His voice becomes m.u.f.fled.

"Hey, man, I can't hear you."

"Hold on. Trying to move with this walker."

I give him a minute to get himself situated. Hear a lot of huffing and puffing on the other end of the phone. I know the tone of those huffs; he's not out of shape.

"I'm not calling to talk about what's going on between us. Just checking to see if you need anything around there. Mel can bring some meals over."

"The hotel has a lounge. I'm good on food."

"Oh, I thought you had gone back to your place when Mom and Dad left."

"Couldn't take being there. Needed to get away." I hear Andrew's voice going on the other end, but I can't hear anything he's saying. My attention is drawn to the TV. I don't remember cutting it on. It's a commercial with a couple on a plane. The guy is proposing and as the couple's celebrating, the flight attendant is trying to get them to sit down so the plane can take off. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I need to do more than get away from my apartment. I need to get far away.

60.

BRANDON.

I'm on a flight to the Virgin Islands.

Chicago, Los Angeles, Paris, London, and the U.S. Territory of the Virgin Islands were all places on my list of options. Had a tough time making a decision so I flipped a coin to decide. St. Thomas was the last destination standing. I booked the next flight out. Had to fly into Ft. Lauderdale before hopping on a smaller plane to the island. Didn't pack nothing but a clear quart-sized bag of three-ounce toiletries, pa.s.sport, and one change of clothes. The rest I'd get as the days go by.

The pilot announces we are within minutes of landing. I slide up the shade on the window, see patches of land sprouting out of the vast ocean the color of a rainbow made of blues. Looks like camels' backs covered by The Great Flood that Noah warned the people about. The closer to land the water gets, the lighter blue it is, almost looks clear. Reminds me of the beaches in Okaloosa County. Makes me think of Rene.

"Flight Crew, please prepare for landing," the pilot says, perfectly interrupting my thoughts.

Underneath my feet I can feel the plane's wheels coming out from hiding. I glance back out the window, feel my eyes widen at the sight of the landing strip. So small looks like we're about to land on a stick of gum. My heart rate quickens. I close my eyes until I feel the wheels brake against concrete. I'm not able to open my eyes until the plane comes to a stop, and when it does, I don't hesitate to grab my bag and deplane.

Stepping off the plane, I'm glad with my decision to wear shorts. The heat is no joke. First on the list to buy is a hat, a pair of shades, and sunscreen. And something cold to drink is a must.

I walk past baggage claim and right out the doors to a swarm of taxis. I hop in the first one with an open door. I tell the driver, "Frenchman's Cove."

He tells me the fee is eight bucks since I'm without luggage, then says to give him a few minutes for a few more pa.s.sengers to arrive.

I nod.

The ride to the hotel is quick. Was afraid for my life riding up and down narrow roads at ninety miles per hour and no seatbelt. Not sure I would've felt any safer being secured to my seat. Thank G.o.d, we arrive unscathed. I give the driver a onceover to make sure if I ever see him again, I run in the opposite direction.

After checking into my room, I head downstairs to grab a bite to eat. It's happy hour. Half price on drinks. I order a pia colada with double rum, a jerk chicken wrap and a side of fries.

I sit back and take everything in. It's not crowded, but enough people to know vacation can be any time you take it. Two couples are playing volleyball in the pool; guys against the girls. Others are standing at the edge of the infinity pool, looks like they can walk straight into the ocean. A few are in the hot tub even as hot as it is out here. People are sunbathing. Women, men, kids. There's a live band playing. One local on a keyboard, one beating hand drums, and another one does double duty with strings and the microphone. They've definitely set the island atmosphere.

The waitress brings my drink. As pineapple-coconut-flavored rum travels down my throat, a smile crosses my face. In this moment, I feel everything is going to be all right.

61.

SYDNEY.

"My parents are coming over for dinner to spend a few hours with the kids before flying out in the morning."

"I'm not in the mood for company, Eric."

