The Choice Not Taken (17 page)

I pushed him off me, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and removed it to reveal a tan, smooth chest. Bringing his body to mine, I held him tight, relishing the sensation of his skin fusing with my own.

His very heat was like a red-hot iron, and it branded Philip’s imprint upon my quivering skin. I’d be marked forever by him, and somehow we both knew it.

Needing to be closer, we feverishly pressed and pulled the other to where we hoped it might bring relief. Nothing satisfied.

Even once Philip was finally, thankfully, and unbelievably inside me, it was still not enough.

Yet then I experienced-for a singular and glorious moment–what it meant to be fully alive as I smelled the soap on his sticky skin, tasted his sweat on my lips, heard his pleasing words uttered into my hair, and witnessed the burning devotion in his eyes.

But I continued to want more. I wanted to be inside of
him
so this might go on and on, and I could truly live.

***

The light steps of an elderly couple strolling the garden path signaled it was time for me to clean up and change out of the clothes I’d been wearing the previous 24 hours. Amazingly, my half naps left me drained, and I briefly considered sleep over a badly-needed shower.

Streaming cool water erased the oppressive residue from both my body and mind. And with a newly rejuvenated spirit, I inhaled one lasting breath before making the call.

“Hello,” Mitch answered. Despite the after-school hour, the house appeared eerily quiet.

“Honey, how are you?” I asked through hidden tears. Although he wasn’t anywhere near puberty, his voice appeared older to me today.

“Hey, Mom. I’m good. How’s your friend?” he thoughtfully inquired, and I quickly remembered I was helping someone else.

“Good. Good,” I lied and to pacify the guilt I avoided details I might forget later. “Is everyone home?” I slyly asked.

“Yep. Sylvie’s in her room, and Dad’s in the office printing some papers before dinner.” Images of Alex in the basement working, then making dinner, helping with homework, and getting the kids to bed before working some more and finally falling asleep in the living room chair all flashed through my mind.

Another wave of remorse only the ferocity of this one made me sick.

“Was school fun today?” And while he chatted about play try-outs, soccer practice, and how he almost failed his math quiz, I waited for the urge to vomit to pass.

“Are you going to be able to make it?”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“My soccer match Monday?” he repeated.

“Of course, Mitch. I’ll be there tomorrow when you get home from school. There’s no way I’ll miss it,” I promised. “Love you, Sweetheart. Can you get Sylvie for me?”

“Love you, too. Just a sec.” He dropped the phone, and its ringing vibration led me to hold it inches from my ear.

“Hi,” Alex quietly spoke into the other end.

“Hi,” I pulled the phone back to my ear in surprise. I’d hoped to muster enough courage for him during my chat with Sylvie.

“Things going well?”

“Very well,” I announced sincerely. “I’m having a tough time and not sleeping, but I can truthfully say things are moving along. I’m almost excited to see Dr. Benson tomorrow.”

“Great, Court.” He hesitated. “Do you think there will be much more you need to do after tomorrow?”

I instinctively knew his thoughts-how he wished to be supportive of my efforts, yet somewhere deep down he worried just how long those efforts were actually going to take. The fear here was two-fold: he might run out of patience...or I might never fully recover.

“You know I don’t have an answer to that, Alex. I...” and just then I heard Sylvie in the background, begging to talk.

“Okay. Um. Have a good rest of the night and here’s Sylvie.” Alex handed her the line.

“Hey Mom!”

“Hi, Sweetie. How was school?” Again forcing interest, I now grabbed the entire phone-set in my hand, stretched the attached cord its full length, and walked toward the bathroom in case I actually threw up.

This charade was familiar, and I pushed everything down, repressing it into the nether-regions of sub-consciousness so I could listen to my daughter describe her newest school project. Her words came too fast once again, and all I deciphered was something about a talent show.

“I’m going to be one of the back-up dancers, and Mrs. Malloy picked me to do a solo for part of it!” Sylvie’s high-pitch squeal led Rosie to bark in protest from some hidden room.

“That sounds so fun! I just know you’ll be the brightest star,” I cheered.

“Thanks, Mom! I hafta go practice so here’s Dad. See you tomorrow. Love you. Bye!”

“Just wanted to say call if you need anything, okay?” he offered. “I’ll be at the office after the kids get on the bus.”

“Thank you for that. I probably won’t, though,” I answered honestly. “It’s too hard to talk to you and not be there. I miss you guys so much,” I cried.

“We miss you, too, Court. But we want you happy and healthy more. Gotta go. It’s getting to be time to start dinner,” he said. “Actually, we’re ordering takeout,” he added, apologetically.

“Sounds perfect.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more,” I whispered.

In spite of the impending dinner hour, pangs of self-reproach left only a sour stomach and little appetite. Spontaneously, I moved to the balcony and gazed across the yard, searching for clues to unlock this personal mystery. When none came, I returned to the corner chair and replayed my conversations with the kids and Alex.

Deception and remorse over our interactions were nothing new, yet things I hadn’t experienced for years.

Not since Philip broke the news about his wife anyway.

***

After our incredible evening on the lake, Philip and I remained discreet but inseparable. Now, however, it was as if he needed me even more than I needed him. He clung to me.

Yet, my need for him-and my love-only continued to grow every moment we spoke, met, or made love. His constant affection was only surpassed by his unwavering patience. For though we’d found each other so easily that first night, doubts over his real intentions and misgivings about his true feelings remained.

