The Choice Not Taken (19 page)

He lit a cigarette and as he exhaled smoky sulfur into the cool air, I realized I’d never known he smoked.

“I bummed it off some guy at the bar,” he explained in embarrassment. “Hardly ever do them, except when I’m nervous.” He drew another long puff. “I’m nervous tonight. Around you...”

Stunned by the sight of Philip smoking, I remained silent during his confessions, instead focusing on the severe melancholy, which surfaced over the loss of new things I had yet to learn about him.

“It looks like Ron might want to be more than friends?” he spoke through closed teeth.

“What? Ron? I-I just met him. He isn’t even technically a friend.”

“Well, he’s certainly interested. I can tell.”

“Whatever,” I waved my hand in dismissal and watched tiny flakes fall upon my wrist and melt into the skin.

“Courtney. You need to know every single, hot-blooded male is going to look at you...covet you. You are young, smart, beautiful, and vibrant. Doesn’t mean you need to act on it,” he reprimanded as if he was my father.

“Look,” I hostilely poked my finger into his cashmere overcoat. “I may be the damsel in distress, but you most certainly don’t need to save me.”

Bowing his head in defeat, he said, “I know I can’t repair what I broke, and I definitely don’t want to save you. Courtney,” he paused and took another hit of his cigarette before putting it out in a pile of snow, “I only want to love you.”

“That’s all well and good, Philip. But you can’t love me and another. I don’t work that way,” I spat.

“I don’t love another,” he grimly admitted. “Only you.”

“As long as you are married, legally I might add, you will never be part of my equation,” I threatened. “I don’t want bits and pieces of a life with you, Philip. I want each minute, every day, fifty years, until we die,” I choked.

Impulsively, he grabbed and pulled me around to where the deck draped a narrow path along the side of the lodge. Hidden between log walls and a snowy row of pines, he kissed me so passionately-and desperately-that I had no chance to fight. There amongst stacks of frozen patio chairs and piles of wet firewood, I held onto Philip as long as possible before finally shoving him off and racing inside.

“Whoa! Slow down!” Ron exclaimed when I ran right into him.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I sniffed.

“It’s all good, Courtney. I kinda liked it,” he grinned. Just then the band came back from break and began the first bars of a ballad.

“I know you don’t dance, but we are kind of poised for it,” he observed, and I realized his arms were on my shoulders.

“Um, sure,” I mumbled, throwing my wrap on a folding chair.

Once on the parquet floor, he timidly grabbed for my hand. Placing mine within his, the odd feeling of his skin made the experience even more surreal than it was already. And as he awkwardly escorted me through the growing crowd, I closed my eyes to drown out their faces. Listening to one of my favorite songs brought little solace, and the foreign sensation of Ron’s palm upon my back led me to abruptly open my eyes in alarm.

He wasn’t Philip.
No man ever would be
, I sulked.

And as I spied him and his wife, on the far side of the floor, dancing like a happily married couple...I narrowed my eyes in disgust. As he gazed over her shoulder, I eluded his stare. Yet it had seemingly become a laser beam, and I alone was its target.

Unable to freely move around the jam-packed floor, Ron settled us into one of the dwindling open spots. Flowing in tandem with the other bodies engulfing us, we never strayed, giving me a perfect view of Philip. And as he watched with wild heat and a tight jaw, my body inadvertently responded. Battling flushed cheeks and prickled skin, I became repulsed-yet excited-by the impact he had over me.

It was only the second time in my life where I felt so unequivocally helpless. Maddening in every aspect, I drew my fiery gaze from his. But as soon as I did, Ron moved us, once again locking Philip in my line of vision.

And though the hard edges of his face now softened, the power of his stare-and its severe longing-remained.

broken

Alone in the house one night, I busied myself by organizing the contents of my mother’s already tidy kitchen cupboards. And when the phone shrilled on the wall, I absently answered, assuming it to be my parents who were playing cards with friends.

“Courtney?”

I released no sound nor did I hang up.

“Courtney?” Philip repeated. “Is it you? Please say it is.”

“It’s me.”

“Oh, Courtney!” he sobbed. “I’m dying without you. I miss you so much I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I’m skipping meetings...”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied coldly, but just hearing his voice renewed a warmth in my abdomen.

God, I missed him so
, I wept silently.

“You have every right to be upset with me. What I did was not only unfair to you but disrespectful as well. But just seeing you at the Lodge. Kissing you. Then watching you dance with someone else...”

“Are you still with her?” I interrupted.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“Then I don’t think we have anything else to discuss, do we?”

“But it’s not working, Courtney! We’re holding it together for the kids, but I really don’t think it’ll last much longer,” he admitted. “I can only think of you.”

“Philip, my position on this is firm.”

“I know, and you’re 100% right, and I’m 100% wrong. I guess I just wanted to say I miss you,” he could barely mouth the words. “And I love you. I truly, truly do.”

“So what would you like me to do?” I retorted.

“I don’t expect you to do anything. I-I needed to be sure you hadn’t given up on me.”

“I haven’t,” I lied. But what I didn’t divulge was how I’d already given up on
me
. And then strangely, my mind clicked. “Philip, I want to get together so we can officially put this behind us.”

“Okay,” he eagerly complied. “Coffee at our usual spot? Same place and time this Saturday?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you then.”

Once I saw him everything changed. As he walked inside the shop, I became appalled at how clothes hung upon his body, dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his once-confident stride had been replaced with that of an aging man.