"Just said they're coming to see the kids."

"And who's supposed to feed them?"

He struggles to pull a T-shirt over his head. His motor skills haven't quite been the same since the accident. When he finally gets it off, he tosses it in the laundry basket. "Look, n.o.body's asked you to cook or entertain. I was just telling you my folks are coming over. You can stay up here, or better yet, you can go for a run."

It's been like this since I told him about the affair. Two weeks with him taking jabs at me whenever he can. It probably wouldn't bother me as much if I were still sleeping with Brandon, but I haven't talked to him or seen him since the funeral. Not that I haven't tried. Been to his apartment, the gym, the lake. Even went to the hotel where our sin stained the sheets. No luck.

"That's what I thought."

"Whatever, Eric."

He shuts the bathroom door with a little too much aggression. I wait a couple of minutes before busting into the bathroom. Wait for him to get good and wet, let the heat from the shower steam up the s.p.a.ce. I pull the shower door wide open.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

I don't say anything as I stand with my arms folded.

He tries to reach the door to close it back. Each time he reaches for the door, I move, block his way. "Come on, Syd. Quit playing."

My left foot steps in the shower. My right foot behind it. I step in the shower with my work clothes still on, pull the door shut behind me. "Is this how we're going to be?"

"You made that decision."

He's right. I made that decision just like I have so many other decisions through the years that I'm not proud of. Most recent, soiling this marriage. It was never my intention to have an affair, to go against the vows I made before family and G.o.d, but I knew what I was doing when I got in bed with another man. Another woman's husband, at that. I knew there was a possibility that decision would lead Eric and I to this point. It was a consequence I was willing to risk.

My husband stares at me, begs me to apologize for something I'm not sorry for.

Ego against ego.

Husband against wife.

It shouldn't be this way. We have to come to an equal understanding. Compromise. He has to give a little and I have to give a little. Can't be any other way.

The fresh-scented green bar of soap drops from his hand, hits the tile floor and slides between my feet. I kick it as I move toward my husband. My eyes don't leave his and his don't leave mine. He wraps his good arm around my waist with a question. I move forward with an answer. Our lips touch for the first time in months with the unfamiliarity of a first kiss. Our tongues try to find a familiar rhythm. When they don't, they create a new rhythm.

I help him lift my soaked shirt over my head. I reach behind me to unzip my skirt. It clings to my wet skin. Takes effort to get it fall. My bra comes off next. Eric watches as I remove my panties.

Both of us stand bare.

My womanly parts wetter than my skin.

His manly parts harder than his heart toward me.

Husband and wife ready for what comes next, but not sure what to do next.

I'm not sure what I was hoping would happen by intruding in on Eric's shower. Guess I wanted him to get mad, yell at me. Keep blaming me for what I did to our marriage, to his career, his friendship. After he awoke from the coma, he gave Sgt. Lee every detail of the accident. His version of events were consistent with the reports from the witnesses, including Mr. Carter's. Although he wasn't the one behind the wheel or the direct cause of the accident, his involvement in the altercation, which sent an innocent man into panic, warranted a suspension. Mr. Carter chose not to press charges for hara.s.sment. He wanted to move on with his life. But lines were crossed and it created a bad image for the department and Eric's and Michael's unit. Thirty days with no pay for Eric. Michael, on the other hand, had been terminated. He wants nothing else to do with his ex-partner or this family.

As my husband reminded me moments ago, it was a decision I made. Though I didn't choose none of this, I chose something. Everything else is a consequence.

His lips on my ear summon me from thoughts of disaster and reignite my desire. He nibbles on my neck, draws me closer with his arm still on my waist. I feel his manhood throbbing against my womanhood. It taps at me with a new beat. Not sure where the music will lead, not sure where I want it to lead, but as I once heard in a song, I'll take pa.s.sion over pride.

Laughter greets me the moment I reach the bottom of the stairs.