Too often, I questioned the very reasons for his desire, instead believing he viewed me as a random woman with which to satisfy his own needs. And whenever this paranoia graciously disappeared, I’d worry his love for me would end.

That he might go away. And leave me forever...

But neither of these fears materialized. Surprisingly, it was an entirely different problem-one I never anticipated-which would ultimately threaten our relationship.

Enjoying coffee one weekend morning at our favorite shop, we shared the paper and munched flaky maple scones. Contentedly plucking off strips of white icing, I savored the sugary sweetness melting in my mouth.

“Courtney?” Philip said with a seriousness I never noticed before.

Holding the scone in mid-air, I stared with wide eyes. “What?”

“I have a dilemma. And while I don’t want to involve you, I have no
choice
but to involve you.” He nervously sipped his coffee.

“So tell me,” I boldly demanded.

“My wife wants to reconcile.”

“What do
you
want to do?” I calmly pressed, pretending his words didn’t sting.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled and peered at the hands resting upon his lap.

“You don’t know? How do you not know?” I quietly hissed. “You’ve been apart for almost fourteen months! She’s got papers all written up, just waiting to be signed. How can you not know?”

I’d never pushed Philip in any dealings with the divorce or his children, rather preferring to leave it as a personal matter between him and his family. And yet, today, hearing him state he didn’t know what to do about them–or us–made me positively livid.

“Courtney. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have a lot to figure out here. I mean, all along I’d come to the conclusion this divorce was only a matter of time. I’d disconnected myself from her as my wife, but I never disconnected from her as the mother of my kids,” he paused. “And when I think about them going through the finality of divorce, spending the rest of their youth hopping back and forth between two homes...it breaks my heart.”

What about my heart
?! I silently raged.
I entrusted the whole thing to you, and if you leave I’ll never truly get it all back...

“So what are you saying? You want to get back with her? Break this up?” I frantically motioned between us.

“No! Courtney, I just want you to know where things stand with everything in my world. I need you to be aware in case some days I’m struggling.”

Forget that world
! my thoughts choked.
Forget the entire world, damn it! I’m here. Make ME your world
!

“I understand, Philip. I really do. Yet somehow I get the distinct impression you’re seriously considering this reunion?” I asked, tenderly this time though inside I fumed.

He again looked to his hands and fidgeted, and I fought an overwhelming urge to slap them, effectively forcing him to focus on my face.

“It’s something I
have
to consider,” he revealed, “if I hope to do what’s best for my children. And despite the beauty and pleasure and joy you bring into my life, Courtney, it’s my duty to put their needs ahead of my own.”

And though one of the many reasons I loved him so madly was because of his dedication as a parent, in that precise moment I became so thoroughly pissed off, I grabbed my purse and walked out of the shop, leaving him alone.

We had previous plans for dinner that night, and I finally broke down, calling him right before he’d pick me up. He answered before the first ring finished its connection.

“Philip.”

“Courtney! I’m so sorry, I should have never told you. It was unfair and insensitive and...” I shushed him before he could finish.

“Philip. I appreciate your need to do this, and I’ll support whatever decision you make,” I stated.

“You don’t have to.”

“I love you, Philip. And I love you enough to let go if that’s what you must do,” I wept. “I’m not going to beg you to stay with me, but I’m also not going to tell you to leave her. This is your mess. You make the final decision.”

“I understand. And thank you for that,” he whispered. “I just wish it wasn’t such a difficult choice. I feel like I’m losing a part of me no matter what I do. I can’t win.”

“It’s not about winning, Philip. It’s about making the hard choices and living the life you want.”

And though I sounded brave, I so badly wanted him to pick me–to say, “Courtney,
you
are what I want and the life I choose!” Because somehow I knew if he left, I’d forget how to live all over again.

I canceled our date, but after a few days apart we met again for a night out. We agreed to avoid any discussion of his problem, yet our strained conversation became infected from its undeniable weight. I drank more wine than usual to ease my nerves and prevent inadvertent spouting of hurtful things, and by the evening’s end, I was practically back to my old self.

When he brought me home, we remained there, in his truck, unsure how to say goodnight. Philip’s even breathing broke the quiet, and I turned to gaze at him in the blackness of the cab. His profile was shrouded by shadows of the streetlight, lending it a peaceful cast. Enraged, I essentially tackled him. Angry for the hurt he inflicted upon me, I wanted him to hurt, too.

Yet all I knew how to do was love him.

His frustrations mirrored my own, and it became evident in our lovemaking. Instead of caring whispers, there were silent stares. Tender kisses became replaced with fierce ones. And by the time it was over, our bodies were bruised from powerful grips and scratched from greedy fingernails. Another gaping void appeared within me, and I prayed for it to be filled.

Over the next month, we called and met on occasion, yet there was a timidity in his tone and an impatience to mine. Unable to bear the suspense and not a fan of ultimatums, I opted for a deadline.

“Philip, it’s time to make a decision. Not just for my sake, but for hers,” I seethed into the phone. “We all need to know what direction to move in.”

“I know. She’s already given me one.” And at his very mention of her, I nearly threw up over my venomous hate for this woman I had no reason to dislike and jealousy of the unbreakable bonds she held with Philip.

For all along, she’d made me believe he could be mine. She’d given me hope. And now she intended to take it all away. It wasn’t enough she’d gotten his youth and his children and many, many years of his attention, but now she wanted Philip back after convincing him she no longer cared.