'So what then?' Andy pressed. 'You loved him to the heavens and back?' His voice dripped with playful sarcasm, but his hurt look remained.
'Not that kind of intense either,' I said, struggling to find a way to put a detached, nonpassionate spin on
I cast about for a few more seconds before I finally offered up a weak, 'I didn't mean intense… I take it back… It was a bad choice of words.'
It
'Too late,' Andy said, smirking and shaking his head. 'No take-backs. You can't strike this one from the record, Dempsey.'
And so it
Fortunately, Andy wasn't one to beat a dead horse, so Leo's name seldom came up after that. But for a long time, whenever someone used the word
I am not up for that kind of scrutiny now-joking or otherwise. Besides, I reason, as I peel off my jacket and hang it on our wobbly wooden coat rack, if the tables were turned, I'd rather not know about a chance run-in he had with Lucy, his most-beloved and longtime ex, who is now a third-grade teacher at a snooty private school in Atlanta. According to Margot, Lucy was as smart and wholesome as they come while still looking like she could be a body double for Salma Hayek. It was a direct quote I could have lived without.
With this rationalization, I decide once and for all that it is in everyone's best interest to keep my insignificant secret a secret. I plop down on the couch next to Andy and rest my hand on his leg. 'So why are you home so early, anyway?' I ask him.
'Because I missed you,' he says, smiling.
'C'mon,' I say, feeling torn. I like this answer, but almost hope there is more to it this time. 'You've
'I
'That's awesome,' I say. I know how much he had been dreading the even longer hours that come with a full-blown trial. I had been dreading them, too.
'Yeah. Such a relief. I have sleep in my future now… So anyway, I was thinking we could get changed and go to dinner? Maybe somewhere nice? You up for that?'
I glance toward the window and say, 'Maybe a bit later… It's really coming down out there… I think I'd rather just stay in for a bit.' I give him a seductive smile as I kick off my boots and sidle onto his lap, facing him. I lean in and plant a kiss on his jaw, then another on his neck.
Andy smiles, closes his eyes, and whispers a bemused, 'What in the
It is one of my favorite of his endearing expressions, but at this moment it strikes a small note of worry in my heart. Does my initiating foreplay really warrant a
I desperately try to push the memory out of my head by kissing Andy again, this time on his mouth. But as is the way when you're trying not to think of something, the scene only grows more vivid. And so, suddenly, I am doing the unthinkable. I am kissing my husband while picturing another man. Picturing
'Hmm, Ellen,' Andy moans, his fingers stroking my back.
Leo's hot hands are digging into my back with crazy pressure, urgency.
I open my eyes and tell Andy to look at me. He does.
I look into them and say, 'I
'I love you, too,' he says, so sweetly. His expression is frank, sincere, earnest. His face is the face I love.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on the feel of Andy growing hard against my thigh. Our pants are still on, but I center myself over him, grinding back against him, saying his name again. My husband's name.
And yet, moments later, when Andy is moving inside me, I am back in Leo's apartment on the night the not- guilty verdict finally came down. He is unshaven and his eyes are slightly glazed from our celebratory drinks. He hugs me fiercely and whispers in my ear, 'I'm not sure what it is about you, Ellen Dempsey, but I
It was the same night I gave myself to him completely, knowing that I would belong to him for as long as he wanted to keep me.
And, as it turned out, even longer than that.
six
Margot calls the next morning long before the sun is up-or, as Andy would say, before anyone in their right mind is up. Andy seldom gets agitated, but three things consistently set him off: people who cut in lines; bickering about politics in social settings; and his sister calling too early in the morning.
'What the
'Thank you,' I said, blushing, thinking that his face was by far my favorite, too. I wondered if this, more than anything else, is a sign of true love.
Then he said, 'I will never get tired of looking at you… Never.'
And it is this memory, perhaps my top-ranking memory of Leo, that once again fills my head as the loud ringing continues in our bedroom. Andy groans as the caller finally gives up, waits a few seconds, and tries again.
'Let it go to voicemail,' I say, but Andy reaches across me and grabs the phone from my nightstand. To be