Eric Jr. is sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor being tickled crazy by his grandfather. He laughs like everything is all right in his world, like he has not a single care. My father-in-law has so much joy in his face, like this is what living is all about. Watching them brings a smile to my heart. I feel like a voyeur in the lives of adolescence and history.

Meowing and purring is at my feet. I look down, see Forrester in all his furriness looking up at me. "Hey, buddy." I grunt as I pick him up, rub him on his head. "I know you don't agree, but it's time we put you on a diet, sir." He yawns in my face, breath smelling like The Dead Sea. I put him down by the fireplace.

Mr. Holmes stops tickling his grandson long enough to give me a snug hug. "This guy doesn't stop, does he?"

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, give him a kiss on the cheek. "Never."

"Come on, Grandpa. Lemme show you the fort I built in my room."

"EJ, let your grandfather breathe for a minute."

Mr. Holmes grabs EJ's hand and winks at me. "Can't disappoint my favorite grandson, now, can I?"

I nod. "Be careful."

EJ pulls his grandfather's hand so hard up the stairs I see my father-in-law jerk, and he looks back at me. I shrug. He was warned.

Light chatter from the dining room trickles into the living room. Kennedy's at the table talking with her grandmother about school. I can see Eric in the kitchen, putting slices of pizza on plates. I wink at him and quickly divert my attention to his mother. After what her son did to me upstairs, I'm willing to call it a truce. "It would be nice if we lived closer to each other. The kids love spending time with you all."

She glances up at me with no words coming from her lips, then diverts her attention back to Kennedy. "You get your smarts from your father. He was good in school," she tells her granddaughter.

"My mom is smart too," Kennedy says in my defense. I swear, kids are a lot smarter than we give them credit for. They have a sense almost stronger than animals.

A smirk crosses my face. I want to say, "That's right, my daughter has my back," but I don't. So much for that truce.

Eric Sr. comes out with two plates for the kids, puts them on the table. "You want juice or milk?"

"Mom, can I have some soda?"

My eyes are on my daughter, but I see my mother-in-law look to her son.

"Soda's not an option tonight, Kennedy. Juice or milk. Better yet, how about some water?"

The little miss gets up from the table, her chair screeching against the hardwood. "I'm not hungry."

"Young lady, that's not the way you talk to your father."

I put my hand up. Say, "I'll handle my child."

"Doesn't seem like you've done much handling as is."

"Excuse me?"

Eric marches off back into the kitchen. Leaves his wife and mother to war between themselves. Same thing he's done since the day he introduced us. He knew right off the bat his mother wasn't a fan of me. He's never tried to get us to an equal ground. Just lets us fend for ourselves. Maybe he's waiting on one of us to reach a breaking point. I'm past that point.

"Why do you have such a problem with me?"

"I don't have a problem with you. I only wish my son had made a different decision."

"Why? What makes me such a bad choice?"

She reaches her hand over, pinches at my shirt. Flicks a piece of lint to the ground. "Do you even love my son?"

I step back, run my hands down my shirt. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because everyone can see the truth but you. Or at least we're willing to call you out on it."

"That's ridiculous."

She scoots back from her chair so hard it bangs against the wall. "You want to know what's ridiculous? I knew the day Eric first introduced you to us that he was making a bad decision. The only reason he ended up with you is because Abigail broke his heart. Had she not taken that job overseas, she would be my daughter-in-law, not you."

I do all I can to keep my simmering blood from boiling over. The name of the woman who Eric wanted to marry instead of me has never been mentioned in this house until now. Both he and I did our best to pretend she didn't exist. But as much as she didn't to us, she existed to Elaine.

"Well, as I told you before, he chose me. It was his decision to marry me." I point to my chest, do it so hard almost feels like my fingernail broke skin.

The mother of my husband takes her seat, sits down with a Mona Lisa-smirk dancing across her face. She's angered me and she knows it. "By the way, did he tell you they saw each other the night before your wedding?"