Utterly despondent over finding him so broken, I contemplated how to fix it. Yet oddly, in the time he noticed me sitting in the corner, his entire demeanor changed, and the delight again returned.

Only then did I realize,
I
was the sole solution to his problem. And despite any intention to callously tell him goodbye and move on, my heart warmed and my body burned. I became ashamed to realize I still wanted him even though he was living with his wife.

She had her turn
, I mentally argued. It was my time to have him.

And have him I did. Without speaking a solitary word, we left, drove to a secluded boat landing closed for maintenance, and once again made love in his truck.

Afterward, I was amazed at what little regret I felt. Incapable of denying the strength of our connection, I determined the relationship we built during their separation was indeed real and entirely worth fighting for.

Sharp peals of laughter from a guest in the hallway startled me, and I jumped up and stumbled to the bathroom. Glancing over the symmetrical tile pattern soon made my head spin, and I splashed cold water on my face before staggering to bed and falling into its welcoming folds. I fell asleep within minutes and though it would be my best rest in over a week, it still became tarnished with too-real dreams.

With Philip living at home, it was no longer easy-or moral-to be together. As a result, he’d often make excuses to be with me. Some nights he’d claim to work late while others might be spent at the cottage while she stayed in town with the kids. In the beginning, I agreed to this arrangement, assuming it was only a span of weeks before he left her altogether. Eventually, month after month passed by with no separation, no divorce, nothing.

Regretfully, much of that time, I didn’t seem to care. I had my Philip again, which was all that mattered. Yet, like a virus, the reality of what we had essentially become soon began to eat at my inner core.

That night, when we were to meet, was to be like every other-quick bite to eat and a few blissful hours of time alone. Our work schedules dominated much of the week so we arranged for a clandestine date at the cottage.

When Philip called to say we needed a change of location, my torment from being in
her
space all but disappeared. However, the very fact we had to alter our plans because she was going there with the kids positively infuriated me.

The wrath over such restrictions became further fueled by his recommendation we get a hotel room. Nevertheless, my desire to see him was downright overpowering, and I resolutely drove to the five-star accommodations on the outskirts of town.

Approaching the luxurious building, the usual anticipation from just seeing him again remained absent. Instead, with each step through the plush hallway and up the gold-plated elevator, bizarre thoughts swept through my mind.

What if she followed him here
? I imagined with blatant paranoia. It was an entirely new concern of mine but seemingly very real.

Perhaps she requested to spend the night at their cottage in an indirect attempt to divert us from meeting there
, I plotted. Then, maybe she dropped the kids with a babysitter and trailed him out of suspicion. The disgusting vision of being caught by her tried to appear, but I shook my head, thus preventing it from actually materializing.

Just then, the elevator arrived at its destination, causing my stomach to flip. Only this time it wasn’t due to the abrupt stop or my perpetual yearning for Philip.

Staring out the gaping doors onto the meticulously decorated sitting area, I heard a father and son joyfully race down the hall. I reflexively pushed the appropriate button, stalling its movement.

“Thanks!” the man exclaimed. He hopped in, gripping the hand of an excited boy who appeared no more than five. They were clad in swim trunks with towels draped over their shoulders.

In the unwritten code of elevator etiquette, we looked straight ahead as the car dropped down toward the lobby. And in that time, I became even more distraught over the unsullied lives of these two strangers. This hotel was intended for people like them, and the disturbing notion of Philip and I conducting our affair, in a room possibly near theirs, sickened me so that I held a palm across my mouth.

Once they exited, I re-hit the button for the tenth floor. And this time when it stopped, I got off.

Finding the room number given to me earlier, I waited outside before finally knocking lightly three times. I heard his steps anxiously move toward me, and I pictured him loosening his tie with one hand while gripping a bottle of wine in the other.

The door flew open, and there he stood, as I imagined, only it was a full glass in place of the bottle. “Come here! Man, I’ve missed you so!”

He reached for me, and my heart moved in response. My body, however, never crossed the threshold. He looked at me in question, and I fought the urge to sink into his arms.

“I-I don’t feel so well, Philip. I think I need a rain-check.”

“What’s wrong?” he worried. “Maybe you can come in and lie down.”

“No. That’s not a good idea. I really just need to go home.”

His face dropped as he said, “Of course, Courtney. You need to take care of you.”

***

One evening, we sat down for dinner, and Philip proceeded to order the usual entrees and bottle of wine. And where I once enjoyed the predictability of our relationship, it appeared anything but stable. The spontaneous freedom of long hours together which brought me peace were now terrifying unknowns, leaving an uneasy gnawing in the pit of my stomach.

The good times were no longer good.

What’s more, when he talked about anything in his life, I pictured her sharing it with him.
She
hung over every word, every kiss, and every embrace. And I couldn’t help but wonder–yet I became too afraid to ask-if during all of this time, they’d shared a bed as well.

Days and weeks soon became too much to bear, and my internal hate for her eventually spilled over onto him. In my eyes, he’d become unavailable.

Yet even now-staring across the table at his handsome face, with its new lines of worry-I wanted him.

I couldn’t let him go.

Philip looked to me, and I guessed from his weary expression he continued to be haunted over the gravity of the situation.

“Courtney.” And from his pause, I knew this wouldn’t be good. “I just don’t know how I can make the final choice; it’s too much for me to handle.” He wept quietly, and I slid around the booth’s edge to sit beside him. Holding his head in my hands, I moved it until his eyes latched on mine.