Sara nodded. “Of course. If I knew. If I didn’t know I’d be fine about it.” She frowned. “You’re not cheating, are you?”
“Of course not. Not that I’d tell you.”
“Right.” Sara tipped her head on one side as she thought about it, a habit she had that impersonators often mocked. It was natural, though, she’d always done it. “I guess it would also depend on what kind of cheating.”
Iris turned onto her side, facing her wife. “How do you mean? Isn’t there one basic kind, the kind where you sleep with someone you’re not married to?”
“Yeah, but there are so many variations on the theme.”
“Please explain, Professor.”
Sara sat up in bed and curled her legs under her, counting off on her fingers. “One, the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am school of cheating, where you hook up with strangers in bars, hotels, nightclubs, and simply have sex. No information is exchanged, no follow-up is expected or desired.”
Iris nodded. “I’ve heard of this, continue.”
“Second, the kind that comes up on sets or on vacation or on temporary assignments of one kind or another. This kind is mostly about sex, but it’s also about re-creating the first few days or weeks of a new relationship. You’re both slightly nauseous, you lose ten pounds in as many days, you start wearing nicer underwear . . .”
“Or NO underwear . . .”
“If you’re that way inclined, and you flirt in front of other people and generally toy with the secrecy and excitement of illicit romance. However, it is always understood that this is a fling, nothing more, and although it can be passionate and personal and intimate, it is not intended to develop into anything.”
“OK, check.” Iris was suddenly enjoying this conversation less. Sara had clearly thought this through.
“Third—and this is where it starts to get sticky—is the kind that starts as one of the above, usually the latter, and then gets out of hand. This can happen anytime, to anyone, which is why infidelity is such a dumb idea if you love your spouse. One minute you’re having a giggle with the wardrobe girl, and the next she’s boiling your rabbit, if you get my reference.”
“To Fatal Attraction, yes, I get the reference. We don’t have a rabbit, thankfully.”
“True. And finally, you have the worst—or best—kind of infidelity, the one where you fall in love with someone else and your marriage ends.”
“Is that always what happens? Your marriage ends?”
“No. Sometimes you fall in love with someone else and are grown-up about it and change jobs, or do something else so you don’t see that person anymore, and never take it beyond the confines of your own head. Other times you both know you’re in trouble before you get into it, and you have a very sad conversation where you agree that if you lived in a different world you’d be together, but you don’t, see earlier reference to changing jobs. And other times you acknowledge the attraction, have one very steamy make-out session, and end it there.” Sara suddenly sighed. “But that choice is a very dangerous one, in my experience, because once that physical bridge has been crossed, it tends to fall down behind you like a chase sequence in an action movie and there’s no going back.”
Iris looked at her wife, who wasn’t even seeing her anymore. She cleared her throat. “In your experience?”
Sara looked up and correctly read Iris’s expression. “Not in MY experience, but in my experience of other people’s experiences, my knowledge of the world, and my extensive watching of movies and reading of books.”
Iris frowned. “Are you sure?” Her heart was curling at the edges, her palms suddenly sweaty.
Sara smiled at her. “Yes, idiot. Besides, this is why I like it best when you and Wyatt come on location with me, then I don’t need to worry that you’re screwing around with some other hot mom. Or delicious coed babysitter who wants to be taken in hand by a gorgeous older woman and shown the ropes.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“It’s my job.”
Iris shook her head. “Wyatt’s going to be in middle school soon, and then it won’t be so easy to take him out of school, you know. What then? What if you’re on location for months and the starlet is irresistible?”
“We’ll get a tutor. This is L.A., schools are used to it. This is because of Anne Porter, isn’t it?”
Iris thought about the second baby she wanted so much. What would that do to her marriage?
Sara suddenly put both bowls of ice cream aside and straddled her wife. She pinned Iris’s arms down as she kissed her. “Why.” kiss “Would I.” kiss “Ever risk.” kiss kiss “Losing one second of your happiness for hours of anything else?” kiss kiss kiss “Anytime I’m not actively doing something, anytime I’m not doing my work or driving a car or making a sandwich or anything, in fact, at all, I am thinking of you, of your face, your hands, your waist, your sweet, sweet smile.” Sara leaned closer and gently licked the end of Iris’s nose. “And your delicious, incredible nose.” She let go of one of Iris’s hands, and slid her own down under the covers and started gathering the hem of Iris’s nightie. “My biggest problem with these ridiculous nightgowns is how long it takes to get them off . . .”
• • •
Later, as Sara was drifting off to sleep she muttered, “Plus, what if Anne had gotten pregnant . . . It could have been even more awful and complicated.” She yawned, squeezing Iris’s hand where it lay beside her on the quilt. “At least we can cheat secure in the knowledge that that particular outcome isn’t going to catch us out.” Her breathing slowed, her grasp loosened.
Iris lay there in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling, her heart suddenly constricted again. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Lucky us.”
Twenty-two.
When Frances got home from drop-off the next morning,
