesitantly.

Suddenly his presence sickened me, and all I wanted was for him to disappear.

Realizing I was not going to answer his question, that was exactly what he did. Without another word, he walked out the door that led to the garage. I listened as the garage door went up, followed by his engine starting and the door going down again. It was such a horrible feeling to be left alone knowing the only company you would have was the agonizing thoughts in your head.

I sat for a few more minutes before I decided to get up and out. I needed to get away from this house so I would not cry a river or, worse, turn up all the bottles of liquor.

I went upstairs to change into a cool, flowing floor-length sundress. I had taken a long shower at the spa, so I went in my bathroom and sprayed on an ample amount of my favorite perfume, Alien. I took the brush and brushed my hair into a ponytail, then dusted some blush on my cheeks and some M•A•C gold dust on the areas of my chest that were exposed. Satisfied with my look, I grabbed my Versace purse and went back downstairs to get in my car.

Not sure which restaurant I would end up at, I opened my sunroof and was on my way. I found myself on I-85, heading north toward downtown. I was in the mood for some good seafood, and Legal's crab soup was calling my name. I pulled my Versace sunglasses from my purse, put them on, and leaned my seat back a little to enjoy the ride. With each mile, I felt a little better. I turned my audio system on, and the sounds of Anthony Hamilton came blaring through the speakers. By far, he was my most favorite neo-soul artist, and I settled into a peaceful state. His voice was the perfect blend of sultry and soothing—just what I needed.